Elouise Quinn has lived in Tulsa, Oklahoma with her mum for all seventeen years of her life. She's grown up in this neighbourhood and with the people in it. Especially her next door neighbours the Curtis' and their gang.
"No one forgets the truth; they just get better at lying." Richard Yates
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My mum and I aren't close but we still love each other. Mum isn't involved in my life much anymore, she's very...distant. I remember she wasn't always like this though. When my Dad was around she was involved and interested. She loved him. I've never known anyone who has loved anything more than my mum loved my dad. She still loves him.
People say that every time a person you love is taken away from you, you loose a part of yourself. I assume this is what it's like for mum. She's had too many people taken from her, there's not really much left of her anymore.
My mum doesn't hit me or yell, she doesn't get drunk. Well, she never used to...
***
Last night Dally walked me home, his company can be quite nice at times. We didn't speak much on the way. It wasn't awkward though. I got home at around 3 in the morning, quietly I slipped into my house being careful not to wake my mum up. I walked into the kitchen to grab something to eat, when I opened the fridge, the light illuminated the room. I looked around and saw a cluster of beer bottles on the dining room table. My mum doesn't drink, strange. I didn't really think much of it at the time but now that I look back, this should have been a good indicator that something bad was going to happen.
This morning I woke up with a small but constant headache. Great, a hangover. I hadn't had that much to drink the night before but I guess my tolerance isn't too crash hot. I pulled my blankets up to my chin and tried returning to my peaceful sleep before being violently awoken by a loud crash that came from the kitchen. I groaned and walked into the kitchen where my mum stood over a pile of broken beer glass. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair a mess. She looked at the broken glass with glossy eyes.
"Are you okay mum?" I asked concerned.
My mother quickly snapped her head up to look at me, anger filled her eyes.
"I was okay. Before you." She said pointing her finger at the door frame that I stood in, "Before you, killed my husband."
"What?" I questioned confused. I did not kill my father.
"You. I never wanted you, you were an accident. If you weren't here he would be." My mother said groggily rocking side to side.
My eyes filled with tears but I refused to let them fall.
"You're drunk." I stated the obvious, enraging my mother a thousand times more. She reached for an empty glass bottle from the table and threw it towards me, luckily her drunken aim was off and the glass erupted into the wall next to me.
"Elouise Quin, you killed my husband!" She repeated, slowly walking towards me. "You're a selfish bitch and you don't care that he's gone." She continued walking towards me as she falsely accused me and called me dirty names.
