Salt

The Monsoon

I stopped outside my house, focusing on the lot. The rips in the foundation were nothing new, but I knew beneath all that, there was something rotten. Of course there was.

Pursing my lips to prevent the tears, I stormed for the door. I made it to the porch, a few centimeters from the welcoming mat before I did a one-eighty and stared at the street. The curse of the tangerine glow polluted the whole block, buzzing with an air I was furious with.

He hadn't followed me.

Ambrose was smart enough not to come after me. Clearly, he had seen sense and put one and two together to realise I was better off alone.

And, despite that, I wanted to run back. Be in his arms. Make love to him all night long because who didn't want to feel loved?

Yet, I was still thinking selfishly

I didn't know if I could stop. That's why I left. It wasn't because of our parents, or Ciara's snide comments, or Jesse. I was a greedy human being and I couldn't do that to Ambrose. I refused to.

I kicked one of the gopher statues by the bonsai tree and watched it as it landed and smashed into a million pieces on the road. It didn't make me feel much better, but the dark abyss of its dead eyes continued to glare and blame.

"Ashley, what are you doing?"

I turned, facing my mother as she held a glass of red wine in her hand. She barely spared me a glance before she extended the door.

Throwing my shoes, I sat on the bottom stair, exactly as I had done earlier in the night.

Slowly pulling out my hair tie, the tresses fell over my face like a golden shield, as my mother locked the door and rested against the banister.

If she was going to attempt to lighten the atmosphere, then perhaps waiting for a less stern and abrasive person was key. I couldn't remember a time when my mother dissipated tension rather than adding to it.

"Going by what appears to be my favorite gopher on the street, it didn't work out."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"I don't care about the gopher, Ashley." She swigged a large mouthful of her drink, before dusting the space next to me. She was so close I could smell the cologne all over her. It wasn't my father's. "Did he hurt you?"

I scoffed. "No."

"Well, something has you upset and–"

I whirled on her, rage seeping through as I met her eyes. "And what? Does this affect how often you're going to fuck his dad?"

"Ashley!"

"I'm sorry, okay. I just... I can't do this." I got up and made way to the kitchen. I didn't know why, I just knew being so close to her wasn't healthy. It was like staring into the face of a ravaging beast. She was the greatest monster in my life, conditioning and molding me until I'd either denounce her, or become her.

I wasn't my mother. I'd rather die (again) than be her.

Pouring myself a glass of orange, I wasn't surprised to discover her hot on my tail. She couldn't leave anything alone, especially when it had nothing to do with her.

"Sweetheart, I know you feel hurt and betrayed by–"

"That is one of the side effects of betrayal."

"But I know I am not the reason you are angry right now. I'm sure if Ambrose hurt you he can be reasoned with. He's a good man, and I think you know that." When I only continued to drink, she set her glass down and leaned against the island. The dull amber of the room blended with her hair, but the stone of the island was equal to the material of her heart. "I mean, apart from Fletcher, he's probably the only one of your friends I trust."