Trust ~ Carlos Pena

Chapter One ~ A Different Look

– Luciander –

“Lucy, honey?” My mum called, her voice muffled from the walls between us.

I unattractively wiped my tears from my eyes and combed my hair back behind my ears and called back, “Come in!”

The door creaked open and Mom came into view, leaning on the doorframe with her left shoulder. She looked on the bed around me and shook her head.

“Luce, I know you really liked Theo and you did your best to keep him here but isn’t it better that he’s in a land full of kindness and compassion?”

“You’re talking to me like I’m five,” I mumbled as I slouched and sniffled. My hands reached for a photo and I picked it up and smiled a wistful smile. “Do you remember this, Mom? It was our one year anniversary.” I stared at it for a long time then the tears came rolling. I leaned into my mum and she wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. I wanted to stay forever in this comfortable embrace, breathing in her subtle scent mixed with some Chanel No.2 perfume.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know this hurts but you’ll get over it,” she told me, her grip becoming tighter. “You’re only twenty-two! There are plenty of guys knocking on the door to your heart! You’ve just been so focused on Theodore that you didn’t notice them.”

I shook my head. Sure, there might be plenty of guys but none of them were Theo and I felt as though I’d be betraying him if I agreed to go out with one of them; yet another reason why I’d never trust myself with another guy.

Looking down at my twiddling thumbs, I asked bluntly, “When’s the funeral?”

“Next week. You don’t have to go if you’re still not stable enough by-”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I whispered, thinking that if I spoke any louder my voice would break at some point in that sentence. “I swear.”

I felt air propelled into my hair as she sighed and stroked through my tangled jungle of hair.

“Go get a makeover, darling. Grab a haircut; buy a dress for the funeral, maybe some shoes as well. Just go have a day out of your room, okay?” Mom said kindly, pulling strands of hair that were sticking to my face with my dried tears as the adhesive. “I’ll give you money, alright? How’s a-hundred-and-fifty sound?”

If I wasn’t feeling so sad, I would’ve jumped up and squealed. But I didn’t. I just shrugged and sighed. She patted my shoulder and stood up, walking over to my closet and pulling out a plain tight black tank top and a mint-blue, knee-length skirt. She bent down and picked up a pair of black flats.

Kissing my head, she placed the skirt and top in my lap and left the room after saying, “Don’t leave yet; I need to give you the money.”

I dragged my feet off the bed and sluggishly picked up the tank top and sighed. I slid off the purple tie-dye singlet I was wearing and pulled on the tank top, tugging and folding at the bottom so it didn’t bunch up when I put on the skirt. I put both my feet in the skirt and pulled it up, making sure my tank top was tucked in correctly.

After sliding on my flats, I went downstairs where Mom was with her money in one hand and a hairbrush in the other. She suddenly threw the hairbrush to me and hid the money behind her back as though I hadn’t seen it yet.

I barely caught the hairbrush and I fumbled with it for a good few seconds before I got a good grip on it. The action that followed was automatic. My hand absent-mindedly brushed through the tousled mess that was my hair while I walked to my mum.

She was soon satisfied with my hair and handed me the one-hundred-and-fifty dollars, stepped aside and let me go to the shopping centre, which wasn’t that far a walk.