That English Girl

My mother is a bad person.

Chapter 1

My mother is a bad person.

Saturday

*

I drag the black jumpsuit from its hanger in my wardrobe and throw it in the general direction of my open suitcases that sit on top of my black and white double bed sheets. I nod my head in time to the loud drum and bass music I have blaring from my speakers as I grab another item of clothing, this time a plain white dress, from its hanger and throw it towards my suitcases as well. I reach up and remove the cigarette from my mouth allowing the built up smoke to float through my open lips. I watch the smoke fade away into nothing as I continue to sway along to the heavy bass throbbing from my speakers. I place the cigarette back between my lips and breathe deeply as I turn back to my wardrobe, next item of clothing. I reach out to grab the burgundy cropped jumper from the hanger it is currently hung from when I am startled by my dear mother screaming my name.

Once I have regained my composure and no longer feel the fear I felt towards the use of my own name like I did a few seconds ago, my bored eyes flick over to my mirrored wardrobe door where I see the reflection of the women herself standing in my bedroom doorway looking completely frazzled and distraught with one hand on her hip and the other on her throat as though that will help the small burn that no doubt is stinging her throat right now from that scream.

Theresa, my mother, opens her mouth to say something but then clearly changes her mind and instead she darts across my large room to my speaker while I turn back to the cropped jumper I had yet to receive from its hanger. "Seriously," my mother sighs exasperated as my music is brought to an abrupt and unwanted halt. "How you are not deaf by now is beyond me..." She speaks in a breathy voice as though the run across my room wore out all her energy.

I hear her heels clicking on my wooden floor as I turn to throw the burgundy fabric that is the jumper towards my bed but instead it ends up hitting my mother's face square on. Theresa rips the fabric from her face looking considerably more flustered than she did before. I chuckle slightly to myself before looking to Theresa who is looking at me angrily with her fly aways that have come loose from her ponytail more prominent now while holding the jumper out and away from her body. I ignore her look and mutter past the cigarette between my lips, "don't suppose you could add that to the pile?"

I turn back to my wardrobe nonchalantly as I take another long drag from the cigarette between my lips and throw my head back this time as I blow the smoke from my lips. "What?" I frown at my mother as she looks at me as though I've just killed a puppy. "Don't act like you've never seen a spliff before, Theresa." I chuckle and take another long drag although this time I blow it towards my mother's face. The smoke fades away long before it can reach the air remotely close to her, but my point is still made as she takes a step away from me in disgust whilst attempting to wave the smoke away with her my jumper which she still holds.

"How could I act as though I don't know what it is when it's the thing that's been slowly killing my daughter for the last year?" Theresa asks me with a fake sweetness in her voice but I don't bother with her and with a shrug turn back to my wardrobe sick and tired of arguing my point that weed is actually better than tobacco and she should be proud of me for making the choice of this particular herb. However, the both of us are fully aware she is not only talking about this specific drug but the more dangerous ones I have been brave enough to try. I look at her for a moment allowing this unspoken information to settle between us before I turn back to my wardrobe calmly.

"Arabella! This is a riot! You call this packing?" My mother screeches suddenly and before I even glance at her I know she has turned around to see the vast amount of clothes and things a like that lay on top of my double bed completely hiding the suitcases that reside underneath the pile that has formed into one big mismatch of material. I roll my eyes as I groan, "if the way I pack is such a big problem for you, why don't you do it for me?" I turn around and raise an eyebrow to my mother who is stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding my cropped jumper still although it is now folded unlike the other array of clothes around us. I take another long drag from my cigarette that was previously held between my fingers as my mother just glares at me.