Atticus

A little slice of Chapter 7 (Candice)

Atticus releases on May 2nd. Can't give away too much. ;)

I race back to the apartment, hoping—no, praying—my mother isn't home. Or at the very least, passed out from a night of drinking. But no such luck. The kitchen light is on and I can see her through the window, sitting at the table with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. My stomach drops. I'm in for it now.

I want to turn around and run but I know I'll have to face her eventually. I slowly open the door and calmly walk over to the table, scooting back a chair as I sit across from her. Hopefully there will be enough space for me to avoid a slap—or worse.

She doesn't say a word, she simply stares at me, cocking her head to the side as if in serious contemplation on how to murder me.

I'll try my best not to set her off; I don't want to say anything she could use against me. She's already fond of that little trick, but I have to come up with something. Anything to break the solid block of ice hanging between us. She reaches for her whiskey glass, pulling her eyes away from me, and downs the remaining sip.

I take it as my cue.

"I'm sorry...I fell asleep at a friend's house after school," I lie, but not entirely.

I watch little wrinkles form in the corner of her eyes as she peers back at me.

And there it is.

If she had the power to kill me with one look, I'd be a bloody mess on the floor.

Her fist pounds on the table. "Bullshit!"

I flinch but don't have time to react because she grabs the side of the table and jerks it up. The whiskey bottle slides down, spilling all over the floor, and when she suddenly lets go, the table slams back down, narrowly missing my foot. I'm startled by the crash and jolt out of my chair, crouching as I back away from her like some kind of frightened animal. Mom means business and I dread what will come next. She's beyond fast, a whiskey-fueled leopard, and I am once again her prey. Before I know it, her hand cracks across my face. It burns instantly. I have no doubt there's a trail of red welts on my cheek.

"You lie to me again and you won't be able to talk at all! Tell me the truth!" Her breath reeks as usual and I try like hell not to let it show on my face.

"It's the truth, Mom! I really did fall asleep," I say, trying to ignore the hard sting on my cheek.

She stares at me for a minute as I secretly pray for the old Mom to come out and laugh, saying she was only kidding. She always did have a sick sense of humor.

"Your curfew is midnight, Goddammit! And not a second after!" She staggers and points her finger at me like it somehow increases the severity of her words. "This isn't over, little missy. Not by a long shot!"

She backs away and blinks as if tired of dealing with me, fumbling to reach another half empty whiskey bottle from the counter. Not a normal reaction, but I'm suddenly grateful for the late hour and the alcohol that might have made her world spin.

I watch her stumble away in a drunken haze, hoping like hell she won't remember this in the morning.

~~