complicated ; clifford

chapter nine

I guess I fell asleep on the plane, because next thing I know, Michael was shaking me awake.

"Anna, we're almost back in Portland."

His voice sounded so soothing. It was nice to have someone care about you. Like Michael or Brandon- wait.

"Michael, I've got a question for you, and I'm hoping you'll tell me the full truth," I said, before I could stop myself.

"Yeah, sure, anything. What's up?"

I thought for a minute on how to say what was about to come out of my mouth.

"How did you find out about Brandon?" I asked, praying to God that he wouldn't say I told him.

"You told me, remember?" he sounded so casual. I looked into his eyes, and could tell he was trying to avoid eye contact. How could he? Was it him who hurt Brandon like that?

"Michael, I'm going to say this one more time. Who told you about Brandon?" I asked sternly. The plane ha just reached the ground, and I knew Michael was going to take a run for it first chance he got. How had I ever kissed this freak?

"A-Ash-" Michael started

"Attention all passengers, the flight is now landed. Please unbuckle and grab your bags. Thank you for flying with us today."

And just as I had assumed, he ran right out of the plane before he could say another word.
----<3----
I stayed in my seat and pretended to be busy until everyone had exited the plane, because I didn't want to go out and bump into Michael. And I definitely didn't want to go to my house with a pregnant mother.

I would call it home, but I had never had a home quite frankly. Ever since my abusive childhood, it was kind of just a house to me. Honestly, the shed at school was probably the closest I had ever had to a home.

I mean, home is where the heart is, and I've let out my heart and soul there many times before.

As I walked out of the plane, I tried to keep Michael off of my mind. He knew that I was depressed, he had something to do with Brandon, and I knew it.

I grabbed my luggage from the baggage claim, which had already stopped, bought a water bottle from a vending machine, and walked out of the airport.

I took a shuttle to get to the parking lot, and when I reached my car, I just slammed the door shut and stared ahead of me.

I really didn't want to go back. How was I supposed to know how to take care of a pregnant woman anyways? Honestly, why was I even doing this? Mom didn't care about me, and I couldn't really give a shit about her.

After thinking for about two minutes, I gave up on trying to figure out a reason why, and put the key in the ignition.

Ever since I had gotten my car, I had always been afraid to drive. I was always an over thinker. Always. Most things were always on my mind, and I was afraid that I would get so involved with my thoughts that I would lose control of what was happening at the moment.

So I breathed.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

And I put my hands on the steering wheel. And pulled out of the parking lot.
---<3---
By the time I got back to my house, it was completely dark outside.

I stood at my front door, afraid to go inside. I could hear shouting, and it was probably Mom and David screaming about what had happened.

I didn't want to go inside. So I stayed out for about five more minutes, until I got too cold. Then I put my jacket on and moved in to the corner of the porch so that I could see what was happening.

Then, the front door opened, and David ran out, not even bothering to close the door on his way out.

I looked inside the window, and from outside, I could see my mother. My poor, helpless mother. Whose only daughter was abused as a child, and she couldn't do anything about it. Who was so drunk all the time that she probably had no idea of the words that she spat out of her mouth everyday. Who was so drunk that she got pregnant when she could be a grandparent in a few years, and it took that for her to be sober again.

I took one more look at my mom, and took a step inside the house. The entire house looked like it had been completely trashed. Alcohol bottles and broken dishes trashed the floors, along with some crumpled up paper and pregnancy tests. And among this mess, there was my mother.

I closed the door, so she would know I was here, and has I had guessed, she looked up, and I don't think she had ever been more relieved in her life to see me.

"Anna..." Mom trailed off.

"Whose baby is it?" I asked, kind of harshly. Just because she had been through so much, it didn't mean that I was planning on forgiving her just yet. "It's not David's, is it?" I asked, annoyed by the silence that had filled the room.

Mom looked down, and I could see tears falling on the ground. I don't know what it was in me, but I walked over to her and placed a hand on her back.

"Look Mom," I waited for her to look up at me to continue. "I'm not going to say that it'll get better. Because I can't promise you that. But I can tell you that it took me a lot to come and take care of you. You have treated me even worse than you have treated this house. But I will be here for you. I just want one thing from you. Please take care of this baby. Whether it's David's or not, and whether you like it better than me or- or not. But please treat it better than you have treated me. Because nobody deserves to be treated like that."

"Anna..." Mom said, trailing off again. "Thank you."

I nodded my head, gave her a hand, and we walked upstairs together, where we watched comedy movies all night.

Where David went, we has no idea. But we knew that we had each other. For now.