Out Into The Light (A Hamilton Fanfic)

Chapter Four: When You're Home

It was getting dark once I got back to my apartment complex in Hamilton Heights. Hamilton Heights was a very fine arts community. It was not uncommon to see people with instruments on their backs. They were especially fun to make up lives for. Maybe they were in a band and maybe one day one if them will be famous. Maybe they were in school and used the gigs they got for money. We were a nice community and in recent violent activity has significantly decreased. The community was mostly Dominican but there was a percentage of Whites still here. I opened the door to my complex and walk up to the stairs to the third floor. Absentmindedly, I unhook my keychain from my pants and pull up my house key which was in between my bicycle lock key and my flashlight. I turn the key in the lock and waved to Mrs. Amora, an old widow who watched me occasionally as a child, who was coming back from cleaning her doormat.

"Hello, Little Lark," the elderly woman spoke.

"Hi, abuela," I call back. She really wasn't related to me, but she watched over me. I didn't know much Spanish, but she did teach me a couple words before her services were no longer needed. I looked away, took a breath, and entered my house. I knew the smell easily and any hope I had quickly disintegrated.

"Mom?"

Please, let her be here. Please let her be here. I thought as I looked in the rooms before looking into her room.

"Mom?"

I found her on the other side of the bed, barely conscious and with a bottle of red wine rolled out of her grasp. The liquid stained the white carpet like blood. I turned my attention back to her and shook her slightly.

"Hey Mom, did you have a bad day?"

She moaned. Probably a yes.

"Hey Mom, let's get you into the bathroom."

She groaned when I grabbed her arm and tried to lift her up.

"No, I wanna stay here," Mom muttered and let herself go back to the floor. I rocked on my heels and ran my hands through my hair.

"Mom, you did the bad again. You might puke and its much easier to clean up tile than carpet, you know that."

She curled up into a ball," I'm not drunk."

"Yeah, you are. Come on let's get up."

"No."

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about what to say. I felt really guilty about this, but she was so shit-faced she wouldn't remember once she was coherent. "But you'd know," my conscious spoke. I took a deep breath before exhaling.

"Mom, I think Dad's in the bathroom. Let's go see him, he's been on his trip for a long time, hasn't he."

Mom uncurled herself slightly and opened her eyes,"Matthew's home?"

"Yes, Mommy." I lied to her hopeful eyes. I'm going to hell for this.

"Yes, Mommy." I lied to her hopeful eyes. I'm going to hell for this. Mom uncoordinatedly tried to get up but she ended up falling onto her ass with an "ow".

"Come on Mom, let me help."

She held out her hands and I helped her up. I half-carried-half-dragged her to the bathroom across the hall. I opened the door with a light kick and carried her by the toilet.

"Where's Matthew? Lark, baby, where's your Dadda?" Mom worried.

"I think he went back on his trip Mom," I sadly replied. Yup, definitely going to hell. Mom dissolved into crying before puking into the toilet. I held her hair up as she tried to get the toxins out. Mom was doing better. She hasn't gotten wasted in about six months. Maybe she got hit on or fired. Mom had curled up onto the tile and fallen asleep. I washed my hands in the sink and went to the calendar in the kitchen. Today's date was circled in red. Inside the scarlet circle was S+M cased in a heart. S+M...Sarah and Matthew. It was my parents anniversary.

I sighed and started a load of dishes before making myself a piece of toast covered with peanut butter for supper. I peaked in at Mom who was still passed out on the floor before going back to the kitchen table. I finished off the toast before going through the bills. I didn't know if Mom still had her job and to pay these I would have to dip into my savings. The library didn't pay that much. I pulled my hand through my hair and sighed. I really wanted to punch something.

A creak broke my silent tantrum. I swiveled toward the hallway entrance. Mom was leaning against the wall with tears streaming down her face.

"It-It's my anniversary, Baby."

I got up from my chair and came close to her, "I know Mom, happy anniversary. Do you want anything to eat? Water?"

She waved me off and wobbled to the couch. She ungracefully slumped onto it,"No, god I'm so sorry, Lark. Its just a really bad day and-"

"-Mom its fine. Do you still have your job?"

She looked up at me with wide eyes, "He hit on me, my boss."

"What'd you do Mom?"

"I-I kinda threw a stapler at him and stole the wine from his mini fridge."

I resisted the urge to laugh at my tiny Mom throwing a stapler at a chubby, bald man. My feminist side was a bit proud, but she did get drunk. Mom started crying again and I was at her side in an instant.

"It's alright Mom. Hey, what about we get you to bed and I'll find some suitable jobs for you. Maybe get a couple applications, too."

Mom looked up at me with wide eyes, her flaxen-colored hair framing her face. "You'd do that?"

I nodded and gave her a fake smile," Yes, Mom."

"Oh such a crummy mother, I wish your father was here!"

I held her to my chest as she cried, "I know, I know Mommy. I miss Daddy, too. And your not a bad Mom, your just hurt, that's all. And hurt Mommies can come to their daughters and cry, it's all right."

Her cries carried on while I stoked her back. Eventually, she cried herself into slumber. Carefully, I pull out from under her and place a blanket from the linen closet on top of her. I turned off all but the light above the sink and went back into my room. I shut the door quietly and collapsed into bed.

After a couple hours of trying to sleep, with insomnia winning. I took out my phone and went to twitter. I had shit-ton of notifications. I scrolled through them and read Lin's post

@Lin_Manuel: Ran into this @lark_evans twice in two days! (Once literally) Really nice about it!

I smiled and went to Spotify to play my Hamilton playlist. Eventually, I fell asleep listening to Leslie sing Theodosia.

Word Count: 1182

And the plot thickens. This chapter pretty much wrote itself which is the best. Not very sure what to do beyond this, but it will go somewhere.

So this was today's update and I'm a couple hundred words into the next one. Hope you enjoyed!

Ever yours, hlwing