Isolation (Book #1 of the Taylor Series)

Three

I get home that night at eleven thirty. My mom is waiting for me, sitting in the cheap, vomit green colored chair that she managed to snag at a flea market for twenty five dollars. None of us kids ever sit in it, we much prefer the comfort of the floor because there's no bed bugs in the carpet. This infuriates her to no end.

"Dinner is in the microwave." She says sharply. I nod and walk through the living room archway, into the kitchen. "Did she keep you late again?" She asks, and I nod again even though she can't see me.

Something I learned about talking with Mom: Don't do it. She always turns everything into this long, unwanted discussion about anything and everything just so she can go off on someone to release some of her own tension. It's annoying. Especially after I've spent my entire day at school and then at work.

She follows me into the kitchen, "Eve, I don't think it's fair for you to be staying late all of the time. Not when I need help here." She complains as she brushes her auburn hair behind her ear.

'Help here' to her means 'Raise all of my siblings while she spends hours at a time at the alter, praying that her god will bring me to the good side' or whatever. If she were a normal mother, it would just mean washing dishes or picking my siblings up from school occasionally.

Not that I could do that, anyway. The elementary and middle school are forty five minutes away from the high school if there's no traffic, which is never the case, because the school district is cruel to Blue Collar families like ours. 

"Yeah, well, they needed me today. Jules is out taking care of his wife, and Lacey is a Freshman and can't stay out late." I open the microwave and look at the now cold and mushy food. At least she remembered I'm vegetarian this time. I close the door, type in one minute, and press start. "I couldn't just leave Peterson all by herself. It would've taken her hours to close shop."

She huffs and walks closer to me. I can feel her breath on my neck.

"Don't forget you live under my roof and you'll follow my rules, Eve Alexandra Nicholson." She spits out my name as if it's poison, "If I want my daughter home at a reasonable hour, that's my prerogative." Her tone is thick with authority.

I don't say anything and this fills her with rage for some reason. Maybe the rage was already there, just waiting for something (or someone) to throw her over the edge. Of course it'd be me. It usually is.

She presses her bony fingers into my shoulder and turns me around, "Look at me when I'm talking to you." She hisses.

"I thought you were done." It comes out before I can stop it. It must be the exhaustion getting to me... She doesn't give me time to apologize before she grasps my face in her hand and shoves it backward. My lower back hits the counter, and I catch myself with my elbows.

"Don't get an attitude with me right now. I mean it. You do not want to make me madder than I already am." She growls. 

Yeah, no kidding. Though I'd use a different definition of 'mad' to describe... Perhaps the definition that is synonymous with 'crazy'. 

"Sorry, I'm just... Tired." I mutter.

The timer goes off, and I turn to release my food from the radiation prison I just put it through. It looks somehow less appetizing than it did when it was ice cold. 

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," She grumbles, and I hear her pull a chair out from under the table. It creaks under her weight, which isn't that much. Maybe 100 pounds, if that. "You shouldn't be staying out this late. It's not good for you." She massages her temples with her fingers, and I set the plate down on the table.