Insanity (Dandy Mott)

Chapter 1

// Veronica //

I huff as mother plays around with my dress, Trying to make sure it sits perfectly on my body. She'd done my make up, Curled my hair, And picked out my dress for me. As usual. She treats me as if I'm still five.

"Mother." I start.

"Oh please darling, No grumbling tonight." She interrupts me. "The Motts have been nice enough to invite us over for dinner. Please don't ruin it by being rude." Her heavy Southern accent rings in my ears as she speaks in her squeaky, Soft voice.

"I'm never rude, I'm just quite honest." I correct her.

"Well try not to be so honest tonight then." She sighs. "Darling, I know that you've been having a rough time since your father died three years ago-"

Of coarse. This is the speech I hear almost every day. It always goes the same way with the same excuses and the same exact words. And she always says it wrong. He did not die, He was murdered. And he wasn't murdered by some random man with a gun too large for his hands to be capable of holding. He was murdered by her secret lover. I blame her for his death and she knows it. Yet still she tries to make herself appear innocent.

"-And it hurts me that you hold me at fault-"

See?

"Mother." I cut her off. "I won't stand here and speak of this any longer. Let's just go. Now." I demand. She sighs softly but grabs her purse off the table next to the front door, And leads me out.

The Mott house is pretty secluded, Much like our own, But we're neighbors. Their home is a five minute walk away from ours, Three minutes if you walk quickly. Though we're so close together we've never really gotten to know each other, Though me and mother moved here a little over six months ago.

Occasionally, Mother chats with Gloria about roses or cooking and other boring things that aren't worth talking about, But that's only when Mother comes back from shopping and Gloria is outside, gardening.

I've never met the son that mother mentioned. His name is...daffodil? Dandelion? I don't know he's named after some flower or something it sounds like.

"Why isn't John being forced to come along?" I ask. John is my older brother,25 years of age. He still lives at home with us because he's gone through the 'Heartbreak' of losing what was his soon to be wife, Chloe a few months ago. He was just getting ready to move out and find a house with her, But she died of some disease that I never bothered to learn about.

"He isn't feeling up to it." Mother states simply. Oh. He never is.

It's odd really, How I feel about John. He keeps himself locked up in his room but I feel as if I see him far too much. His room is right directly next to mine. I can always hear him weeping and sobbing and screaming at the skies about how unfair life is. It's odd. He never did that when we lost dad.

When he does come out of hibernation, Usually to get rid of his fluids or stuff his face, He's always red eyed and snotty nosed. Mother rubs his shoulders and kisses his forehead, But I simply can't find it within me to care.

He walks around as if he's dead and he probably is, inside. He rarely speaks but when he does it's something along the lines of 'It hurts, I miss her so' or 'You shouldn't do or say that to mother' He's always silently in my business and there's nothing I'd love more than to see him walk out the front door and never return.

Me and my brother never got along as kids. He'd pick on me and taunt me and stomp on me when mother wasn't looking. If I had just a cent for every time he spat in my eye, I'd be a whole lot richer than I already am.