𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | 𝐁𝐋

𝟎𝟐𝟔

a/n; remember to vote! commenting always motivates me so if you can please do comment along the way :) enjoy and thank you all for the immense support!

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Your mother panicked at the bloodied state that you were in.

"You said you were going to read!" She chided you, making you sit down. She pressed a cold towel to your forehead and frowned. The headache had ceased, but still, your mother continued to press brews and tonics to your mouth. The dried blood on your lips looked more painful than it was, but really, it wasn't too bad. The worst pain was over, and now all that was left was remnants of rich red dyed on your lips.

You coughed. "Some things happened. I tried climbing a tree, and I fell," you lied. "That's why my hands are all grubby and dirty. I'm going to shower."

Your mother pressed her lips together, shaking her head. "You're too careless."

You flashed her an easy grin. "Sorry."

"Go wash up. Food will be ready."

You nodded your head, tossing your dirty boots to the side before heading to the bathroom. Your eyes roamed around the room — after the conversation with Aster, you were trying to find something — anything — to dig into. There were no pictures left on the wall of your mother and father. They had all been taken down. There was no sign that your father had ever existed here before, actually. Once, there had been a neat row of mugs all labeled with your names on it. But now, it seemed that your father's one had been discarded.

It was odd to think that your parents were divorced. Many people did not divorce and chose to have affairs. As divorce was seen as a disgrace. And it would mean a multitude of issues: first, there was the whole custody of the child that had to be dealt with, and then there was the whole dividing of assets and....

I should be grateful, you mused, my parents didn't have an issue when choosing who to dump me with. Your father had always been the one who had not wanted you, after all. Your mother had been the one who had loved you in your childhood.

You went to the bathroom and washed up, feeling delight in the scorching water running down your bare skin. It was only on several occasions where you two had hot water, and it was pleasant for one of the times to be now. It was always when you felt filthy, that you wanted hot water to be your remedy. When you were young, you would feel filthy for a different reason. The minute your parents started to fight, you would feel dirty, somehow, like you were allowing their horrible words to corrupt you. Thus, water so hot it felt like it could burn — was more than welcome.

You would scrub at your skin with fervor; wanting to wash away your parents' words. As you grew older, you remembered more. You remembered snatches of conversations that had spilled from their lips. They had both not intended for you to hear them, but you caught the words anyway. You didn't understand the words then, but you did now.