A Girl Like Her

Chapter 17.

"oh, but that's the irony, broken people are not fragile" ~ Clinton Sammy Jr.

Song: Losing Control  by Russ

When I woke up, it was like a breath of fresh air. No nightmares plagued my mind during my time asleep. I didn't wake up in a cold sweat, tears burning in my eyes, with my heart pumping rapidly. I didn't wake up with the fear that I would see their faces right in front of me.

This morning, when I woke up, there was no stone weighing heavily on my chest.

I looked outside my window, not surprised to find the sun was yet to make an appearance. I should still feel exhausted, but I felt all the more refreshed. As the time was just about to hit five in the morning, I found I couldn't stay in bed. My feet padded through the cold wood of my floor, suddenly feeling eager to start the day.

I couldn't tell if it was the thought of seeing Zander's infectious smile again or just the effects of having a good night sleep, but I felt something deep in my bones. Something ... happy? I couldn't quite place the feeling, but I wasn't going to dwell on it. I was just excited that I didn't wake up with the familiar feeling of fear clutching at my insides.

After throwing on a rather snug looking sweater and dipping into a pair of blue jeans that looked baggy on me, I skipped down the stairs with a pep in my step.

There was a smile on my face. Still refusing to look into the mirror, I passed the bathroom with quick urgency, sliding through the threshold of the kitchen. As I began to make my way towards the coffee pot, I found myself stopping dead in my tracks.

The addicting aroma of coffee wafted through the air already. At the table, my mother sat with a cup of her own in her hands. Her hair was twisted in her signature morning bun. She looked absolutely horrid. As if she didn't sleep a wink last night.

Her smile was tight when she glanced at me. A nervous glint taking permanent residence in her eyes.

"Good morning, Layla. I um— made you some coffee. Just a little bit of cream and sugar you know. Just the way you like it." Nervousness floated through her voice, just like her eyes. My mother had never looked so defeated. I almost forgot about her and dad's conversation last night. I almost forgot about yesterday all together and how much my frightened self must have seriously hurt her as a mother.

"Mom," I began cautiously, stepping towards her, but not sitting down across her yet. "I'm not mad at you." I started, knowing that that was killing her the most. She thought she really scared me yesterday, when in fact, it was just my own fear that she happened to trigger. I didn't know how to stop being triggered so easily, but I couldn't help it.

My mother quickly stood from her chair and came over to me. I expected her sudden movement and in no time I was swept into her arms. She hugged me tightly, and the smell of lilacs and roses filled my nose. My mother loves flowers. She loves them so much I always found it fitting she smelled like the roses she constantly planted In the garden in the backyard.

"Baby, I'm so sorry I don't know what came over me yesterday. Please forgive me, honey. I promise it'll never—"

"Mom it wasn't your fault," I cut her off with a soft whisper, just  to be emotional enough for her to stop talking. Her arms loosened around me ever so slightly, and she pulled back to look at me. The bags beneath her eyes stood more prominently in contrast to the paleness of her skin. Without makeup to liven up her appearance, my mother looked as though she needed a full day of rest and fluids. But I knew my mother wasn't sick. She was overcome by grief and hurt.

Her eyes met mine with uncertainty, before dipping down to stare at the bruise around the wrist she previously gripped just yesterday. "Oh, baby," she cried hoarsely, taking my wrist with a gentle caress. "I'm so sorry, Layla. Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she continued to cry, while I just patted her back rather awkwardly. I didn't know what to say to make her feel better.