Too Many Words to Write

2: Divorce is a funny word

I can't erase that image from my mind.

That red, fur-matted splatter on the street.

If Mom notices my gloomy expression, she doesn't comment on it. She just taps away at her computer, expression blank, as I help myself to a snack in the cupboard. The frosted vanilla biscuit looks delightful in the tin, but I don't have the heart to take one out. I gently close the lid.

Instead, I gulp down a glass of cool water, trying to erase the taste of bile from my mouth. Just after I saw the cat (or what remained of it, anyways) I emptied the contents of my stomach on the pavement and bolted. My house was very close to Mrs. Ballentine's, anyway, which was one of the reasons I took the volunteering position in the first place. Now, I don't think I ever want to go back to that place again.

I head upstairs, making my footsteps as light as possible. It's not that I don't want to alert anyone to my presence. Making loud noise just seems like it would invade the silence ringing in my head, and destroy whatever semblance of peace I have right now. Just imagining Mrs. Ballentine's face when she sees the mutilated cat is enough to make me want to puke again.

My room is at the very end of the hallway. I pass my older sister Kiara's room on the way, a quick glance revealing that she's sitting in the black leather swivel chair in the back corner of her room, her feet propped up on her desk. Normally she ignores me when I come home from my various duties, but today she takes off her headphones and turns to face me.

"Mom and Dad want to talk to us about something," she says. "Mom told me to call everyone down when you came back."

Even though Kiara lets the words slip off her tongue casually, I can tell that there's a deeper meaning behind them. Mom and Dad rarely ever have serious conversations with us. They aren't even the type to ask us about our schoolwork. We exist in the same household, but words are similar to precious gems down here - they're rarely given away, or passed around. In fact, I'm surprised we haven't developed a series of hand signals to communicate yet.

I shrug, pretending that the news isn't startling. "I'll head back down soon, after I drop off my stuff." I pause, sniffing. The smell of vomit clings to my clothing. "And maybe I'll take a quick shower too."

Kiara slips her headphones back on, nodding. Whether she's acknowledging my words or bopping her head to the music, I don't know.

...

We sit in the family room. Mom and Dad sit on one side, on the big blue sofa. Across from it, Kiara and I sit on the other, smaller blue sofa. The air is tense.

"So..." Mom starts. She trails off. This is the first time I've ever seen her so uncertain. "Well, myself and your father have been talking, and we think... that it's best... well, we think it's best that we should..."

My heart flutters, scared at what her next words are going to be.

But it isn't her who speaks next. It's Kiara.

"For God's sake, spit it out already. That you should what?"

Her words are so full of venom I almost flinch. But her annoyance is understandable. Mom and Dad are acting weird. We're used to seeing our parents as these immovable, almost robot-like creatures that just happened to meet each other and conceive two children. But now they actually look... nervous. And I can't seem to find a single good explanation as to why they've suddenly decided to start emoting.

Leftover bile rises in my throat. I swallow it back.

"That we should," Mom continues. "Uh, have some time away from each other, and we've decided..."

"And we've decided what?" Kiara shoots up, glaring at our parents.

Mom averts her gaze and studies the woolen rug beneath her feet.

Dad cuts in, calm as ever. "We've decided to get a divorce." He looks so bored, his voice so monotone, that I don't even register the words for a moment.

I can't mull over the information properly either, because I'm sent to my room a couple seconds later. Kiara stays behind, arguing with our parents.

When I reach my room, I flop down on my bed and try to concentrate on the muffled voices beneath me. I can't make out what they're saying, but I can hear the anger in Kiara's voice. Clearly, she's not taking this too well.

Does that mean I'm taking this really well, then? I mean, I don't feel disappointed. Or sad.

Gosh, what if I'm a psychopath or something?

But a quick flashback to that flattened cat on the street dispels my alarm. I was so emotional in that moment that psychopathy is completely out of the question.

I'm just tired, maybe. I lay my head down onto the satiny pillow and close my eyes.

Just before I drift off, a thought zips through my mind. I frantically chase after it and snatch it up, waiting for some sort of understanding to dawn upon me. But instead, I just get that cursed word again.

Divorce.

And for some reason, I start to laugh softly, shaking with amusement.

To divorce is to separate. Yet here in this house, we might as well be strangers to each other.

My laughter turns rotten, blackening on my tongue, and tears start running down my face.

Because in order to separate, you have to be together to begin with. And our family, together, is the most hilarious idea I have ever come up with.

Eh. Sorry. Haven't updated in a while. I know, I know, I said I was trying to update every week.

But I've been in a bit of a mood lately (when I get like this, I call it a "Tumble" -  a weird name, but it accurately describes how I feel), and it's been difficult to find the energy to work on this chapter.

Again, sorry.

On a brighter note... I finally finished the chapter! So... tell me what you think! Vote, leave a comment, even directly message me if you'd like to give some feedback.

Allons-y!