“No cell phone, no TV, no credit cards, and absolutely no going near that slut!” Jordan had been listening to this Spanish Inquisition for over thirty minutes, and it all meant the same thing; she was screwed.

“Jordan!” a hand smacked her across the face, leaving red marks from where long fingernails nearly sliced her skin, “Are you even listening to me?” She placed a hand on her face where she was struck and did everything in her power not to strike back, “Yes Mother, I’m listening.”

In front of her stood a middle-aged woman in a dress that seemed to be three sizes too small. There was an essence of fury resting in her narrowed amber eyes, “Good. Now there is going to be a fundraiser tonight and I am not going to miss it for my delinquent of a daughter.”

Jordan rolled her eyes, she had heard this a million times. She made herself comfortable on the leather couch in the living room and prepared for the sentencing.

“You will give me your phone, which I was supposed to have anyway, along with the TV remote and your house keys. If I find anything that may even suggest you broke my rules when I get back, you will be in BIG trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes mother.”

“I thought so. Now get out of sight!”

Jordan ran upstairs to her room, but paused and turned around at the top at the sound of her name being barked from the living room.

“Jordan!”

“What?”

“Don’t even think about seeing that slut tonight.”

Without another glance the Wicked Witch of the West walked out of house, slamming the front door behind her. This tore at her heart. Jordan didn’t give a crap what her bitch of a mother had to say about her. But whenever she said anything less than friendly about her best friend and girlfriend, it made her want to pack up and never come back.

She slammed her bedroom door behind her and collapsed on her bed, tears streaming down her face. Why did this hurt her so much?