Fragmented ✔️

8. Blindsided

Some people believed a new month was the perfect excuse for new beginnings and focus. And by the looks of it, my mother was part of that group. Sandra Leighton was a conniving, blindsiding, and double-crossing backstabber.

If I didn't love her so much, I would contemplate running from this parked car and never stepping foot in our house again.

September had come to an end and the October air blew in the winds of change. Changes I had no part in.

I glanced at my mum's reflection in the rear-view mirror and my anger dissolved. She bit the inside of her mouth as worry clouded her features, softening the sharpness in her aqua eyes. Letting out a loud sigh, I rested my forehead on the seat in front of me.

"It's just for a couple of hours, Beatrice. Dr Westcott reassured me you wouldn't need to share your story if you didn't feel comfortable."

Dr Westcott, my doctor, the one my parents paid large sums of money to so he could fix me. Not that they would say that, but I knew why he had practically become part of our family unit. Every decision or worry my mother had passed through that man. Of course, this would involve him.

"I don't need it, Mum. We've been over this." My voice sounded harsher and louder than I intended.

Mum cursed under her breath and hit the steering wheel. "No, we haven't. Not really."

"I've been better," I mumbled into myself.

"You flinch when I say your name, you can't sit next to me in the car and you're not sleeping." She looked towards the Victorian townhouse, the building's actual purpose hidden amongst the properties surrounding it. "The nightmares are back," she added, her tone weak, almost defeated as she slumped forward.

My head snapped up. "How do you know?" The ringing picked up in my ears. That was the last thing I wanted her to discover.

"Do you think I can't hear you crying out every night in panic? Have you considered how that makes me feel? Hearing my baby screaming for her friend and there is nothing I can do to help? Well, this is me doing something to help you." Her words cracked and her shoulders heaved as she let her sobs go.

I reached over and wrapped my arms around her; the seat blocking me from getting too close. "I'm sorry."

She hugged back, gripping my hands in hers. "Try today at least. Please."

The grim skies cast their shadows over the doorway to the therapy centre, leaving it as desolate as my internal thoughts. I scanned the trees and the path ahead for any signs of colour and hope but was left with a heaviness in my chest. Slipping my hands out of my mother's grasp, I placed them at the base of my throat, hoping to quell the rising acid.

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Just today."

***

My thin jacket barely shielded the cool October air from seeping under my skin. Goosebumps ran up my arms to my nape as I closed the car door. I pulled the flimsy material tighter around myself and walked to the ominous entryway. Running my fingers over the coarse brickwork, I delayed pressing the intercom button. The shrill of the buzzer jolted my shoulders back a fraction.

"Sorrel Terrace. How may I help you?" The spirited voice behind the intercom contrasted with the decor.

"Err." I turned towards my mother who was still sat there, peering over her steering wheel. I could do this. "I have an appointment at three, the bereavement group. Beatrice Leighton?" My mouth turned dry and numbness infused my body as I gave my name.

"First floor, on your left. You can't miss it."

The telltale sound of the door unlocking resonated on the porch and I pushed against the ageing wood.