Clothed in our grief

Chapter Fifty Five

"I left that life when I left John. Bringing me back into all of this isn't going to help you, you know." You're supposed to be asleep, but you can hear your mom talking to somebody on the phone while she's in the living room. Damian must have used the back door, or he would have walked past her. She's been having conversation with somebody for a while now, and half the time she sounds pretty stressed. You tried to mind your own business, but the second your father's name was heard and registered in your ears? You jumped up in your bed and swung your feet over the edge.

Wearing a large grey T-shirt and a pair of red cotton shorts, you managed to stumble your way through your dark room to the door. Pressing your palm against the wall with enough force just to hold your body up. The draw backs of not being able to use your fingers, you have to use more force and push on things to keep yourself up. At least your arms might get a little stronger?

You pressed your ear to the door, listening to her speak more rapidly in a hushed voice. As if she was tying to keep her voice down, afraid of waking you or Laura up. Laura, as only a couple weeks old, has managed to have sensitive ears. She's a light sleeper, lets just say that.

"You piece of shit, bring my kids into this again and I will personally go after your family." It sounds like shes talking through her teeth, and you only wince at the words she's spoken. You've never heard her talk like that, and to listen to her threaten someones family made you feel uncomfortable. You pressed your palms to the door, unable to feel the texture of it, but the cold temperature of the wood. You shook your head to yourself, listening to her talk some more. You dragged your right hand down to the doorknob, and let the other hand follow. You had to hold both of your wrists to the door and turn as slowly as possible. Moving your arms slowly because opening the door with your wrists was hard enough, now you just needed not to make any noise.

Door open, good. Mom seen you? Nope. Also good.

"My son is still missing. Do you honestly believe that I give a damn that you need me in the house of magic? I'm not apart of that, I never was. You're calling the wrong person, you'd be better off contacting Jason Blood." You looked into the living room down the hallway and saw her standing next to the couch, phone in hand. She was wearing a black shawl like wool coat with a dark blue button up underneath. She had her hair brushed back, and she was wearing a pair of black plain pants. You looked down to her feet and saw she was wearing shoes, was she planning on leaving? That's not exactly every day attire. It looks like she's going somewhere.

"I told you not to bring up my kids. (Y/n) only inherits her fathers half when she turns eighteen, even then I don't want her going anywhere near Newcastle. No- You listen! The house of magic is a dangerous thing and (Y/n) didn't grow up around it as often as you think she did." She raises her voice a bit, and to what sounds like her cutting someone off. Probably where you got that habit from. You peer down the hallway with narrowed eyes as she starts pacing, giving you time to quickly tip toe down the hallway. Your legs, bandaged with ace wrapping and gauze. Recently redressed and cleaned. It's not like you can't walk, it's just painful if you do it for too long.

Walking down the hallway on the tips of your toes, holding your breath to keep quiet. You managed to get to the living room, seeing your mom wander her way into the kitchen. As soon as she turns her back, you quickly dive behind the suede grey sofa and hold your hand to your mouth.

She seems to pause for a moment, but she continues talking.

"What do you mean the house is in her name? The lot it's on don't even exist to the naked eye. John's called it several things, the damn house has a body host of it's own. It shouldn't be on a physical plain, so the sense of there being actual paperwork is just redundantly useless." She scoffs and turns around and leans on the kitchen counter. Holding the phone to her ear by her shoulder as she checks something on the counter.