𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - Ginny and Georgia

42

She relapsed. The second she got home she found herself slipping down her bedroom door with a bottle of liquor in her hand. She hadn't even realized how long she had managed to be sober, since the day before Marcus's accident.

She had tricked herself thinking that everything would be fine, that for ones she would be able to become better. It was just another lie. The problem with addiction is you can't rely your sobriety on another person because people are temporary.

She thought Marcus was making her better when the reality was that he was just another form of addiction.

As half the bottle became empty she could feel the room starting to become more blurry. She was waiting impatiently for the pleasurable sense of euphoria but it never came. She walked over to the mirror and was met with an emotionless facial expression. She didn't like it, how she felt nothing. The only thing she was feeling was her unsteadiness and cloudy mind.

She opened her bedroom door and made her way over to her mother's room. She must have had some pills, the alcohol wasn't enough. She went through everything, opening every pill bottle only to find all of them empty causing her to let out a frustrated sigh. She squatted and looked under the bed, the floor being flooded with clothes. She pushed them out only to reveal a box hiding beneath them. She took a hold of it, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Her eyes widened as she opened it, there was a stack of who knew how much money. Where would she get it from? She hadn't worked since last year.

She took a hold of the stack, laying it beside her on the wooden floor. Her eyes darted back and she felt her heart stopping up as she took notice of the object that had been laying under it. She picked it up in her shaky hands for nothing more than a second before she let go of it. If she had been sober she would be much more mortified than she already was. Not to mention she would have asked herself a hundred more questions as to why her mother was hiding a gun in her house. The only thing left was three letters and already being too deep in whatever this was, she started reading them.

The first one seemed to have been written hastily. It was about how someone was feeling miserable and meant life was too meaningless to live anymore. How they'd miss their family but this was for the best. Her eyes traveled to the lower part of the letter as she saw a goodbye accompanied by her father's name. It was his suicide letter.

She must have read it again at least three times as the thought of how this was the last thing he wrote before he died. But, as she looked at the letter as a whole her eyebrows furrowed. Even though her blurry vision something wasn't adding up. The handwriting was too neat and small. It couldn't be his.

She started reading the other two letters which also seemed to be neat but nonetheless looked completely different than the first. This time it was addressed to her mother. It was someone pleading to keep their affair a secret, she had written how she would do anything for her to not expose it.
The third letter was short with only one sentence - thank you.

As she scanned over anything that had been in the box it was too much for her to truly register. She only seemed to be focused on one thing. If it wasn't her father's handwriting, whose was it? And, why would someone write a fake suicide letter?

She felt suspiciousness creep upon her as her intoxicated mind tried to glue everything together.
She got up to her feet, stumbling slightly as she went over to her mother's overfilled drawer. She lifted some of her things until she found a folder on the bottom of it with the word work written on it, dragging it out.

She opened it and took out a paper filled with notes as she sat back down on the floor. Hesitantly, she laid it side by side to the suicide letter hoping her theory was wrong. But, it matched.

"What the fuck" She whispered to herself, not completely understanding the meaning of it but still feeling sick to her stomach.

A sudden sound came from the door, she turned her head only to see nothing, she frantically grabbed the gun. Without warning, her mother walked in a second later causing her to jump and almost pull the trigger.

"What is going on?" She questioned warily as she stepped in, taking in all her hidden belongings scattered on the floor around her daughter. Her gun resting in her hand.

She didn't respond, too shocked by everything as she watched her mother come closer. Her demeanor seemed calm and collected as she dragged the gun out of her hand but her eyes told a whole different story.

She sat down in her bed while Amelia remained where she was, her eyes glued onto the floor. She could hear the clink of glass before the sound of pouring. "Want a drink? Looks like you need it"

"What is this?" Amelia asked abruptly as she peered straight into her eyes, the suicide letter in hand.

"He was cheating on me" She muttered lowly, a bitter smile on her lips as she raised her glass.
"Can you believe it? He had some nerves that man. And, not only did he have to cheat but it had be with some stuck up rich bitch"

"That didn't answer my-" Her mouth shut as the words she had just let out sank in. Her sight moved over to the stack of money, the two letters addressed to her from someone pleading to keep an affair secret. Then, it all clicked. "Oh my god. Please, tell me you didn-"

"Remember that chat we had about teenage boys? How they are nothing but low-life narcissistic pricks? Well, turns out they don't change once they've become men" Her mother hummed amusingly, seeming completely unbothered by the shock on her daughter's face. "They're pretty much useless"

"Mom!" She yelled loudly causing her to finally pay attention. "What did you do to dad?"

"I did what one does with trash, I disposed of it"

Amelia simply stared at her in shock as she felt her heart start to ache slightly. But, she didn't feel that overwhelming sense of grief she usually did, and it made her feel guilty. She had felt for so long that it seemed like someone could tell her the world ended tomorrow and she wouldn't react.

"How could you?" That was all that was able to let out. She couldn't comprehend that she was sitting in front of an actual murderer. Her mother who she thought was completely harmless had murdered her father. The same mother she had been living alone with the last year.

"You'll understand it one day" She responded with certainty in her voice, more focused on finishing her drink than the conversation.

"I don't know you..." She whispered to herself.

Her mother rolled her eyes as she sat down her drink and took a hold of her, dragging her onto the bed next to her. "Don't be ridiculous! You know me. You're practically me only younger and dumber"

"I'm nothing like you" She denied bitterly with a frantic shake of her head.

"You got your delusions from your dad. But, the escapism you got from me. The way you drink away all the care in the world, how when you're happy you feel like you can concur the world but when you're angry you feel like destroying it." Her mother started, leaving her face to stiffen at the truth of her words. "You love impulsivity and new and intriguing things but hate confrontation"

"And, if it had come to it and you'd felt wronged you'd probably do exactly what I did because that's another thing you love, revenge. Just like me. And, there's nothing wrong with that"

The image of Peter started playing in her mind. She realized she hadn't even hesitated with pressing her knee down on his throat, she found pleasure in it. And, how she didn't even flinch when she set him on fire.

Her mom was right, they were the same.

Her head moved to the side as she emotionlessly breathed out. "I'll take that drink now"