Your Forgotten

• xviii •

Dedicated to thenarratee for being such a wonderful and inspiring person ❤❤
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(part 1)

O1:00am,
Friday, 9th of June 2017.

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To the woman who birthed me,

Yesterday I woke up to the sound of slammed doors echoing through the house.

Coming out of my room, I saw him bang your room door and march down the stairs and just like the day before, he drove off.

Not long after, you tiptoed your way inside the house and to your room and closed the door, oblivious to the fact that I was watching.

After taking my bath and getting dressed, I walked up to your bedroom and opened the door and let myself in. Still in your jeans and blouse, soft snores left your mouth as you were sprawled perpendicularly on the large bed with your feet dangling at the edge. Exhaustion prominent on your features.

Where were you last night? What's going on? What aren't you telling me? Why aren't you at work?

So many questions I wanted to ask, but I just stood there watching you sleep.

Your mouth was slightly open and I was sure you were drooling as you lay on your stomach, your chest rising and falling. Eyelashes relaxed on your cheeks as a few strands of your hair fell on your face.

You looked more peaceful than I had seen you in years, and I was immediately transported to good old days.

In the spur of the moment I decided to make you breakfast.

I was supposed to be angry at you, I still was but as I made you pancakes -which were really greasy- anger took the backseat of my feelings and a tiny bubbly sensation filled my stomach as I imagined you making weird faces as you ate.

It was almost noon and you still had not left your room. I was about to climb upstairs and check on you when I heard your door open and slam shut.

"Are you going out again?" I asked as you came down the stairs, this time in a lilac sundress and low heels.

"Yes. But I'll be back soon, I promise." You answered as you passed me and headed for the front door.

But I made breakfast.

You left, carrying the bubbly sensation in my stomach along.

My chest felt like it was burning and I bit back tears as I rushed passed the housekeeper who gave me a sympathetic look and went straight to my room.

The tears were insistent on falling but I kept wiping them away as I fell on my bed. The curtains to my room were still drawn closed, making my room all the more depressing.

I reached under my pillow and felt the cigarette packet with my hands. I wiped another tear, wondering what I should do with myself, wondering why I was here, in this house, all by myself if no one cares.

I picked up my phone instead and decided to call Margaret. She answered almost immediately "Hey Mollie, howfar?"

"I'm okay." I answered, struggling to keep my tone even "Umm could you maybe come over? Not to my house, you know.. Where we usually meet."

She hesitated for a moment. "I'm kind of busy right now but I'll see if I can make it. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah.. everything's fine."

After hanging up, I dropped the cigarette on my bed and left the house.

Immediately I stepped out, light breeze brushed pass me and tickled my hair. The skies were blue and happy but the clouds didn't appear to be sharing the same sentiment as they scattered above, grey and gloomy.

I strolled to the alley and took my usual position on the worn out bench as I waited.

A few street kids passed by and I pretended to be busy with my phone so I wouldn't draw their attention but a few of the guys still catcalled and went on their way.

Minutes turned to hours and there was no sign of her.

What was I even thinking?

That she'd come, I'd tell her all my problems, get a pitiful pat on the back and then return to that house with all my problems still unsolved?

I felt stupid for even thinking that telling her would help me in anyway.

Everybody just cares about themselves and only pretend to listen only when you listen to them first.

It's just the nature of humans.