Celeste POV
The cool night air did nothing to ease the fire burning in my chest as I sat on the edge of my rooftop, legs dangling over the side like I was still the reckless teenager who used to escape up here whenever Mom's criticism became too much to bear.
As always, whenever we had a fight, it left me drained and today was one of our worst fights yet. I’ve managed to avoid clashing with her for nearly six months, so this was a pent-up of all the fights we’ve missed out on.
At my age, she still made me feel like that lost sixteen-year-old who could never do anything right. The pattern was so ingrained now that I wondered if we'd ever break free from it. Mom would find something wrong with me – my appearance, my choices, my attitude – and I would react defensively, which would only confirm her belief that I was the problem child who needed constant correction.
