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> Chapter Twelve <
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Maya Todd
The endless clinking of glasses upstairs has become so familiar that it's almost eerie. Whatever beverage is in them often changes depending on the time of day, the weather, or sometimes the mood of my father's boss.
His work is still- somehow - a mystery to me. He won't tell me that much, and my mom is a locked treasure chest. My parents are not alcoholics, but my father is definitely a workaholic. There's no denying it. He's constantly trying to please his boss; always on the search for a raise or promotion. Believe me; it's not hard when you're a classy man who is good with his words, has a pretty wife, and a straight-A student as a daughter.
As his daughter, I've gotten truckloads of attention from co-workers and the wife of his boss. It's exhausting. They all know what age I stopped wetting the bed; the exact way I learned how to ride a bike without training wheels; how I have a scar on my left palm that rests below the joint of my thumb, just above my wrist. They don't know that the scar only shows up in summer. Only because I'm the only one who's noticed. The second thing they don't know is how I got the scar. They think they know, and so do my parents and everyone else, but only I and one other person knows the actual story behind the scar.
I lean against the cold, stone wall of the basement and sigh slowly, my chest falling drastically. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding that one breath in my lungs. I wonder how long it stayed before it drifted away.
I yelped as the bottle crashed into the bathroom sink, shattering to pieces. I cursed under my breath, beginning to use my fingers to pick up the delicate shards of glass.
Georgia peered around the doorframe of the room, her eyes round. "Sounds like you're having some slight troubles." She stated. I looked up, my heart practically skipping a beat as I saw her eyes resting on the mess I'd made.
The strong scent of beer filled the room, stinging my nose as the last drops slid down the drain of the sink. Georgia grinned and walked over to me, standing beside me as I watched her eye down the mess. I hadn't noticed my fingers still moving over the broken glass, and suddenly a sharp pain burnt at my palm. I jerked my hand up, but before I even managed to see what it was, Georgia had my hand in hers.
"Georgia--" I struggled to find my voice. She turned the tap, ice cold water rinsing itself over my hand and onto the glass shards in the sink. Humiliation fuelled me as I shook my head. "I'm so stupid..." I muttered.
She just ignored me as she pulled open the medicine cabinet above the sink, our reflection swinging past my eyes as the mirror was pulled aside. Georgia moved quick, her grip on my wrist gentle as she reached for the small bottle of rubbing alcohol, tucked between Aspirin and some bottle that was turned, hiding the label.
"Georgia," I whined, "please don't. That stuff stings, it burns, Georgia, I'm fine. Please don't." I begged and begged, trying to pull my hand free from her own. She held tighter and looked at me.
"Look me in the eye, Maya." She said softly. I shook my head, my eyes widened and my entire body shaking. Rubbing alcohol burned and I knew that sting well. All too well. I was known for falling off my bike as a child, and now was not the time for the familiar burn of the disinfectant. "Maya," she coaxed. I finally turned my head, nearly crying as my eyes met hers. "Now focus on me, okay?"
