I opened the door to my one-story house. I lived in a small neighborhood that consisted of one-story houses. I wasn’t rich, but I wasn’t poor, but I was barely surviving since Mother only went to work when she felt like it. It surprised me how she wasn’t even fired yet.
“Hey Mom, I’m home.” I said in a dull voice.
I heard some grumbling from the living room. I entered the living room to find Mother lying on the couch with her robe and socks on. There was a half empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table.
“Ellie, it’s so cold.” She whined.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t turn up the heat. We don’t have enough money to pay for that much heat.”
She grumbled and curled up into a ball to keep warm. I sighed and got a blanket from the closet. I threw it over her shivering, feeble body.
“Why don’t you go outside? It’s warmer out there than in here.”
“Don’t be silly Ellie. I’m not going outside in the middle of March.”
“It’s April, Mom.”
“Oh.”
I looked at her small, fragile body with pity. She was only thirty-three and she looked like she was fifty: the dark circles under her eyes, her weak boney fingers, and her thin pale face.
“I’m going to do my homework. Call me if you need me.”
I trudged to my bedroom and threw my books on my desk. Ever since I sold my backpack, I had to carry all my books by hand. At one point, we were so low on money that we had to sell things. Apparently, Mother felt that my backpack was unimportant and was so desperate to buy alcohol that she sold it.
I answered each question of the homework sheet carefully. Living in a household like this, people would expect me to fail, due to distractions. However, my motivation for doing so well in school is to be able to get a scholarship for college and get away from this house, as far as possible. Growing up without a father and being raised by an alcoholic, abusive mother has made my life really difficult. The day I turned sixteen, I immediately applied for a job at the mall. It was an obvious stereotype for the “emo” girl to go work at Hot Topic, but I felt like it was the only place I can blend in without being stared at and called a freak. Besides, what can be better than dancing along to punk rock music, talking to the cute guys that work there, and not having to see preppy whores?
Halfway through my homework, Mother called for me.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Come down here and cook some dinner. I’m hungry.”
I checked the clock and it read, 4:04 P.M.
“It’s only four, Mom.”
“But I’m hungry.” She whined.
“So am I, but I don’t see you ever cook for me.”
There was the sound of stumbling and footsteps coming down the hall. I immediately regretted saying that and wished I could take it back. She appeared in front of my room with a horrifying look on her face; if looks could kill.
“What did you say?”
“I-I’m sorry. I’ll cook for you.”
I flew out of my seat and trying to get out the door, but Mother grabbed my wrist. I winced in pain from some of the fresher cuts. She held such a tight grip on my wrist that it started to turn white.
“Mom, please let go, you’re hurting me.”
“Don’t you ever talk back to me again! All I ask for is some food. May I remind you that I had to go through the pain of child birth to give life to you?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll never talk back again. I’ll cook for you whenever you want.”
She released my wrist and shoved me out of my room. I hurried to the kitchen to find that the refrigerator was empty, except for beer. I was afraid to tell her there was no food, because she would blame me for it.”
“What are you doing staring at the fridge? The food isn’t going to cook itself.”
My heart skipped a beat when I turned around to find her in the kitchen now, when just a minute ago, she was still in my room. She stared at me with intimidating eyes.
“I-uh-uh…”
“Spit it out, you stuttering idiot.”
“There’s no food.”
“Then go get some.”
“But I don’t have money.”
“Don’t you work?”
“Yeah, but I’m saving that for college.”
“What’s more important? Your own mother who is hungry, or stupid school?”
I stared at the ground, unable to say anything. I already knew the answer, but I just didn’t want to use my hard-earned money that was being saved for college. She took a step closer to me.
“What’s more important? Your own mother who is now starving, or stupid fuckin’ school?” She repeated more aggressively.
“You, definitely you.” I answered quietly.
“Well go buy food then.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“I want ice cream.”
“For dinner?”
“Yes, and get some more vodka too.”
“But I’m not old enough to buy alcohol.”
“God, you can’t do anything. Fine, I’ll buy it myself tomorrow. In that case, I’ll go to work. Don’t expect to find me after school.”
“Okay. I’ll bring home the ice cream, but then I’ll have to go back out for work.”
“Whatever.” She waved her hand in my face to dismiss me.
YOU ARE READING
The Therapy Group
Fanfiction"Okay, I'll join." Three simple words that changed Ellie Canviar's life. Ellie Canviar lived a difficult life. Her father left her mom and her before she was even born. She came home to an alcoholic abusive, bipolar mom everyday, and was barely su...
