Black Rose

Chapter 18

"You need to come home Rose. Jeffrey told me that you're not safe here," she told me.

The bastard ran to my mother first.

"What were you doing talking to Jeffrey?" I instead asked.

"He's worried about you Rosie. He understands that he messed up, but he's willing to be a better man for you. You don't need to act out anymore," she said.

"Act out?" I said, barely keeping it together. Olivier was holding me back.

"Mom, that's rude. Rose actually loves Olivier, and he loves her back," Richard commented.

"He's black," she said, like that automatically means something.

"You already pointed that out, and I confirmed that I'm marrying him," I reminded.

"You can't marry him. What will people say? He's black, you're white, and he's a dangerous man," she countered.

I was losing it, and my brother knew that very well. "Mom, you're being racist. She's a grown woman who has found a man who truly loves her. She can do whatever she wants."

"I will not stand for this! You will not embarrass me like this!" she snapped, her eyes bloodshot.

I couldn't believe it. "You're joking, right? You think I'm the one who's embarrassing you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"It means you're an embarrassment yourself! You're a drunk, and God knows you're a whore too. How the hell does my stable relationship affect your image when you've managed to ruin your reputation all on your own?"

It happened quicker that I had time to react, and before I knew it, the orange juice that my fiancé had been drinking just minutes before, was decorating me, and my cheek was on fire. I looked up at her, shocked, and she was undoubtedly fuming.

"How dare you speak to me like that? You know nothing about me!" she spat.

I wiped away the juice with the dish cloth on the counter. "In case you've forgotten mother, I lived with you for more than two thirds of my life. I lived with you while you let your deadbeat husband abuse your children. I lived with you while you drank yourself into oblivion. I lived with you while you got high with your sketchy friends. I lived with you while you slept with a different man every week. I don't know what the hell it is you think I don't know, but I know enough to know that your opinion on my life choices means fuck all to me. I don't care what you think or what you want. If it were up to me, you would be back in Denver, far from my family. You're only here because my fiancé thought that I should actually bother listening to you, and for him, I went against my better judgement. As usual, I should've known better. You will never change."

I could see the true incredulity on her face from my words. We'd fought many times before, but I had never actually called her out for any specific behaviour. I just used to tell her that she needed to change her behaviour.

This was the first time I was telling her everything like it was.

"I do not want you here. I do not care that you are my mother, because at this point in my life, you are the woman who birthed me and nothing else. You don't know what it is to be a mother. You don't know what it is to love, and you can only blame yourself for that," I told her before leaving the kitchen.

I was beyond upset.

While she deserved to hear the truth, it wasn't easy telling it to her. I highly doubt anyone who found themselves in the same position as me would enjoy telling their mother those things. Mothers are the first people we're meant to look up to in our lives, and to be failed by yours hurts on a level I couldn't voice.