We Were Blue // Completed

4//

"The problem is, fairytales don't come true. It's the nightmares that always seem to become reality."

-Grey Anatomy

I don't want to go in. I never want to go into that damned house, aka my home. Ironic because a home is supposed to be a safe haven, somewhere I can find refuge in no matter what. No, this is a hellhole that resides a familiar-faced stranger I have the displeasure of calling my mother.

Often I feel pathetic for becoming sick to my stomach everytime I pull into the driveway. After all, there's people out there who have it a million times worse. Shouldn't I consider myself lucky I don't have bruises painting my skin? Perhaps, yet words have power too, the difference is the bruises heal but these words will forever be engraved in my mind, in my bones, in my heart. So maybe we both have terrible wounds, just different ones.

I glance at her car and then at the house smothered in eerie shadows. My hands tremble as I climb out of my truck, knowing there's absolutely no chance of avoiding her tonight. The cool breeze brushes my hair from my shoulder as I walk toward the small two-story building. The pastel yellow paint is beginning to peel on the exterior wall beside the door. I run my finger over it and watch the old paint chip and fall to the porch beside my feet, lost somewhere in the dark.

I breathe in deeply as I fumble with my keys and unlock the door. The front room is pitch black, leaving me on edge as I close the door behind me as quiet as I possibly can. I tip toe deeper into the dark, my eyes refusing to adjust and leaving me blind to my surroundings.

A faint light flickers on and there she is- sitting in our plush midnight blue chair next to the long rectangular window hidden behind dusty blinds. My stomach drops at the cruel smile painting her blood red lips. "Where were you?" Her tone is low and dangerous as the words crawl out of her mouth.

Seems like an innocent question, yet she knows where I was because I told her this morning. This is just the beginning of her little game, the way she twists the truth and creates an image of me as someone entirely different. "I was at Alexis', I told you that already," I can't help but cringe at the bitterness that somehow slips into my tone.

Her eyes narrow and my stomach twists at the fury in those black black depths. Her eyes could give even the toughest of men nightmares, they're wicked as well as an inky black color that has more resemblance to a demons than a humans.

She stands, so slowly like the world is moving on her time, before prancing toward me. "Felicity, sweetie, there's no use in lying to me," I keep quiet, arguing I learned early on only makes everything that much worse. I squirm at her close proximity and want nothing more than to push her away but I know better than that, so instead I keep my hands to myself.

She tilts her head to the side, this is all some sort of sick entertainment for her and I hate it. "Sluts like you do one thing and one thing alone- fuck. So who was it this time?" It's been years but it still stings like a slap to the cheek each time.

Pathetically I still hope, I still wish, that one day she'll change. That she'll become the mother I always needed instead of the woman who breaks me down every chance she gets. Funny how the one person who's supposed to love me the most, is the one that does the least.

She shakes her head and chuckles, amusement glittering in those irises. Slowing she walks around me, examining me from head to toe and judging every little feature, like bacteria beneath a microscope. "Then again, you sure ain't pretty enough for any man to willing be with you."