A Collection of Short/Long Stories I've Written;

Becoming Ronnie: 21.

“Cinnamon latte,” my mother said, placing it down in-front of me.

Two things were wrong about this morning; to identify this morning different to every other. My mother hadn’t said my name, after indicating to me that my coffee was done. Also, my sister was sat downstairs before me, without having to have been shouted at, to come down stairs. She was quietly sitting at the table, with a slice of grapefruit in-front of her.

I furrowed my eyebrows and looked under the island desk. My sister had flat dolly shoes on, instead of the usual heel.

I sat back up and gave her a quizzed look, but she blanked me.

I ate my grapefruit quickly, and as I stood up, my mother opened her mouth, as if about to say something. I raised an eyebrow and stared at her, challenging her to speak and ruin my day. She closed her mouth again and I began to walk towards the door. Demi got down from the stool and I heard her feet patter along the floor after me.

“Have a good day, Veronica, Demetria.” My mother said.

I rolled my eyes, sighed heavily and walked off, to go and grab my bag.

***

*Demi’s POV*

As we drove to school, silently, I knew my sister wanted to talk to me. I knew she had seen my shoes. She’s smart. She was probably analysing it in her large brain. I knew she wanted to know why I hadn’t told her about mom and dad. About what happened.

There were many reasons why I didn’t want to tell her. But I knew she was wrong about one thing.

I didn’t hate mom.

I just hated what happened, over the past few years.

Our mother had been punishing herself for her actions every day, so much so that she would forget, sometimes, that we even existed because she became a workaholic to keep her mind off of her mistakes. That is what I hated. The fear of blaming yourself, to help yourself to get through something – it wasn’t right. I knew our mother didn’t look after us, and that is what I hated. I admired Audrey and although, sometimes, I pushed the limit, it was only to remind her that we’re there.

“Can I ask one question?”

I clicked my tongue. I had been right. She had wanted to talk, it was just when to say something. I knew Ronnie was waiting for the perfect moment. Like now, as she cut the engine, was a perfect time. After the questions were over and the sadness or awkwardness kicked in, we could both make an easy escape.

“What is it?”

“Why did mom feel the need to comfine in another man? Because she must of, needed comfort. She wouldn’t have cheated just to cheat.”

I turned around to face my sister. “What makes you think that? What makes you think that it wasn’t just an affair?” I asked, not to delay answering the question – because I knew the answer – but because I wondered how she had figured that out in her head.

“’Our mother knows better than that.”

“So?”

“I just… it doesn’t make sense. Even I remembered that they were happy. It couldn’t have all just come crashing down because mom went out and slept with someone else. She wouldn’t do that. Not even under the influence of alcohol. She doesn’t drink. Something had to happen to mom and dad for her to confine in another man, Dem.”

“Something happened. You’re right.”

“I’m correct?” my sister replied.

“Yes.”