Wicked

Chapter Eight

I woke up to the sound of screaming.

It sounded blood-curdling and tortured. I bolted upright. My eyes zeroed in on my phone that told me it was three o'clock in the morning. I flung my sheets off, my feet slung out of the bed and I started running in the direction of the noise. Instantly, I regretted this: I was wearing thin cotton shorts and a tank top. The hardwood floors were icy against my bare feet that scampered against it.

The hallway was pitch black, but the kitchen light was on, humming ominously. For a second, I hesitated, but then pushed it open. Whoever it was sounded like they were in pain. Three pairs of eyes fixed on me as the door flung up and I held up a fist. Once I realized what was going on, my hands fell at my sides.

My mom, Dara, and Gran were at the dinner table.

My mom had been the one that was screaming and it was directed at Dara. So, I had been wrong: the person screaming wasn't in pain. I rubbed at my eyes.

"What is going on?" My voice sounded groggy. Gran looked at mom and then back at me. Dara had way too much make-up on and it was smearing down her face. I did a double take: she was wearing one of my black mini skirts -- the one mom hated because it was really short, but I always wore tights under it. Dara wasn't. Her top was ratted and ripped and very low cut, revealing a push-up bra that she didn't quite fill in.

"How about I make us all some tea?" Gran offered. "Corn, will you help me?" She stood up, gesturing for me to follow her into the kitchen. I looked back at Dara who was glaring at our mom. I turned to follow Gran, into the kitchen to make tea.

"How could you do this, Dara? Do you even think?" My mom's voice roared, even from a room over. I felt bad for Dara, but I knew whatever she did it was bad. When Dara got into trouble, it wasn't ever something small. Sighing, I shut the door behind me.

"They'll work it out, Little Bird." She grabbed a pot and started boiling water. "I think some Lavender and Chamomile tea will be enough, don't you?" Gran was babbling, in her own way. She hated fighting even more than I did. Plus, Gran was a hippie and thought everything could be worked out with tea. Smiling, I nodded and went into the cabinet to grab some loose tea leaves, made from Gran's own herbs.

"I think that's perfect." I touched her shoulder, in a way to calm her.

"You're such a sweet girl, Cornelia. I don't think we tell you enough." I exhaled, not realizing I had been holding such a deep breath. She took the tea from me and dumped a good amount into the boiling water. While Gran stirred, I grabbed four mugs. The aroma of tea had convinced me to have a cup myself.

"That's because I take after you--

I was cut off from more screaming. It sounded like Dara was yelling back. Gran and I looked at each, both wondering if we should step in. She handed me the ladle.

"I guess I better check on them, why don't you pour us some tea." She was smiling, but there was frantic panic behind those sage eyes. I tried to focus on pouring the tea, but I kept hearing more yelling. Gran tried to calm them down, but from the increase in volume, it wasn't working.

"You don't get me, you don't get any of us! All you care about is your stupid work." Dara's voice was straining to keep up with the level of anger she was displaying. I knew that voice: it meant she was seriously pissed, which also meant she was about five seconds away from crying or throwing something. Hopefully, it wasn't the latter of those two options.

"You're right I DO care about my job. I have to, especially with your father bailing on us." My mom had mastered the art of yelling a long time ago. Her voice never quavered or trembled and she never got so upset she cried. She simply screamed at you until someone walked away. I had never seen my mom stand down from a good fight. It was like she liked it. I set four mugs on the tray and walked into the dining room.