We've Met Before

31 - Fighting

KAIA

    The community college brochures in my hands stick to the sweat of my palms. I have no money, no grades, no future, but I know I can make one. I am going to make one. Dahlia drove me to my mom's house, and here we are. I feel like I've come up with a fever, or maybe it's just the thought of seeing her again. Seeing her after everything that happened.

    I haven't checked up on her. I haven't asked about her. I haven't looked back.

    It's eating me alive.

    "Don't be afraid to scream if you need me, Kaia." Dahlia looks at me with empathy, as if I'm the same teenage girl she met her freshman year.

    I nod, mustering every thread of bravery to walk up to the doorstep. I've been here before, a couple weeks ago, but she wasn't here. Her car wasn't here. Now it is. I laugh to myself, smirking at my idiocy, and discovery that I in fact can drive a car.

    Knock. Knock.

    My hands crumble the brochures rolled in my hand, the crinkling noise aching like a bandaid waiting to get ripped off. Maybe, I should turn back? She doesn't want to see me. She wants nothing to do with me.

    The door opens.

    There she stands. Her gorgeous brown hair draped on her shoulders, her eyes sunken in, her eye bags swallowing her face whole. She's dressed in a stained blue cardigan, and dark wash jeans. My eyes dart to her heavy hands, both of them full of whiskey bottles and tissues.

    She's stopped anticipating a hangover.

    "What the hell do you want?" She spits. I bite my tongue.

    This was a bad idea.

     I open my mouth, but there's no words coming out. My throat is clogged, and my mouth feels like cotton. There's a slight burn in the back of my eyes but I ignore it. I'm not that girl from freshman year. I swallow down my self-convictions.

    "I wanted to come talk to you."

    She chuckles. "You must be stupid to think I wouldn't slam this goddamn door in your damn face." She gives the door a shove but I slam my foot between the door and the doorframe, my converse rammed by the force. Bad idea. So many bad ideas.

    "Please, mom. I just need ten minutes."

    She looks me up and down. "Five."

**

    The room doesn't seem big enough, even when her and I seem to be sitting miles away from each other. She takes a sip from her bottle, hissing a wince out when she's done.

    "I want to go to community college." My sentence is short, direct, self-explanatory. I don't want to say too much, or ask too much, or mention to many things because I know I'll fuck this up if I voice too many things. I'll want to ask her if she's had a good couple of weeks, or if she's slept. I'll want to care.

    "You think they'd let you in?"

    "Its community college. They sort of have to." I stare at my full hands, reading all the words on the front.

    Houston Community.

    Great Environment!

    Fall Semester.

    "What the hell do I have to do with this?" She stands up, and I flinch. My chair squeaks against the floors and the white of the room traps me underneath it's sheets. I can't distinguish anything from itself.