Masquerade ✔️

five: noelle

And I've grown familiar
With villains that live in my head.

• • •

A twelve-year old me enters our lavish home, closing the door quietly so as not to be heard by Mom.

I carefully remove my shoes and set them down, slinging my backpack more securely over my shoulder.

My footsteps are silent and undetectable on the frigid tile, socked feet padding along towards the staircase.

Two steps up, a wineglass shatters against the wall beside me, spraying the white marble and my clean shirt with droplets of blood-red wine.

"You're late." My mother snarls, standing with her hands on her hips in the hallway.

"It's only three, Mom." I reply, not looking at her.

My mother's not hard on the eyes, she's only thirty-two and beautiful, tall and slender with ebony hair and a Cuban complexion that I didn't inherit. I resemble my mother more than my father, however, with wavy brown hair that I got from Dad, naturally tan skin from my dad's mom and my own mother's high, elegant features and deep brown eyes.

But when she's got a glass of wine in her hand, which is more often than not, Mom isn't all that nice-looking.

"And you were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago!" Mom yells, smearing her mascara across her eyelids.

"The bus was late, I'm sorry." I apologize and try to keep ascending the steps, but a sharp glare makes me freeze.

"Are you just going to leave that damn mess there, Noelle?" Mom questions, her eyes boring into mine.

I creep back down and begin picking up the shards, gathering them into a small pile.

"You ruined my life." Mom leans against the front table, in one of her "woe is me moods".

"If your b.astard of a father had bothered to use effective protection, then I wouldn't have turned into this. This drunk old divorcee. It's all your fault!" As I try to pass, the remains of the shards of glass cutting into my palms, a pair of sharp red nails dig into my arm, drawing blood to the surface.

"I'm sorry, Mom." In twelve years, I've learned keeping your head down is easier to do then protest her ludicrous claims.

"Good. Make your own damn food tonight, I'm too tired." Mom shoves me away and I stumble, falling to the ground and sending glass everywhere.

Blood trickles down my wrist where glass and fake nails have cut into my skin, streaming in red rivers down my arm and dripping to the floor.

It mingles with the red wine stained on the glass, turning both liquids to one.

Carefully, I sweep up the pieces as my mother scrutinizes every move, then am nearly out the door when a curse echoes through the empty house.

I whirl around and see Mom examining the sole of her foot, blood of her own pooling across the skin.

"You worthless little girl! Can't trust you with anything, huh?" One of Mom's hands lashes out and strikes me hard across the face, sending my head snapping to one side. Blood fills my mouth and the whole left side of my fave screams in pain.

"Get out of here before I turn you black and blue!" Mom screams, another one of her hands giving me a matching slap on the other side.

My face stinging, blood pounding g and dripping down my arm and whole body prickling, I flee.

• • •

I jerk awake with a cry, my silk sheets soaked with sweat.

The time on my phone reads three o'clock in the morning on November twenty-third, the anniversary.

Of course. I have this dream every year. Other nightmares come and go but this one is consistent.

God, how I hated my mother. She was a witch, a demon, wrapped up in a pretty package that everyone saw but me. I saw her for what she truly was, an alcoholic, abusive woman who got knocked up too young and couldn't manage having a child, especially not with her boss, who was nearly twice her age. But I never wished that she would die like that.

My mother died in 2010, when I was eighteen years old. She drank so heavily one night that her body shut down and her heart stopped.

I was away for the weekend with my friends. We had gone to visit another older friend, who went to college outside of Paris.

When I came home, I thought she was asleep. It was only when she didn't wake up that I realized something was wrong.

Suddenly, I realize I'm alone in bed. I haven't enjoyed a man's company since Xan mentioned I was turning into my mother, since she brought home guys nearly every night.

I dress quickly in a plain white shirt and black pants and take my time drinking a glass of OJ, moving silently in the darkened kitchen.

Finally I get in my car and brace myself for the day that is about to come.

• • •

The cemetery is empty when I enter three hours later, still dark and lit only by streetlights lining the sidewalks.

I flick on the flashlight and begin to pick my way deeper into the graveyard, avoiding stepping on any tombstones.

It only takes a few minutes to find the plot, I come annually, and I place a white rose, my mother's favourite, on the frozen grass.

The November air tears at my coat and I wrap the fabric tighter around myself, wiping a layer of snow off the headstone.

Nadia Marie Paxton
April 11th 1971-November 23rd 2010
Mother, sister, daughter

"Hey, Mom." I whisper, sitting cross-legged on the grass.

"You died six years ago today. Remember? I was only eighteen.

If you were here, you'd probably be ignoring me like you are now. And don't worry, I wasn't expecting anything less.

How's hell? I hear it's nice and warm, like where you wanted Dad to take us on vacation. Are they nice to alcoholic w.hores who drink themselves to death?" I ask, playing with the laces of my leather boots.

I hated my mother, more than anyone else in the world. She verbally and physically abused me, not to mention did nothing about my dyslexia, ignored me, never went more than two days without a drink, and forced me to build up all the walls in my heart and my brain, preventing me from having a relationship, preventing me from loving someone. The walls are so tall and so solid that it's going to be nearly impossible to break them down, if someone ever manages to worm their way into my heart.

A/N: Nate and Noelle are finally going to meet next chapter! I hope you enjoyed this little look into Noelle's past, which will be explored more deeply later on in this story.