°° The shadows Of Skotia°°

Chapter five

Two years ago...

It was summer break, and my mom and I were going to the countryside where my grandmother, her mom, lived. Her mom was chronically ill, and being her only living relatives, we had gone to take care of her-or so I had been told.

Throughout the trip, my mom had been uncharacteristically quiet. It was obvious she didn't want to go; honestly, I didn't want to go either. We arrived at her old house in the afternoon. I had stayed with my grandmother as a young kid, and even though I barely remembered much, I recalled the unsettling feeling and how toxic it was to be there. The neighbors gave us a few skeptical and suspicious looks, some with disgust, but we were too hungry and tired to care.

"Mom... we're here," my mom said, her voice shaky. There was a pause, and she pushed the door open. And there she was: my grandmother, barely clothed, on a mat in the center of the shabby living room. She was unhealthily thin, with pale-blue wrinkly skin, thin white hair, and drenched in sweat.

"Mom..." my mother started, seeming scared or confused about how to approach her own mother.

"I didn't call so you could come," my grandmother spoke, her voice painfully feeble.

"You're sick-"

"I'm dying, Cora!" she snapped and sat up. Like my mom, her eyes were bloodshot and welled with tears. I just stood there watching the scene unfold.

"Mom, Cath hasn't seen you since she was six. We haven't seen or heard much from you in seven years..." Her voice cracked as she dropped her luggage to sit near her mother, who looked at her daughter with everything but affection.

"Whose fault is that! I gave you everything, everything! And what do I get in return... A bastard child!" She heaved, her chest rising as she spoke.

"It's not her fault, it's not my fault," my mom cried.

There was swift movement and then the sound of skin colliding with skin. My mom froze, her hand held to her cheek, and tears streamed down her face.

"How dare you raise your voice at me, because of that thing. I told you I didn't want her near me for as long as I'm alive!" My mom cried harder. It was all getting too much to hold in.

It was all my fault...

I couldn't move; my feet had turned to stone, so had my heart. I always knew I was the problem, the reason Mom came home wasted, drunk. I was the reason she smoked a pack a day and couldn't keep a job, the reason she came home with several men who broke her heart and made her lash out and go on a frenzy.

Feeling the blood rush back to my legs, I ran. Faintly, I could hear them yelling at each other.

"You don't even know who her father is!"

I didn't know where I was going; I ran into a forest and kept running. It wasn't until I reached a stream that I had exhausted myself. Throat tight, dizzy from hunger and thirst, and breathing heavily, I collapsed onto a rock, head in hands, and wept. I hated myself for not being able to handle it. I had no right to cry; after all, it was all my fault. The birds and creatures around seemed to agree, their animalistic orchestra felt as if they were all scolding me.

Behind me, a twig snapped. Quickly, I wiped my tears and turned abruptly, high on alert. And then I saw him.

Present...

"Are you crying?" a voice said, breaking through the shadows.

I watched as my younger self quickly adjusted. The boy emerging was an ordinary sight in the village-shabby and dirty, perhaps a year or two older than me. Scrawny with sunken amber eyes, large ears, a boxy nose, and thin brown hair.