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Chapter 11: Maya

Edited

I finally arrive home and silently curse to myself when I see the lights are still on. I check my watch: 4:25pm. She should be out by now. Why is she here? She's the only one who refuses to turn the lights off, even during the day. It has to be her. Sneaking out is easy because I can just jump out the balcony then through the backyard but the only way in is the front door since the backdoor is always locked and sadly I don't have the key for that. Is Frieda, our cook here? I suddenly remember she does grocery shopping at this time of day.

Perfect.

I would climb but I'd be too noisy, and I've tried and trust me it's hard, which leaves me with only one solution: I have to face my mother.

I swallow hard. I'm going to get into big trouble.

I open the doorknob and walk cautiously in. I see my mother glaring at me from behind a kitchen counter, holding a glass of alcohol with a few ice-cubes in it. Her nails are tapping on the marble surface of the counter and then suddenly any fear or anxiety simply fades away as it is all replaced with contempt.

I hate her.

"So now you miss school too?" She questions without really searching for an answer. I know when she's being sarcastic, and when she is, I know I'm in real trouble. "What are you? A rebel? Do you think it's cool or something? Did you want attention? Well, now you have my attention." She asks me as she starts chuckling sadistically.

I clench my jaw.

Not everything is about you.

"So did you have a nice swim?" She asks smiling, noticing my dripping wet hair. She's hysterical. "Answer me!!" She yells from the top of her lungs, sending me chills as goosebumps form on my skin, yet she still keeps her hysterical smile. It's like she's ready to laugh out at any time.

My own mother now scares me.

"What now? Cat got your tongue?" She says going back to her eerie smile. "You know... I would've liked you better if you were more smart, respectable, pretty... Perhaps more like me."

My heart tugs and something in me just clicks as my eyes tingle in pain. I should be like her? The woman who always shows the worst kind of side towards me wants me to take her as an example of her unacceptable behaviour? I feel my whole body start to shake in rage.

"What's respectable about holding a glass full of liquor all day?" I yell at her, anger surging more and more within me. "Sorry I wasn't born perfect! You are ridiculous! You're the worst role model any girl can have! I wish I was adopted!" I shout back at her.

She puts her glass down harshly, her eyebrows so tight together that they formed a scowl on her face. She stomps her way towards me, her heels tapping on the floor, and as she does so she arrives right up in my face. In her tall heels, she's barely taller than I am but just enough to give the appearance and feeling of towering over me.

"How could you say that!? You're a very lucky girl! How dare you complain!?!" She says pointing her dainty finger at me.

"Oh sorry, maybe I just never grew up with the one thing I needed: motherly love."

And with that, she slaps me. Harder than she's ever slapped me before that I feel my neck painfully twist too far. The sting is sharp, but as it fades it is replaced with a burning, scorching feeling instead. I don't know which is worse but I know they're both as bad. The pain is horrible and I feel like crying but I hold back my tears. I don't dare show her she's won. She hasn't.

She leans in, her face close to my ear.

"You may wish you were adopted but I wish you were never born." She hisses as a snake would, full of hatred.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt, but never will I ever admit that to her or anyone else.

I walk past her and go up the fleet of stairs before heading to bed, letting all the tears I held back previously unwind. Lying in a ball, I find myself feeling lonelier than ever. Maybe I don't need a mother, maybe I just need myself in life.

"Maya..." She chants softly in my ear.

"Go away..." I whisper to the voices in my head. "She's gone..."

"I love you, baby." She continues.

"SHE'S GONE!" I yell out in anger as the tears push through and I silently sob in my bedroom, no one in sight to help me or comfort me.

As usual.

💫💫💫

I head to the bathroom and as I come in I see my reflection on the big mirror, I want to hit it, break it, just as I had a few years ago. I want to let loose and simply stop the pain. My cheek isn't even red, it's blue. She's managed to bruise my cheek. This will be harder to cover up tomorrow, I simply feel completely indifferent to everything else as I've finally managed to let out all my emotions through the salty tears pouring out of my eyes. I'm drained of both emotions and energy.

I go back down to grab ice from the freezer. She's not there. Seems like she's out.

I'd rather she be out so I don't have to see her shabby face or hear her hurtful words.

My phone buzzes and I take it out of my pocket.

Gigi: sorry I wasn't in school today. My cold got better so I'll be going tomorrow. How did it go?

Me: I'll tell you tomorrow.

I sigh as I look around the kitchen. I'm hungry.

Don't eat.

Even when she's not here, her presence and scowling voice are within me. I shrug it off.

Counting calories and limiting meals have almost become a robotic habit that is hard to overcome. It's not that I don't like to eat. On the contrary, I love to eat. My mother simply implemented different rules and regulations about food rather recently, something that appeared with her cynical personality. She wouldn't want me to be ugly and fat in public, now would she? Instead, I am forced to eat mainly fruits and vegetables and not even in large quantities. According to her calories are calories, whether they be in bread or apples. I spot her alcohol collection and eye it. What is it about alcohol that makes her want to drink so much?

I take out a glass, add a few ice-cubes and take the first bottle available. Whisky, it reads. I fill the cup to halfway slowly chugging it down my throat. It's disgusting, its burn is harsher than fire. But after a while, it slowly seeps away and it starts to make me feel funny. All warm and nice inside. It feels so relaxing that I almost forget the throbbing pain on my cheek. Just a little more and I won't feel anything at all... I refill my glass, finishing it quickly too, cringing as I once again feel the burn. I keep going because I like that funny feeling it gives me. I continue and continue refilling that cup without watching time pass by me.

I feel so hot...

I need air... Fresh air...

Ewww, I have the hiccups now...

~~~

Hey guys!

I know this chapter is a little harder to read ethically, but what are your thoughts?

Song: Trifonic - Broken (Ficci Remic)