I finally come out of my room and my mother is asleep, slumped against a wall. I try and step quietly but she stirs from her sleep.
"Celeste, is that you?", she asks, her accent sounding thicker than normal. She had moved here from Spain when she was a teenager.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other and sigh, showing that it is in fact mean but I'm in no mood to talk.
She pushes her dirty-blond, almost brown, hair away from her face and sighs too. "You have to talk to me sometime, Celeste."
No, I didnt. She knew damn well Aimee's death was partially her fault.
YOU ARE READING
her words.
Teen FictionTRIGGER WARNING: suicide, depression & a hell of a lot of stupid thing like slut shaming bc 15 year old me was an idiot. '"Here.", said her mother as she handed me the notebook. "She wanted you to have this." Without saying another word she wiped...
