Stained

Chapter 151

'Call her mum, Hazel. Call her mum, and I'll get you any toy you want,' baba demands sweetly. His voice is almost never sweet.

'Go on, daughter,' he prods. He's holding my shoulders, bent at the waist. Close enough that the smell of cigarettes wafts out of his mouth and into my face as he speaks and breathes. No wonder I never see him and mum close anymore. It's a horrible smell.

'No," I shake my head at him, then at the strange woman who lives with us. 'She's not my mum. I'm not calling her mum. My mum is..."

Not here.

I look behind me, to the door—

"Let me check. Can't have you embarrassing yourself and us in peacocks," Hannah snaps me out of the memory as she bends around the back of the passenger seat to smell Sarah.

"Sarah, is that cigs or weed?" She questions unsurely... or perhaps hesitantly. I can't tell much right now.

Shock temporarily paralyses Sarah. A couple of seconds pass in heavy silence. The first thing she does is shoot Hannah a sharp look. But it is nothing compared to how she looks at me. "It wasn't my perfume, was it? You also think it's cigarettes, don't you?" She half asks, visibly offended but mostly hurt.

I can't respond. I want to. But I can't. My lips seem to be permanently glued together with super glue.

"Unbelievable," Sarah breathes. "No. It's not fucking cigarettes. Its weed. You should know I would never do that to you. I wouldn't even do that unconsciously."

The memories instantly fade away. I literally see it happen. A dark cloud of smoke floats out of the car through the air vents.

Reason number one billion and two as to why I don't go out. My PTSD stains good moments. Happy moments.

Guilt pierces my chest like a sharp blade. "I... I didn't..." I lie. God, I hate myself so much in this moment.

Sarah folds her lips in between her teeth, a telltale sign she's holding back her tears. I've upset her.

'Don't be surprised. All you're good at is upsetting loved ones around you.'

"I'm so sorry... I just- I got scared. The memories were rising and clouding my judgment. I know. I know you would never do that. I thought it was an accident- I'm sorry."

I know it's not a good enough excuse, but I've had a horrible day as it is. I usually wouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly.

I suppose it's partially got to do with me unconsciously leaning against my best friends to make this day better. So the second I glimpsed a flaw, my defence mechanisms shot to action.

I lower my head, ashamed, but Sarah lifts my chin, forcing me to meet her ocean blue eyes. "You don't have to apologise. I do. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I know it's out of your control."

Those seven words make me feel tenfold better. After being bashed my entire life over my mental health by family members, any ounce of comprehension from anyone sits deep in my heart. Especially those dear to my heart. It's pathetic, I know.

An opportunity stands before me, so I take it. A small smile plays across my lips. "I'll forgive you if you douse that hoodie in perfume." I point to my glove box. "The perfumes in there." The stench of weed makes me sick. Hannah and Sarah love it, though, and I, for the life of me, can't understand why. Its stench is worse than a bin.