(DISCONTINUED)

○ 0.8 :: Mother Theresa ○

Dedicated to InLouHarryThrusts because (even though she technically hasn't started reading yet) she added this story to one of her reading lists.

[[Love the username btw x]]

BTW THAT GIF HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CHAPTER OK DON'T GET EXCITED THAT ISN'T GONNA HAPPEN FOR AGES

*

We didn't move for another few seconds, long enough for my mother to rap her knuckles twice more against the cheap wood of our door and call out: "Bethany?"

Harry was the first to move, not as phased or as afraid as I was, because he'd never met my mother. I snorted inwardly. Lucky him.

"What do we do?" He whispered, aware that the door wasn't the most soundproof.

"What are you waiting for? Hide!" I hissed at him, but when he made no move to do as asked, I had to forcibly move him. "Go!" I shoved him towards the bathroom and tottered over to the door in my heels, pausing to smooth my hair and my dress in the mirror in the doorway. Somehow, I felt like I'd open the door and my mother would know exactly what was going on. That she'd see exactly what was going on in my face, or in the singular curled hair I'd just realized I had missed when I was straightening. Did I look like I had a boy in my room? I caught a glimpse of movement in the mirror and realized said boy was standing there, staring at me.

"What the fúck are you doing?" I hissed, flapping my hands in frustration. He flinched at the harsh language, like he'd been doused in cold water and had finally realized how urgent the situation was. I breathed a sigh of relief when he slipped into the little bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Bethany Hart, if you do not open this door immediately-"

I wrenched open the door and gave the fuming woman behind it my most winning smile - though you wouldn't know she was fuming by looking at her; her face was neutral and collected as usual. The only way I knew was because I lived with her for eighteen years and I knew the signs: the slight twitch at the left corner of her mouth, the firm line of her lips, and the very faint dusting of pink on her cheeks where the furious flush had penetrated her thick makeup.

"Where have you been?" Theresa Bailey-Hart snapped, tapping a heeled foot impatiently.

"A woman must spend time ensuring her utmost appearance," I replied calmly, the opposite of how I was feeling. The statement was a direct quote from her, burned into my brain from all the many times my Mother had recited it to me whenever I'd attempted to go to the supermarket around the corner in anything less formal than a skirt and a cashmere sweater.

The quote was the right way to go; the barely-there angry flush faded, and Mother was appeased - for now. "A woman must also be punctual," she reprimanded.

My smile got even less genuine, feeling tight across my cheeks. "I apologize." I stepped back into the room so that the door could be opened more widely, sweeping my arm in a welcoming motion. "Won't you come in?"

My mother stepped gingerly into the room with a barely concealed look of disgust. "The correct way to ask is 'would you like to come in', Bethany. Abbreviations are so... common." She shuddered at the word 'common', like it was a synonym for 'dog shît', or 'Justin Bieber'.

"Right, sorry."

"I am sorry, Bethany." I blinked in surprise. Did she just- "You have to say the 'I am' otherwise the sentence isn't grammatically correct."

I waited until she'd turned her back on me to roll my eyes. I hoped in vain that Harry wasn't listening to all of this, because honestly? I didn't think I'd ever been more ashamed to call this woman my mother.