The Incredible League of Goth Pizza Haters (RH)

Part 82

---Sylvia---
The grilled cheese sizzled on the pan as I pressed the spatula onto it. Ricky was sleeping. The cats were chilling. At the moment, all seemed well.

There was a knock on the front door.

I paused, staring at my cooking sandwich.

Sandwich or door?

Sandwich...

Another series of knocks.

Door.

I frowned and switched the knob on the stove to off before leaving the kitchen to peer through the peephole. My mother shivered in the afternoon chill. I opened the door and she smiled at me, wrapping me in a hug. She held a bag in one hand, which had poked me in the back when we hugged, and she set it on the floor of the house absentmindedly as she removed her coat and I closed the door.

"Hey, honey. How're you feeling?" she pressed her hand on my forehead and I tried to casually move away.

"Okay." I said. It's my default answer.

"You're sure..?" I wondered if she'd heard from Ricky or something that I'd been sick the past few days. I know she didn't know it was from withdrawal, and I was glad. That was one thing I was thankful for about being an adult: the ability to withhold information from others because you're over eighteen.

I know I wasn't taking the drugs by choice or anything but still.. She didn't need to know.

As far as I was concerned, no one did.

It wasn't anything personal, it was just kind of embarrassing. To have something that dramatic happen to me and burden the lives of those around me, like an invitation to the Sylvia Show. I don't like being the center of attention and there was another component as well.

People look at you differently. It can be because you have some rough components of your past or just because you dress differently but.. People start to look at you through this filter, like that one thing they learned about you completely defines who you are and suddenly becomes the most prominent feature of your entire existence.

I wouldn't be someone who was in a band or someone who makes animations and has the white hair and the tattoos.

I would be the girl who was kidnapped and drugged in a basement beneath the club. And like with my slightly concerning past and lowkey depression, I wasn't going to let that define me. I am not my struggles. I am not the things holding me down.

She made her way into the kitchen and frowned down at my half cooked sandwich.

"What is this?"

"My dinner." I said and she shook her head, lifting the pan and shaking it over the trashcan until my food dropped inside. I felt that loss in my soul.

"I brought you some pot roast. Where's Ricky?"

"Sleeping."

"At five-thirty in the afternoon? He's not the one who's on pain medication, he shouldn't be sleeping so much." she rambled on, lifting tupperware from her bag and peeling the lid off. She's a nice person, she just gets this way when she's anxious sometimes. Regardless, I still felt mildly offended.

"No, but he is the one who's been up all night making sure I'm okay, so let him sleep. He deserves it." I replied curtly. She pursed her lips and shot me a look but kept taking out food. She shooed me out of the kitchen and I settled down on the couch. I turned on the tv to keep my mind awake and soon my mother and I were eating food and engaging in light conversation.

Nick got the job he wanted. Dani's driving lessons are going well. My mother's taking up painting lessons again. She'd been cleaning the past few days, too. That was wonderful to hear and it brought me hope that maybe she was finally breaking free from the pain that Abby had left the whole household in.