“Ow, what was that for?” Sierra questioned once we were safely outside.

“That lady in there… she was acting weird.” I responded, looking back into the shop’s windows. The lady inside was still watching me, but looked away as we made eye contact.

You always act weird and I still put up with you.” She said, walking towards my cherry-red car that was currently being towed. I picked up my pace, trying to match her stride.

“Touché.”

*     *     *

As soon as I walked through the door, I was attacked by a bundle of fur, also known as my German Shepherd, Chewbacca. Walking on my tiptoes, I raised my bag of goodies above my head, successfully keeping it out of his reach. If I didn’t love Chewbacca so dearly, I would have traded him for a stout beagle a long time ago. Navigating my way through the junk littered about the hallway, I made my way towards my bedroom. 

As I passed my mother’s room, I noticed the flickering light streaming through the crack left by the door. I peered in, checking to see what she was up to.

I was disappointed.

She lay on the bed, staring blankly at the TV screen playing reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. A lit cigarette was rested in one hand, while her other hand held the plastic TV remote. Uneaten food lay scattered around the room, and the stench made me turn up my noise in repulsion.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I asked, as I made my way towards her motionless form. I doused the cigarette she held in the ash tray on her bedside table, noticing three empty cigarette packets nearby. Wow, she’s been really miserable lately.

As her eyes connected with mine, I noticed how lost they looked. Grief instantly pulled at my heart strings.

“What?” she said, looking surprised at my presence. “Honey, when did you get home?”

“Just now,” I answered, “I thought you said you would stop smoking.”

“Yes dear, but…” she trailed off, not meeting my eyes.

“Whatever, I don’t care,” I said, cutting her off. I walked around her room, picking up the uneaten food and cigarettes, throwing them into the garbage can. “Maybe you should stop being so selfish next time, and think about other people too.” I knew what I said was harsh, but her self-pitying behaviour was starting to annoy me. Dad’s death eight years ago affected all of us, not just her.

I stormed out of the room, not daring to look at her reaction, in fear of tearing up myself. I just didn’t know what to do with her anymore. I was leaving for Art College in less than a year, but I didn’t want to leave her behind. We didn’t have any relatives that could keep an eye on her either; she pushed everyone away soon after my dad died from heart failure. It was like she just couldn’t move on with her life anymore; she could barely hold a job and I don’t even remember the last time we had a proper conversation.  

My dad and I were very close when I was growing up. It still hurt me that he was gone, but I fueled my emotions into making myself a person he would be proud of. It must have been hard for my mom; raising a young child by herself, especially since we never shared the connection my father and I had. For some reason she still clung to the past, not getting the closure she wanted. I felt like there was more to the story, but I never brought it upon myself to ask.

Upon reaching my room, I sighed, pulling out the items I bought today. I busied myself with polishing them one by one, and placing them in my ever-growing antique collection. I held up my lamp to the sunlight, admiring the way the sunrays reflected off of it. I wiped at an imaginary speck of dirt, noticing the tiny script near the bottom. The rounded lettering looked so intricate, I thought, placing it on the bookshelf. I moved a few pieces around, then took a step back to admire my handiwork, feeling satisfied.

Being the goody two shoes I am, I decided it was time to face my math homework. Pulling it out of my neon-green Jansport bag, I started solving a couple of problems- in other words, I stared at the worksheet blankly, hoping I would magically know how to do it. Science and math were never really my strong suit, and instead I gravitated towards the arts. As a part of my university program requirements I had to take this course, which made no sense to me. I subconsciously registered a scrabbling noise in the background, holding Chewbacca responsible for it.

“You must have it so easy,” I said, speaking to Chewbacca like any other normal person would, “I mean, all you do is eat, sleep and bark on repeat. At least you don’t have to put up with annoying people at school and all this useless homework.” There was more scrabbling in the background, so I took that as a sign of him agreeing with me. “And I bet pooping on peoples’ lawns must be a whole lot of fun.”

All of a sudden, the noise got louder, causing me to wonder what he was doing. I started to turn around in my seat, “Chewbacca, what-“ I stopped midsentence, shocked into silence at what I was seeing.

This was definitely not Chewbacca.

*     *     *

 

I know it was short, but I want you guys to get to the good parts sooner! :D I hope this was good enough though, and if you see any mistakes you think I should fix, please let me know! If you liked it, do me a big favour by voting/commenting/telling your friends about it, I’ll keep updating as often as I can (maybe within the week?) if you guys give me the encouragement to do so :) Thank youu!

xoxo

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