On a Leash

Chapter 9 ─ Waking up the Bitch

Here's the next chapter of On a

Leash, only up early because someone (cough, NerdyBirdie ) demanded it up tonight as a bargaining chip... I hope you enjoy, I now have a party to look and act fleek at ;)

Chapter 9 ─ Waking up the Bitch

Yeah sure, you okay Ross? Xx

I looked down at my phone and felt the burn of sick rising in the back of my throat. Was it pathetic that I had already upheaved in the past hour over my hair being shorn? I would have scoffed at any other who would be acting so dramatic over missing hair.

But I was a mess.

I responded the Harrison's text saying that I was just sick. I had texted him to get the work and any useful hints Mrs Roger's gave out. Anything useful came small and fleeting with her.

"Sweetie," Mum whispered from the bathtub. She had sat there, rubbing slow circles into my back for the past twenty minutes, that being until I slapped her hand away in exhaustion and anger. I turned to her and pressed a tentative smile - it felt fake, and it was. Who could smile so shortly after a shock?

"Yeah, Mum?"

"I..." she gulped and I saw her eyes well up with tears. "I don't mean to intrude into your life and... such..." I huffed and her eyes widened. She thought she had angered me. With guilt at my action, I moved over and leaned my back against the tub, head against her knee. She rubbed into my scalped skull. "Who did this?"

I chewed on my lip.

"Who's The Cutter?" She said the nickname like it was a burning word, the chemicals in snake poison. Her hand rested on my neck and pulled me closer, she used to do this when I was little and wanted her comfort.

I must have babbled the host's name in my senselessness for my mother to pick up that nickname. I didn't ask, I just gulped and ran my hands along the polished floor. Sweat was left where my hands were and I rubbed them against my flannel pyjama pants.

"It's nothing, Mum," I whispered.

"Sweetie," she said tiredly. I looked down, I was never one to confide with my mother and I wasn't going to start now, not when it was too late to say anything. "Trust me, tell me... have you done anything to upset someone this much?"

I laughed and shook my head. Mixing the peas with the corn was one thing but I wasn't openly vindictive and Mum knew that. She knew I wouldn't shave someone's cat for 'the bants' or that I wouldn't puke on someone's shoes drunk or go after a girl's boyfriend. I wasn't like that.

"No, Mum." I let out a deep breath, the smell of bile rising in the air and with a grunt I pulled myself up. "I'm going to clean my teeth and then go to bed... in the guests' room."

"Remember to use mouth wash first," Mum instructed and I nodded; we all know the night time horrors the nurse told us about acidity sick and enamel. She went to the door and leaned against the doorframe for a second before turning and saying; "I'm going to call Yvonne, she'd definitely come and do your hair with the... way... it is."

I nodded and then she left. I scoffed at my appearance, at the way Mum had just said that. Like I would break if she said what a mess I looked. It was nice of her. I scowled; I didn't need pity right now. I didn't need it from my mother or her friends or from myself; I was not to pity myself.

So after the taste of supermarket's own mouthwash was well and truly rid from my mouth and my gums were glowing bright I went back into my room. I wasn't ready to face the catastrophe, Dad promised he was going to tidy up after work, and so turned my back and pulled open the drawer in my desk.