The Definition of Me

Chapter 9: New Beginnings, Old Ends.

It was dark and blurry. The figure that was standing in front of me was hard for me to distinguish. But just the presence of that person was enough to send goosebumps down my spine. I felt my hands shaking in fear and my feet trembling, and as I looked down on the floor, I saw pieces of glass that were scattered everywhere. A familiar font that was not clear for me to read had been printed on a sticker, stuck on one of the glasses and the only two letters that I could see were 'W' and "h".

Screaming and shouting echoed around the room.
"I married a drunk, that's my problem."

I have heard that voice before and the words have been repeated too, so I rubbed my eyes to get a clearer picture of the two people arguing next to me, although I no longer needed to see nor hear anymore. I knew exactly who they were and what was written on that sticker - 'whiskey'. The picture became clearer as I saw my parents' faces, confirming that my guess was right.

"I am sick of you, Claire." My father slurred, pulling my mother's hair and throwing her against the wall. I heard her short breaths as if she was squirming in his grasp.

"Dad, Stop!" I shouted in desperation, coming closer to get his hands off of her.

"Don't touch me, rat!" He punched me in the stomach, making me fall down on the floor and squint in pain.

"Please, stop." I cried, coughing and wrapping my arms around my body.

He raised his hand and made it into a fist, pointing at my mother's face.

"NO!" I screamed so loudly I could feel my throat started to hurt as a fountain of tears poured down my cheeks.

"NO!" I opened my eyes and started sobbing into my pillow. I was no longer laying on the floor but on my bed. It was still dark, so I turned to my right to unlock my phone which was put on the side cabinet to check the time. 4.46am.

"It was a nightmare" I tried to calm myself down so my breathing would become stable. Inhaling. Exhaling. And shaking in between.

Once I ensured my breathing was back to normal, I stood up and walked in the dark towards the bathroom and turned the sink on, splashing the ice cold water on my face, which made my hair slightly wet and left water marks on my shirt. And when I looked in the mirror that night, all I could see was how flawed I was: baggy, red eyes, pale, almost greenish looking skin and disheveled hair. I was a mess, looking like a walking zombie. Literally.

I need to go back to bed.

Once I made my way back to my room, I continuously stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of the city; cars were beeping, people were talking and the music was playing from restaurants and bars. I found comfort in the thought of me being wide awake because so was New York, and before I knew it, my eyes were closed and my body was wrapped up in a blanket.

***

8.11am.
Whilst I was living with Gemma, early rising became a newly achieved, admittedly beneficial habit for me, but that morning, all I could think of was how many naps would I be able to take. My body felt weak, but my hunger overcame my desire to go to sleep and I rushed towards the dining room for breakfast.

Gemma turned around from the cooking stove to face the dining room table and put a huge plate of pancakes on it for the three of us.

"This even smells delicious." I complimented her, to which she flattery grinned.

I added chocolate syrup and agave on top of my portion and looked over at my mom, who was silently sitting next to me. Her mouth was slightly opened as her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. Clearly, she was surprised by what she saw; the table was fully furnished, with a home-made family , I repeat, family breakfast put in front of her. Even I was shocked by that statement. But the look on her face, however, was not surprising to me. Constantly on the go for work, drinking endless cups of coffee and buying a takeaway for lunch and occasionally for dinner were the representations of her proper meals throughout the week. She would spend more time sitting in front of her laptop then cooking at the kitchen, and that was part of the reason why family dinners and outings seemed like a time-consumer rather than a day well spent for her.