The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

39

SCARLETT PARKER

The minute I step into the house, my mom's already screaming. About how I was 'acting irresponsible'; 'reckless.' She doesn't understand that I stay out for a reason.

"Why are you not home more? What are you doing that's so important?"

We're standing in the kitchen. My mom has her hands interlinked together on the countertop, but she just can't seem to stop talking.

I watch her, and I think: I'm tired of this.
I'm tired of coming home and not knowing whether I'll be able to sleep there for the night. I miss when we laughed. I wish things could just go back to the way they used to be. Mom was bad then, too, but now she's worse. I was scared of her, but more afraid of losing you. A nightmare came true. The hell that manifested in my nightmares now a living, breathing reality.

I hate you more and more everyday.

My mom notices my state, reaching out and snapping her fingers in my face. "Scarlett, Listen to me when I talk to you!"

"I'm just with my friends, Mom."

She laughs, but it's cold; Malice oozing out of every word she speaks. "Oh, so that boy was just a friend?"

I take a deep breath, but it's shaky. I can hardly find the words I so desperately need to speak. There's a lump in my throat blocking out every ounce of courage I own.

"It doesn't matter." He does. I can't imagine a life without him, of course he matters—but she just wouldn't understand. She never does.

"I don't think thats for you to decide, is it?"

"Mom, please," I grit out, "just drop it. I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

She pushes herself off of the counter-top, circling around the island and stopping right in front of me. Standing there; staring, until she speaks once more, voice low and impatient, "I am your Mother. You will not speak to me that way."

I'm holding my breath. I don't know what to say. Why can't she just let this go? How can she not see that I'm never home just so I don't have to see her?

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry. Okay?" Hands shaking, I clench them in a pitiful effort to hide them. She distances herself from me, nodding warily.

"Who was that boy? And what were you doing out so late?" She questions, blue eyes narrowing. She doesn't trust me, she never does. But she doesn't care.

She just doesn't want me to end up like Noah—Wasted potential.

"His names Cade, Uhm," I try to think of a way to end this conversation as fast as possible, "We went on a date today. He's nice, you'd like him."

She wouldn't. She doesn't like anybody anymore, but I don't say that. Obviously.

Her tone is condescending when she says, "Scarlett, it's your Junior year. You don't need any distractions."

"Caden isn't a 'distraction', Mom."

"He is if you're spending so much time with him, time that could be used to study."