The Mafia's Possession (Ongoing, Being Edited)

Chapter 5

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Chapter 5

"Mom, when will I see my daddy?"

"I let you see your dad almost every day Clarissa."

"No, not Chris. I meant my real dad." Five year old me looked up from my homework at my mother.

She was mad.

"Never. He doesn't deserve to see you. He doesn't care about you." she told me before she walked out of the kitchen, leaving me behind crying.

When I was in pre-k I had asked her why I was the only one who didn't have a father. She would then respond with "Because your father doesn't care about you. But don't worry because I care about you", which was something you weren't supposed to tell a five year old. It was also the biggest lie ever she ever told me, I later realized as I got older.

That night she came home drunk. Just like she had been doing since she and my step father Chris had separated.

I heard her come home, stumbling through the front door, into the living room and watched as she fell onto the couch. I got up from my position at the top of the stairs and made my way down into the living room where she was now struggling to take off her shoes. It was Friday and I knew that on Fridays she would come home in that state. I was only five but I knew that she was drunk. She looked up when she heard the bottom step creak.

A minute of silence passed between us as we stared at each other. I was pretty sure that no five year old kid should have to see their mother in that state. I don't think a five year old should have known what an alcoholic drink even was. But I did. I quickly learned that what she drank put her in this state and that whatever she was drinking was bad. I learned that it was better to stay away from her when she was like this but I was five and I wanted to be with my mother.

I made a move to go and help her only for her to push me away and have me fall backward. She started speaking, her words barely made any sense but I understand what she was trying to say. It was my fault she screamed at me. It was my fault that Chris left her.

But how was I at fault? I wasn't sure. I sat there in silence, still sitting on the floor, while she continued to scream at me. "He's not even your father! Why does he even care about you" she screamed. I, of course, knew that it was the 'bad' drink making her talk that way so I never blamed her for her words or actions; until I got older and learned better.

I ran up to my room that night and called Chris from the phone he had given me when he found out about my mother's daily drinking routine. 'Only for emergencies he told me'. I cried into the phone and told him to take me with him. He told me that he would pick me up in the morning.

After he dropped me off at home the next day, he told me to go upstairs to my room because he needed to talk to my mother. I did what he told me to do. As soon as I closed the door to my room the shouting between my mother and Chris began. After the day that Chris had a 'talk' with my mom, I was no longer allowed to see Chris every week; I was only allowed to see him once a month.

I awake from my dream with a jolt. The first thing I see is a white ceiling. The first thing I feel was that I'm laying down on a very comfortable bed.

"Where the hell am I," is the first thing I mentally ask myself as I try to sit up from the bed. As I struggle to sit up I notice that my hand is in a cast that stops midway up my arm.