Muse

Muse - 4

(c) All Rights Reserved. This is a novel by sunbathh, pen name Caroline Leigh. Please tell me if any of my work is redistributed without my consent. Thank you, Caroline Leigh. ps sorry this took so long, but I've had a few snow days to write. I've also started chapter five so hopefully it will be up quickly, xo. sorry for any mistakes.

Chapter Four.

                When I got home that night, I opened the front door cautiously, making sure it didn’t squeak like it usually did. The door was old and rickety, just like the rest of the house, but it was manageable for a single mom raising a teenage daughter. 

                Keeping my feet light, I crept around the house, hoping to not disturb my mother. I had timed it about right to where I got home around the same time I would have if I had stayed at my session, but knowing my luck Maggie would have indeed called my mother to let her know how it went. They always liked to chat on the phone for hours after a session, talking about how I had improved, or how my state of mind was stagnant. Usually they just ended up talking about all of the things that were wrong in my head. 

                Making my way up the stairs, I carefully avoided all of the questionable steps that could easily creak with the newfound weight of my foot, and I almost thought that I had made it past her, until she called my name. 

                “Devyn!” the shrill sound of her voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “Come down here!” Her tone was unpleasant, and I could only imagine what I had done wrong. 

                I started making a list in my head of everything that she would want to yell at me for. Had I forgotten to do the dishes? No, I had done them all and cleaned the counters last night after dinner. Was it the laundry? No, I folded and put away her last load that afternoon before my session with Maggie. I’m sure there were plenty of things in her mind that she could yell at me for, but I was coming up with nothing off of the top of my head. 

                This time when I went down the stairs, I didn’t bother avoiding steps or trying to stay quiet. I was just in a hurry, not wanting to make her any more mad than she already was. 

                When I reached the last step I saw her standing in the living room, clutching a piece of paper, and I could practically see the steam coming from her ears. “Yes, mother?” I asked, taking cautious steps in her direction. 

                I wasn’t sure how close I wanted to be to her. She could blow at any moment, and until I knew what was going on I wasn’t sure how big that explosion would be. 

                As soon as my mom noticed me approaching, she drew her eyes from the paper slowly. “What is this?” She asked me through gritted teeth. “I get a letter from your history teacher telling me that instead of doing his assignments you’ve been working on the sketches for those damned paintings during class. What in the hell is with you and those ugly things?”

                She didn’t understand, and she never would. I had tried to tell her. Multiple times, even, but she never got it. She never saw the meaning behind them, to her they were just various lines put together to make an image. A dull, emotionless image. 

                All that I could do in response to her was stare with wide eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights. My breathing was picking up and my heart started racing. This wasn’t good, I couldn’t have another panic attack today. Twice in one, that would be backtracking. I had been doing so well, finally getting over them. Why were they coming back? Why?