When I was sixteen my mom purposely burnt part of our house down for insurance money. I actually was at a bonfire when I got a call from her screaming at me to come home because a fire had started in her room and firemen were trying to put it out. After I deduced that everyone was okay, I really didn't care and had no intention of leaving my bonfire. She kept calling at me and screaming at me to come home though, so I eventually did even though I wasn't concerned with her room being on fire.
When I got there she flipped out on me for not immediately coming home. Her explanation as to how the fire started was that a candle exploded. I immediately knew she had started it. At this time her sketchy drug addict boyfriend, Tim, who was ten years younger than her was living with us. They had been dating on and off for a very long time. I never liked him. He was stupid, and was one of those guys that would do whatever type of drug he could get his hands on, just to be high. I know he preferred Oxycontin, just like my mom, and his lack of sticking to one drug really said a lot about his personality, to me at least.
So my mom's room was aflame, the firemen got it out quickly and easily, no one was injured. But there was smoke damage throughout, especially in my room. The entire top floor of our house was unlivable. We had another bottom floor with an addition that consisted of three bedrooms, two living rooms, one bathroom and another kitchen. We could have lived there, but for some reason my mother insisted we live in a hotel. The only one our crappy insurance covered was the Red Roof Inn in Gaithersburg, which was even close to our house (and considering I went to school in DC, it definitely was not close). I got my own room so I wasn't too pissed. Though being in the parking lot after dark was not advisable, and I regularly saw hookers and their consorts. Overall it was a fun experience.
The clever part of her burning the house down was that she started her own company in her boyfriend's name to fix our house. All the damage estimates she was getting from other companies were apparently much too low. So she started this company, sent an insanely large estimate to the insurance company and used drug addicted red necks who made inappropriate comments to me to fix the damage done to the house. She paid them in both cash and in Xanax, Oxycontin and Adderall. Definitely the type of drugs you want to give felons around your teenage daughter.
With the money she had leftover, she decided to buy a house in Edgewater, Maryland. I've described it before, strip malls and white trash on the water. It was somewhere by the Chesapeake and nowhere near my school. Which didn't matter anyway, the way she presented this to me was, "Tim and I are going to buy a two bedroom in Edgewater, you can sleep on the couch if you want." She was taking my little brother, who I didn't really like because he was very, very spoiled (and still is) with her. This news made me ecstatic. I was so happy I didn't have to live with her anymore, although she insisted that if I stay I stay in the house I start paying rent.
The day she moved out was such a relief. She plagued my everyday life like a virus I couldn't get rid of. Every single time I would see her, which wasn't that often because I tried to avoid her as much as possible, she was screaming at me. She has constantly called me a stupid bitch my entire life, literally since I can even remember being called a stupid bitch. Children start to remember around four, though my big brother said she's done it since before then.
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