m e l o d y

O3//are

//potential trigs//

Saturday 16 August 2003, 9:24 a.m.

I manage to avoid going downstairs until around nine-thirty, which is an accomplishment for me - I usually sleep either two hours or twelve, and last night was definitely much closer to the former.

By the time I pad down to the kitchen in my bedsocks and see my mom perched on the bench top, I realise something's up.

Reason number one: mom's makeup is smudged. There is literally no other time I can recall her with imperfect makeup - this is weird. Reason number two: I'm pretty sure she's supposed to be hung-over, but she's put in all this effort to look nice. She's even wearing perfume and fresh leggings.

And to be honest, that's already enough reasons to put me on edge.

"'Morning, Mom," I say warily. I'm never sure about how to act around her, drunk or (relatively) sober. I move to grab a box of sugary cereal, and she watches me with an unreadable expression.

Mom has a sort of face that tries too hard to be young again. She has several frown lines pressed into her forehead that plastic surgery hasn't entirely fixed. Her green eyes shine a little too bright and her lips are fixed in place with a pucker. Her naturally dark hair is obviously greying, badly covered up with the wrong colour dye, and her skin's been fake-tanned so much it's become a permanent, brown-orange tinge.

All in all, her face looks pretty unnatural.

"Good morning, hun," she replies, mocking me somewhat, but her tone changes into something smooth and sickly sweet when she says, "Look, I've got something to tell you."

"What, that you're sorry?" I snap at her, and she actually has the nerve to look confused.

"For what, sweetie?"

"For everything, that's what!" I spin and glare at her. "For not thinking about me before you drink and come home and put me in danger! For picking up those empty bottles and smashing them against my hands! For yelling at me, for belittling me every time you even look at me! Newsflash, mom: I'm your daughter. A daughter IS. NOT. A. TOY!"

Her face is priceless; she obviously thinks I couldn't possibly muster the brainpower to deliver that little speech, let alone stand up to her.

She places a 'reassuring' hand on my forearm and begins to speak, and I don't sense the venom until too late.

"Oh, hun. I never mean to do all those awful things, you do realise."

Her thumb strokes my wrist, up and down, and my breathing quickens.

No, no, no. Don't let this bitch get to you, Mel.

"The thing is, when you're drunk, it's like you're in a different world."

There's a building pressure on my chest, now, as she tightens her fingers around my wrist, my scars, my memories. Her voice drops to a whisper, and I want to scream.

"You have no idea, darling, of what it feels like. No responsibilities. Nothing has consequences, and everything makes so much sense."

She's practically purring now, as her thumb presses into a sensitive vein, probably a pressure point. My vision goes hazy at the edges, and my heart's going ballistic. I'm struggling to breathe, and my mother - my mother - smiles.

"So when I drive home, no, of course I don't think of you. You are of no importance. You are just an unnecessary complication. You take up space."

I can barely stand up straight, the negativity weighs so much. Mom resumes stroking my inner arm, up and down. All I can see is black, black, black, and her voice seems far away. A shard of ice runs down my spine.

I concentrate on breathing. Where's the music when you need it?

"I must say, Melody, you deserve every last bit. You're a nasty piece of work, you know. Even worse than your father."

I close my eyes and shudder, and I can nearly feel the pleasure that rolls off of the monster in front of me.

"So, no. No, Melody, I will not say sorry."

What a bitch.

I tear my arm away from her grasp and will the tears back into my eyes.

"M-mom, you're wr-wrong," I hiccup, somewhat determinedly. Her smile remains fixed in place.

"Oh, but I'm not."

She nods, looking pleased with herself as I stand up and go to leave, grabbing the cereal as I go.

"And honey?"

I don't bother to answer - she's not worth it. Stomping upstairs and gulping back sobs, I only faintly hear the words that will change my life.

"I thought you'd want to know, darling - you're enrolled in the private school. Tree of Life, right? Isn't that just great?"

I freeze in my tracks, and my heart plummets.

Fuck.

She's just hell-bent on ruining my life, isn't she?

---

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