Started With a Lie

Chapter Seventeen

I get home around nine and I can feel my senses tingling alert. I knew drinking coffee this late was a mistake. Now, I would never fall asleep. I have school tomorrow too. I groan, placing the keys on the counter next to the door.

            I shut the door and lock it before I walk inside the living room. I see the light shining from under the door from Mom’s studio—probably working late again. Throwing my bag on the couch, I get myself some water to maybe help the caffeine leave my system.

            School has been hectic and crazy. First, Karen and I are just on…weird terms. After the whole scenario at the auditorium and kicking her boy—ex-boyfriend’s ass—we don’t know how to act. We’ve hated each other for years. How are we supposed to act? Well, at least now she doesn’t talk to me or push insults my way. We just avoid each other, I guess. Act like the strangers we are. To be completely truthful, I kind of miss her. Yes, Candy is an amazing friend but Karen? We just had a bond impossible to break.

            But it did.

            You can’t just forget someone who’s listened to every secret, been through every downfall, stood by you at the most embarrassing times. I guess one day she just got sick of it and finally realized what a loser I was and ditched me.

            She was always the prettier one.

            All I did was drag her down. And since I’m being honest, I guess I was kind of happy when she acted rude to me. It gave me an excuse to be rude to her. I’d always been jealous and a bit angry that she was so flawless—a little conceited for that matter—it was just bittersweet when we just stopped being friends.

            But I’m happy where I am. I’m free, I guess. Even if she did ask me to be friends with her, I wouldn’t. Yes, I helped her out but that’s because I’m human and it was my last token of our friendship for her.

            I’m in sweats and my hair is up in a ponytail before I go to the kitchen and get myself a good old bowl of cereal. There seems to be nothing good on television so I curl up on the couch with my laptop placed on top of a pillow. Mom is still in her studio, the light flooding out from her room. I haven’t seen her all day.  I get up from my comfortable position and walk to her room.

            “Mom?” I say when I see her. Unlike most days, today she’s sitting at her desk with loads of papers scattered around her—some crumbled and others erased over and over. She’s sketching, her hand moving fast against the paper. Her hair is a mess, strings falling here and there.

            She looks older than before. Her wrinkles are deeper.

            “Mom?” I repeat. Mom finally hears my voice and looks up. Her hand stops moving and she sets the pencil down. Pushing all her hair behind her ears, she smiles up at me.

            “You’re home, dear.” Her face looks worn and tired. I haven’t seen her so stressed since Dad passed away. She has a fake smile plastered across her face.

            “Are you okay, Mom? You seem to be working really hard,” I say, pursing my lips. I drape and arm over her shoulders and she puts her hands over mine. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

            Mom’s smile falters a little. “I’m fine, Ivory. Don’t worry about me.”

            I stare long and hard into her eyes. I can obviously see how exhausted she is but she’s still putting up a front. If I worry, or show my worry—she’ll have even more on her plate. So I just give a tight smile and nod. “Did you eat yet, Mom?”