Crave

Chapter Three

I arrived home just before five in the morning, the first rays of the morning sun lighting the dew speckling the blades of grass. The lights were off, the curtains shut, and I prayed that meant Mom was either asleep with no knowledge of me staying out so late, or still on the night shift. I crept around the back of the house and removed the house key hiding in the dirt of the potted plant, slid the key into the lock, and slowly turned my wrist until I heard the soft, audible "click."

"Please, don't be awake."

I pushed the door open until I could slip inside then quietly shut and locked the door behind me. There was no sound inside except for the ticking of the clock against the wall and the hum of the AC. Somewhere far in the distance a dog barked, and the birds of the neighborhood squalled in response. I could smell the booze clinging to my dress, my feet were sore, and there was a painful thrumming in my head which I attributed to as an oncoming hangover.

All I wanted to do was take a shower to scrub away the alcohol, pop  a couple Tylenol, and crawl into bed. The only thing I found myself appreciating was that it was a Saturday morning, and I could take the weekend to recover from my latest binge and eventually finish the last of my homework.

I sigh and rest one hand on the door as I slipped off my shoes, curling my toes into the carpet to ease the aching in the soles of my feet. The quiet was a welcome compared to the blare of the speakers and laughter of the party, and I knew if I closed my eyes I could slip into the realm of the unconscious...

"Brynn Iris Stonem, where the hell have you been?!"

Any sense of peace I may have felt was shattered the moment my mother came barreling into the living room adjacent to the sliding glass door of the backyard. I curse under my breath and spin on my heel to face her, forcing a smile. "Out."

"Out? Out where? It's damn near five in the morning! You had me scared half to death that something had happened to you!"

"I was at a party."

I can see her skinny shoulders slump in disappointment. "Oh, Brynn... We talked about this, honey."

She reaches out for me but I step out of her way, catching a glimpse of hurt behind her ocean blue eyes. Her hands instead toy with each other, and I notice her fingers restlessly tugging at the spot where her wedding band once sat. Her short blonde hair was a tangled mess of curls, streaks of grey intertwining with each thread of gold caught by the light of the sun as it slipped through a crack from the curtain.

"I know we talked about it, and you said I could have this. You said I could have some semblance of a normal life."

"Yes, I know that, sweetheart," Mom begins hesitantly. "But don't you think—"

"—No," I interject, shaming my head. "No, I don't think I should stop. I'm having fun, I'm enjoying my life, I'm... I'm moving on how I want to. Don't you think I deserve that? After everything that happened, don't you think I deserve to live my life the way I want?"

"I never said you didn't. You know I think you deserve only the best after what happened. But don't you think there's a healthier way by now? Don't you think maybe it's time you slow down and really process what happened by doing something more... productive?"

"What, like therapy?" I laugh. "No thanks."

"I know it isn't your first choice, but I really think you'd benefit from—"

"It's not like you're any better," I fire back angrily. "All you do is spend your days working to avoid dealing with what happened, and when you can't work, you drink yourself to sleep and hope I don't notice. You think that's a great example?"