The Diary Of Hazel (Diary Series #1) | ✔

☆ Hazel's Diary Entry #11 ☆

Dedication: _Book-Addict_, thank you so damn much for the votes, comments, and of course; the support! xx Also, you have amazing taste in music! o.o

You know that airy feeling you get when you walk into an empty house? Yeah, multiply that by a thousand, and that's how I'm feeling right now as I place one foot in front of the other, stepping further inside my medium size, one floor, house. 

Something's not right, and there's almost this bitter taste - like dark chocolate - on my tongue, as if I could taste the negative aura floating around inside these walls. It's not that the house feels empty as such, more like it feels suspicious. 

I don't know, I'm a male human being, why should anyone take me seriously?

So, with caution controlling the movement of my body, I go on an adventure consisting of a house search, only to come up empty.

Phew, I thought I was going to find a stranger in here - preferably alive if there was one.

But, nothing's out of place.

No one's home. 

No noises whatsoever.

Except, maybe my conclusions aren't as correct as I thought them to be.

Because as I near my bedroom, there is a noise, coming from inside. And it's the sound of a female's cries.

I notice my door is ajar, and carefully push it open, worrying about what I'll find. And as soon as my eyes has the chance to take in the scene in front of me, I know I have the right to be worried.

"I hear that wooden floors aren't too comfortable to cry on." I walk in timidly, wincing at my attempt to alleviate the negative, and bitter, tension. 

Great job, Hunter, make a joke while your Mother's crying on your bedroom floor, nice.

"Oh- Hunter- Sorry- I assumed that since you didn't come home straight after school, that you were out for the night." And with what she said, that same feeling that's been unsettling me since I got home just became ten times stronger.

My mum's sober.

She's crying, upset, broken, pained, and has panda eyes from that black eye shit that girls wear (Something called Mascra, or is Mascari? I don't freaking know)

My point is that my mum is a mess, yes, but she isn't drunk possibly for the first time in years.

And it was... Weird.

Unsettling.

Unpredictable.

I hear a quiet sniffle and shiver, which quickly break me away from my thoughts, "I had Detention."

My mum put her face into the palms of her hands, and I take in the state of her. She's slumped on the floor, leaning back against the corner of my bed, dressed in sweatpants that are far too large for her and an old soccer jersey. I know that jersey, it looks too familiar.

Then it clicks.

"Mum, why are you wearing dad's clothes and crying on my bedroom floor?" I'm cautious with my words, not wanting to add to her suffering.

I'm not cruel.

"He wrote to me again." She glared at the dark wooden floor, tears painting her cheeks, "He told me how this is my fault, how our family is no longer a family because of me."

I go to interrupt her, but she beats me, holding her hand up so she can continue, "And he's right. But, he's torn me down so many times in the past, ruined me with his lies and betrayal. Then after what he did to that poor family, I've never been able to not pursue self-blame. If I had been at the bar to pick him up then-" Mum rubs her puffy, honey-coloured eyes, before standing up on wobbly legs. When she almost collapses by how weak she is, I reach forward to help but she flinches back.