17th June 1978
Tw- Illness, alcoholism, mentions of abuse and drug addiction
Now if someone asked me what was exactly on my mind as I stood outside my parents door, for the first time in years, with my stomach knotted so tight it hurt and my breath so quick it almost stopped, I wouldn't be able to tell them.
It was blank, in a desperation to block out all that it could. I knew that would soon end when my eyes met the same pair they'd been so eager and careful to avoid all these years, which is why I was so hesitant in finally knocking the large wood panel that would open to an endless trap of memories bound to haunt me.
My goodbyes had been said and flight had been dragged on for what felt like decades, hours that had slipped into minutes as the frame in time where I had to rattle my fist against the door became too close for my liking.
I didn't know why, but my hand that was free of my suitcase (packed by Connie) wouldn't lift itself upwards. It was like it knew this was bad for me. But it let me do so many other things that were arguably just as bad. It lifted the cigarette to my lips, and the bottle of whatever drink I fancied, and held the hand of whatever guy would next somehow break me. But it wouldn't let me simply knock a door.
It could've been nerves, mainly fear, or there was a slim chance it was because I didn't know how to anymore. I wasn't quite sure how exactly to knock the door of the exact house I'd fled what felt like decades ago. I never expected to come back, so how could my hand know it was going to be expected to knock it.
I slowly exhaled a short breath of air, treating it as if it was a cloud of grey I needed to realise with such ease, my eyes temporarily closing shut as they blocked me from the daunting white wood.
It was in that moment a memory finally did hit my mind, one I wish would've stayed cleared for only moments longer than it had, and I tried to wipe it away almost as quickly as I'd seen it. All I could imagine was the image of my mum in bed to match her damaged voice I'd heard over the phone.
It was almost as if the guilt crashing over me was what had lifted my hand, because only a split second after the image had left I felt it loudly knock against the painted white wood.
The knot in my stomach tightened itself, as did the clench on my suitcase's handle and teeth on my bottom lip as the dreaded silence grew longer and longer. I didn't hear any footsteps near the panel, or any voices mumble slightly, like the place had been like I could only dream abandoned.
But in reality the pause was one so brief anyone else would hardly focus on it, but somehow through whatever tangle it had been trapped in within the depths of my head I seemed to let it drag for what felt like minutes and minutes of waiting. Not anticipating, but simply waiting for a chore I knew I still couldn't build enough strength to do.
"Adelynn, hi..." the voice used by the women who answered the door was one i recognised, but her worn features and peppered hair were completely foreign to me. "I'm Kimberly, the nurse you spoke with on the phone that time. Sorry, your dads out and your mum asked my to get the door."
"Oh ok." I nodded slowly, a twinge of relief playing with my emotions knowing I didn't have to confront dad just yet. But the relief was hardly one I focused on when it was so small and pathetic compared to the guilt, worry and pure fear scrambling through me.
"Sorry... please come in. Make yourself at home." She smiled, not entirely warmly, stepping back from the door to open it wider and let me walk through it. I took another short breath, one that was a poor attempt to prepare myself before I took short, slightly nervous steps through the door to my old home.
The place was completely different. The white painted door and large glass windows standing behind proudly swaying flowers were all just part of the act in hiding the truths the house owned.
The walls were yellow, not painted that colour either, and the furniture was worn and chipped, every wooden surface covered by an array of empty glasses or the remains of my dads last little white bag. The sofa was worn, sat on my too many different figures and laid on by too many frame, and the carpets were lifeless sprawled in an awkward position against the dark flooring.
The entire house seemed dim. But it matched. The poor lighting was almost too perfect a match for the rest of the scene, finally finishing the illusion of the home fed too distant from my memory. The door gently shut behind me, trapping me back inside for the first time in far too long as I continued to analyse the weak contents of the place.
Even though everything was different, completely different, the house still held the same memories it let me create. Every inch of the room managed to bring me back to a time I'd been trying to bury in the past, wether it was a just a plain old glass that caught my eye or the ash trays that hadn't managed to change. It all took me back to the years I spent trapped there.
"Your mums upstairs in bed. Why don't you take your bag up to the spare room and say hi before your dad gets back ? He won't be too much longer." The american accent added, nodding as I let my eyes meet hers and lips sit straight. "Welcome home."
"This isn't my home anymore. It never used to be like this." I shrugged, the two of us deciding to exchange an awkward laugh as she crept into the kitchen and I decided to slowly pad up the stairs I'd been falsely accused of falling down all those times.
I was immediately met with my old bedroom, still the same way I'd left it, covered with posters of every actress and rockstar a girl could dream of being with, the bed still covered my an orange patterned duvet and dresser still untouched. I threw the suitcase on the bed, rushing over the the dressing table I instantly recalled sitting at to glance at the Polaroids stuck to the edge of the mirror.
There was dozens of me and Connie, our hair pinned back and lips always bright pink or rosey red, most likely dependent on how we'd seen Pattie Boyd wear hers. There were few of me and my mum, but in all of them the two of us had unmatched smiled and wrinkled eyes. All of them were completely different, all taken across months and years, but they were all tied together my the variation of scratches and bruises I'd gotten from 'falling down the stairs'.
I shook my head lightly, pulling it back from the mirror until the pictures blurred, letting my eyes take another quick glance at the huge prints of Elvis Presley, Paul McCartney, Audrey Hepburn and god knows who else, a small inching smile as the nostalgia sunk in.
I was quickly drawn from the childhood memories by a loud cough, one that echoed through the hollow house, owned by the the women I'd been here to see. I hurried out of my bedroom, a little panicked and scared as I neared the door of my parents room, trying with nothing but desperation to clear the memories becoming heavier and heavier.
"Kim ? Is that you again ?" My mum asked, her tone weak and fragile as the door cracked open. She was laid tightly under the covers of her bed, a glass of water by her side to comfort the endless bottles of pills I could only pray were prescription.
She looked like crap. Shit really. Considering she wasn't even that old, she looked rough. Her eyes carried dark, heavy bags that weight them down, and her hair was knotted, lazily unbrushed. Her lips were thin and fragile, weakened by nothing but the alcohol they let slip past them so easily.
"It's me mum." I smiled, watching with awe as her face practically lit up. "How you doing ?"
"Adelynn... my god look at you my sweetheart ! You're even more beautiful than in those pictures." She exclaimed, laughing as I laid down in bed besides her. She turned to face me, lips smiling as her eyes analysing as much as they could, pulling the covers more tightly across her frame covered by only thin pyjamas.
"It's weird being here... it feels like I'm tiny again." I chucked, my mum gently pushing back my hair to reveal the small scar my dad had left me carrying.
"God... you've still got that scar. I'm sorry baby I didn't want you to come back here. But I wanted to see you more than anything. I won't let anything happen don't worry." She held my cheek gently, her cold, worn hand holding the edge of my face as I slowly nodded. "You're so big now... so gorgeous."
"You look the exact same... not a day over forty five." She scoffed playfully, using a worrying amount of the little strength she had to nudge me. She was clearly weak, but that was obvious from even her cough alone. It was heartbreaking to watch, but I just had to pretend she was the same person she used to be, just to allow her to live that same life I knew she wanted to.
"You're funny. How's Connie ? I bet she's not so little now."
"She's great mum, she's stunning too. She'd love to see you again."
"If I get better, I'll pay you two a visit. I've always wanted to explore London." She sounded scared, scared by the simple thought of being the person to spend her last days stuck in the same bed she had been for years and years.
"When... not if." I smiled, kissing her forehead lightly. "Did you want me to brush your hair ? Do your make up like when I was little. I think I'm a bit better at it now."
"Yeah..." she nodded again, her eyes glistening with denied tears. "And you can tell me all about your amazing life in England... every little detail."
-
Seeing my mum again had almost been surreal. I'd spent only an hour or so pampering her, until she sent me off down stairs so she could change into a different night gown, leaving me with the nurse I presumed left when dad would eventually come dreadfully through the door.
I was sat in a tense silence besides Kim, the two of us falsely focused on the tv as we waited for either mum to come down the stairs or dad to come through the door.
"So... what kind of character are you playing in this film ?" She asked awkwardly, deciding to fill the gap obviously too quite for her liking. "Bad guy or ?"
"Just side role... some characters sister." I shrugged, watching as she clicked her tongue and nodded slowly.
"I erm... don't really know how to say this, but you know your mums not got long right ? I mean, you've seen her. She's ill."
I should've been sad after hearing that, but I was angry. I was so pissed at myself, but I didn't want to accept the fact I was. I wanted to push that onto everyone else around me, especially after seeing her the way she was. Her hair tangled and clearly unwashed, not even dressed, eyes tired and wanting a good nights sleep. It was harsh.
"Yeah. I've seen her. The whole bloody world has. Everyone knows Anna Petrov is bloody dying, and no one seems to really care. Not even her own husband." I sighed, shaking my head as the nurses eyes shot open. She was shocked, not entirely sure of how she could respond, but luckily for her the door knocked loudly.
I knew that knock too. The loud, heavy fist that had been the same one to rattle my childhood whilst he squeezed it in his grasp. The anger instantly dropped, finding itself tiny besides the fear only one knock against the door had given me.
"I'll get it." Kim lazily got up from the sofa and walked over to the tall door, slowly pulling it back to reveal my dad figure stumbling in with a bottle in his hand.
His hair was hardly on his head anymore, and his eyes were wide and skin dirty. His shirt was worn and old, jeans in the same state. His hands had never looked so frightening, scratched knuckles that wore blood that could of been days old.
For two people that had as much money as they did, anyone would think my parents lived a gorgeous fantasy life. But he spent every penny he had on bags of coke to snort off whatever side was nearest, and she had nothing. He didn't let her have anything.
"Adelynn... you're here." He slurred drunkenly, stumbling towards my frame sat tensely on the sofa.
"You're high." I shuffled backwards, hoping he'd recognise how uncomfortable I was like Kim could, but instead he sat down besides me and threw his arm around me.
"Ahh you've missed me." He kissed my cheek sloppily, leaving my skin crawling as I felt his cold, almost terrifying touch against it. "I can't believe you're finally acting... it's about time."
"It's a one off. I'm only here to see mum anyway."
"Hiya love." Mum added sheepishly, slowly walking into the living room where the three of us were sat. Her hair was free of any tangleds and her eyes brightened by only a gentle amount of make up. But her cheeks were only warmed by the red tone she glowed with.
"You like nice Anna." Kim smiled, her bag being tossed other her shoulder as she eagerly prepared to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye Kim." Mum smiled, waving her out the door before weakly walking over to the sofa I was desperate not to be sat on besides dad.
"I'm gonna go up to bed... long flight and I've got a busy couple days." I wriggled free from the hold dad had me in, watching as his eyebrows furrowed.
"I've only just come home..." he yelled almost, laughing when I flinched slightly as his arm flung around loosely. "Don't be scared."
"I'm not." I lied, of course I did. I was petrified of him still. "I'm going to bed."
"Night sweet." Mum added, a guilt mixed with the sympathy in her tone as I nodded and turned on my heel, rushing up the stairs as my shaky breathe calmed itself.
I had no idea how I was gonna last two weeks there. Not a clue.
An- yeahhhhh don't ask me why I put my characters through so much pain- personally I think it adds spice
Anyways thank you all so much for reading, commenting and voting :)))