Til Death Do Us Part [10kxOC]

12. mother scares me but oreos make everything better

TW: manipulative mother, abuse, cream of mushroom soup

many years ago.

My eyes shot open and i'm met by complete darkness. Until my eyes fully adjust and the light of the moon shines in through the crooked white curtains. It leaves a patch of dull light, dimly brightening up the tiny room.
Looking around, I see a wooden toy chest my grandpa made me before he died. I was too young to really remember him, but I do remember him sitting on his recliner in his house, snoring loudly as infomercials beamed brightly on the box t.v. The toy chest was overflowing with stuffed animals, barbie dolls, and toys my mother stole from goodwill; that haven't had batteries in them since they were brought home.

In another corner of my room, a small light blue dresser sits lopsided, a book replacing one of the broken legs. On top of the dresser contained books with ripped pages, used makeup from a Claire's dumpster, a plastic vase with a single, plastic yellow flower, and two empty water bottle that have been there for who knows how long; collecting dust and mold. I could also see a circle rug on the floor. Its bright pink color almost blinding during the day. There was a dark brown stain in the middle of it, which was there the first day my mother brought it home. Toys were scattered on top if it, bound for somebody to trip over late at night.

The entire room was quiet. Not even a usually noisy cricket made a sound outside. I sat there in bed, continuing to look at everything else in my room. I looked at the walls. Which were bare and beige and had holes in them from hanging pictures many times. Only to be tore down because it caused too much 'clutter'.

My room had never changed from this state. It had never been cleaned, and it had never had a fresh coat of paint. But I never really cared. As long as the bed was comfortable and I had toys to play with I almost never complained. Mostly because I was too scared about what my mother would say or do if I did.

Evrything was calm and quiet in my room. My breathing was steady and my chest rose and fell with a slow pace. I was safe. I knew I was...

Until the noise of the front door slamming open made my head snap dramatically in that direction. My breathing now fast and uneven and my chest rising and falling fast without a break. A few stumbles could be heard from the living room, a chair being moved until it was silent for a few seconds. Until it started again

"Hailey....." My mother said loudly, in a sing-song way, dragging out the 'y' in my name. She had come home late again, that was nothing new. It was the way she talked that made me scared. She never spoke like that before. "Hailey? Where are you baby??" She asked with slurred words, still in that sing-song way. I stood up fast. Clutching my stuffed elephant, Mr Bowtie, and slowly tiptoeing to my closet, making sure not to step on any of the toys on the rug. I stopped abruptly when she started talking again, her voice sounding closer this time. "Hailey? Are you in your room.....? Answer me." Her voice was louder now, her words staggering as she spoke. I couldn't speak, too afraid to. I knew she would be mad if I didn't say something...but my lips wouldn't move.

I slowly slid open my closet door, stopping when it creaked slighty, slipped through the thin crack when I was too afraid to open it any more. I closed it behind me when I made sure I was fully inside, my three shirts brushing against my cheek. "Hailey, baby answer me now!" Her voice was turning into a yell at this point, but I still wouldn't say anything. I sunk down to the floor. My back sliding down the dusty closet wall until my butt hit the floor. As I sat there, my fingernails dug into my palms slighty, the pain almost unnoticeable from the worry in my brain. Her sing-song voice echoed in the small, dark, suffocating closet. The walls now seeming to close in on me. Like a heartbeat the four corners get smaller and smaller.