It was late when I hobbled inside. At this point with my bloody hands, the weak legs, and how much I’ve been running, it was time to admit that I needed to cut back. Making myself numb might not have been the healthiest way to handle recent changes in my life, but I wasn’t sure if I dared any other option. Talking had never been my strong suit.
As I passed a room, the light switched on.
I could feel Analise’s anger from where I was and I hadn’t looked yet.
So I did.
Her face was white, eyes strained, mouth pinched, and her arms were folded over her chest. My mother never folded her arms, it was deemed unladylike and too confrontational. Then her foot started to tap on the floor.
Guess I pissed her off.
“Do you know what time it is?” she clipped out.
No clock was in sight. I shrugged.
“It’s one in the morning. One in the morning, Samantha.” Her leg moved off the other and both feet were now on the floor. They stopped tapping.
She still remained on her chair.
I tilted my chin up. “Do you know what’s happened to my life?”
She made a disgusted sound and hissed at the same time. “Are we back to this? You knew my marriage wasn’t working out. You should be happy for me, Samantha.”
“Happy?” My voice cooled. “It happened a week ago.”
“Would you rather I were in an unhappy marriage?”
“How could I tell? You were fake all the time.”
Her eyes threatened to bulge out and she sucked in a dramatic breath. When she talked, it was forcibly controlled, “What are you talking about?”
“You’re the fakest person I know. Why are you really pissed off? Is it because I missed your precious family dinner?”
“I’m fake?” She started to stand up.
My eyes went flat. “So much that I can’t stand being fake. I’m real all the time, mom. Congratulations. I have no friends because of it.”
“I’m fake?”
“This is news to you?” I laughed as she drew closer.
There was a stillness to my mother. Her anger was so vivid, but I was past caring. My body ached. My hands hurt. And I was tired, so tired of everything.
She stopped in front of me.
I met her gaze and my hands formed into fists. “What do you want? Tell me what you want me to say so I can go to sleep.”
Her voice grew soft. “You missed dinner tonight.”
“We’re back to this?” I mocked her. “Your precious dinner?”
“It was an important dinner.”
“I highly doubt it.” I started to leave, but she caught my arm.
She hissed, “I am talking to you.”
“Not anymore. I’m moving out as soon as I’m eighteen. That’s all you need to hear from me.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Reality check, mom. This is your life. This is your boyfriend. I don’t want any part of it. I want to be home with dad again. I want to move in with him.”
“You. Will. Not. Live. With. Him.” She had to take breaths to calm down. Her arms started to tremble, her chin was rattled. Her eyes clung to mine in a beseeching manner, torn between pleading and commanding.
