Dear Rabbit

Chapter 8

Getting home that evening had been rough. The car ride was silent as a morgue and my mother kept sending me icy looks through her car mirror. Norman was very obviously uncomfortable with the tension. He kept making really terrible jokes every five minutes or turning up the radio to the point that my mum turned the thing off. It was even worse when I realised that morning that Norman had slept on the Sofa.

Mum had been so angry that she'd kicked him out of their room; it wasn't his fault she was pissed off. He really shouldn't have been punished. But I guess I was being punished in my own way. Looking into my bathroom mirror I could see dark circles under my eyes and I looked about as shattered as I felt. Which was to say completely and utterly.

That morning was going slowly and sluggishly. Firstly my shower was too warm and too inviting for me to leave, then I spent half an hour in a towel because I couldn't bring myself to get dressed, and then I avoided going downstairs because of a certain adult. It was somewhat like a game of cat and mouse I suppose. Mum was angry at me, I was avoiding her in case she bit my head off...and Norman and Dori? They knew better than to get in the middle of our tiffs. Or I hoped they did.

Mum and I's relationship had become more and more strained over the past few months. We never went out and did things together anymore. She was always working. If I had a problem, she was one of the last people I'd go to because I'd probably get a "Sorry, I'm busy with work right now, speak to you later, Babe". It was becoming more and more apparent that we were drifting further and further apart. I didn't want to of course. I love my mum. She'd been the only parent I'd ever really had. She'd nursed me back to health when I was ill, comforted me when I was sad, encouraged me to do my best. But she wasn't the same mum as the one that raised me. She wasn't as kind or soft. She didn't laugh as much or smile at me as often. She didn't really seem proud of me ever, if I showed her my art she'd just shrug it off. If I got a good grade she'd give me a quick well done and go back to work. It made me want to do better, to get some form of reaction out of her. Sometimes that meant pissing her off.

Sitting at the dining room table that morning was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Somehow I'd succeeded in forcing myself to go downstairs. While my breakfast was lovely, and Dori seemed to be in a good mood, mum was silently staring down her own breakfast.

"Mum. Will you just talk to me?" I sighed, she merely turned her head to the side looking at a houseplant by the wall or any other bit of random clutter. The silence grew heavier and I felt utterly frustrated. Frustrated that I'd practically solved one issue and got another in return.

"Okay...well just so you know I'm going out. If you care that is." I shrugged, sarcasm heavily lacing my tone. I was fed up with all this anger. We were happy once upon a time. Believe it or not we all smiled, laughed, got along and nobody ignored the other. There was something about this move, this town. Everything was different now, and I hated it.

"Don't you try and guilt me, Charlotte Elizabeth Whittingham." She said, standing abruptly. Her brown eyes held a fire that used to be directed at anyone who tried to hurt me. Now her furious gaze was pointed at me instead. Her lips were pursed and despite her small stature she was intimidating. But what she called me put that intimidation to bed and replaced it with annoyance.

"Kite. It's Kite." I hadn't changed my surname when Mum remarried. I liked my surname. I missed my dad. I wasn't changing it because, to me, I wasn't a Whittingham.