Book IV of UNC Series
Carter Blake hates the world, but most importantly, the people that occupy it. He wants to insulate himself and only focus on getting through school and basketball. After suffering at the hands of his alcoholic mother, he wants...
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A loud crash sounds off in the living room, and I scold myself for not wearing my headphones today. Out of all days, I just wanted to take a moment and revel in the silence before I did anything. No headphones, no music, just serene silence.
I came home exhausted from basketball practice and just wanted to take a moment to lie on my bed face down before I ventured into the kitchen for dinner. However, it seems Mom isn't having it, deeming today to be the day she wants to make a scene in the living room.
I release a heady groan, recalling all the times I had to clean up before Carsen came home so he wouldn't know the mess she made. And from the sounds coming from the living room, I know tonight will be one of those nights. It's good that Carsen has a habit of calling to check if I'm home before popping in for a visit. After all, he is driving two hours from Cardill to our little town of Meadowville to see me. So he can't afford surprise visits, especially when borrowing his friend's car.
It's not like he ever comes to see Mom. He never does, not since Dad died, and she's become a shell of the person she used to be.
Alas, it seems tonight, I'll be spending my time cleaning up her mess, throwing away valuable possessions instead of doing my homework and studying as I thought.
When I hear another crash, like glass breaking against hardwood, I lift onto my arms and stumble toward the door. I take a moment before opening it, wondering how my life had come to this, how I have to be the one to walk into the living room and reprimand my mother for her behaviour.
I inhale, drawing a shaky breath into my lungs.
I wish I could take it back. I wish I could go back to that moment and advise my dad differently. Wish I had never agreed to go to that stupid sleepover. Wish I had never listened to Mom, or better yet, wished I had never texted Dad at three in the morning. I wish he wasn't awake and didn't see my text until the morning after.
My head feels like lead, pressing firmly down. My shoulders weigh me down, and it feels like I carry the world's most considerable burden. I pinch my eyes shut, pressing my lips together into a firm line as I get my emotions in check. I need to be strong and resolved to face this version of Mom. I can't show any vulnerability, or she will take advantage and push until I break.
And I've come so close to breaking many times. When she's caught me at a bad time, the wrong moment. I have a terrible habit of lashing out before I think. However, I never want to do that to Mom because I feel some of the guilt she expresses.
She's the way she is because of me. I made her this way, whether or not I want to admit it.
Peeling my forehead off the cool wooden door, I swing it open and step into the narrow hallway. Images of my brother and me running back and forth in this hallway come to fruition. Images of our combined laughter as we race toy cars across the walls and make them fly like airplanes, should bring a smile to my lips. Instead, I grimace at the reminder of a time when things seemed easy. Almost too easy. When it was easier to laugh without thinking of the hardships.
