Winter Love (Book Two)

6 | Mission Accomplished

SAMI'S POV

At no point would I have ever referred myself to as a religious person. But as I limp down the icy and slippery sidewalk, tears and dried blood clinging to my face as I drag my painful body back home, I couldn't find the courage in me that'd allow me to look my mother in the eye, and let her in on the hell my life has become. Thus I find myself here, praying to some greater power that my mom isn't home, again, as the simple two-storey home comes into view.

I keep my eyes downcast, doing my very best to prevent any of my nosy neighbours from seeing the state my face is in, as I undo the latch on the small gate, walking towards the front door where all my fears finally set in.

I can't allow my mother to see me like this.

I unlock the front door, a quick image of the kiss Jesse and I shared on this very porch flashing in my mind, reminding me of the sweet taste of joy I once had before it was cruelly ripped away from me. I peak through the door, the darkness of the home forcing a sigh of relief out of me: mom's not home.

And as much as a huge piece of me felt relief, I couldn't help the pang of something that resembled sadness from spreading through my body. She's spending an awful lot of time at work than here, which sucks because I miss her...

But before I could finish my thoughts in wallowing and self-pity - that all too famous voice steps in, reminding me that even when my mother's around - I do my best to stay away from her. Too afraid that she'll see the fading marks around my neck after being pinned against the lockers by the gang, or that she'd walk into my room and see the bruises that litter my body...but this time, the injuries won't be as easily camouflaged as those of the prior attacks. They wanted to leave a mark. They wanted everyone to see the brutality I've been put through. Zack desperately wanted me to remember his face every time I look at myself in the mirror and as much as it makes me sick to my stomach, I must admit that his mission was accomplished.

I close the door behind me, taking off the wet and dirty sneakers and leaving them by the door before making my way into the kitchen, not even bothering to turn the light on. I warm up some leftover chicken noodle soup, the headache continuing its relentless pounding as I wait for the microwave to finish its cycle. And as soon as that all too familiar beep-beep sounds, the sound of my mother's beat Ford Fiesta pulling into the driveway also sounds, panic immediately setting in. I grab the hot bowl, before quickly limping up the stairs, the front door swinging open the second I shut my own door, my back firmly pressed against the wooden barrier:

"Sami" my mom says, "I'm home!" I try to come up with a half-acceptable answer, but the choked breath I release, as well as my now cloudy vision - threatened to lay all my secrets bare from the simple  words of my mother. Honestly, it isn't the words themselves, more the sound of my her caring tone, the unmissable gentleness that even on a different floor I could hear her unwavering care. "Sami, are you up?" she asks, her voice now coming from directly the other side of the door, the softness in her voice even clearer.

I look around the room, trying to will myself to calm down and just pick my poison: either I open the door and let my face speak for itself, or I connect the god damn wire between my brain and mouth - and allow at least a couple of words to spill out. But my eyes had unfortunately landed on the open closet door, a hanger dangling loosely in between the variety of flannels, an incomparable pain surging through my veins as the wetness finally drops from my eyes, staring at the vacant spot I had especially reserved for Jesse's jacket. "Sami?" she calls again, startling me as she knocks on the door.

And the first words that spill out - do so with a little bit of hiccup: "I think I have covid" my voice quivers, hopefully adding some semblance of believability to the lie I just told.

"Oh, do you want me to make anything for you? Soup? Tea? I'll leave it out here" she asks, her voice dripping with care once again.

"I think I'm just gonna sleep, but thanks" I answer softly, a part of me not appreciating the fact that I'm lying to my mother, my very first best-friend...

"Okay, I'll leave you be" she says. "By the way, how do you know that you have covid?"

"I have all the symptoms Mom, but to be safe - I think I'll just stay here."

Had I been anywhere but the door I'm pretty certain I would've missed the light sigh she released, almost as if she was sad for some reason, like she could sense even behind this door that something was wrong.

"Well" she sighs again, "I was really looking forward to our movie night this Friday," I had completely forgotten about that, "but it's okay, we'll have to see when you get better" she adds, before the sound of her footsteps sound as she walks away from my door, leaving me to stare aimlessly at the bowl of the soup I really wanted to have, but something had stolen my appetite completely, raging emotions having filled the void of hunger I felt just minutes prior. But the opportunity to dwell a bit longer on that slips past as my mom's approaching footsteps sound, getting louder with each step she takes towards my bedroom: "Sami, I know you're still up but I don't want to keep you up for longer than you want to, I just want you to know that...that I miss you. I know I haven't been around as often as I used to be, and I hope you're not angry because of that, but I miss you, and as soon as you get better - I'll make it up to you. I know it's been tough..." a distant knock cuts her words short, "...someone's at the door. I'll let you rest."

And as she walks away, I slide down the door like a heartbroken protagonist in an overly cheesy 90s romance movie, but truly, even the voice in the back of my head could attest, my broken hearted nature was completely justified. On one end, there's pain from blatantly lying to my mother, guilt for making her feel like she owed me an explanation for the distance I've put between us, and on the other, the torment of realising my silence does me more harm than good, my mother, my friends, my boyfriend; but even then - I can't dare to let them know.

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