Blair♧
Mornings were never pleasant for me.
They never really were meant to be.
Some kids my age wake up to parents who are happy to see them. Their fathers busy in the kitchen reading a newspaper or busy collecting documents for work and their mothers would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast and making sure all the lunches were packed for the day.
Each parent would smile as their kids flaunts into the room in their uniform ready for school. They would ask if each other slept well and bid each other a good day and they would sit, eat and bask in the joys of one another's presence because that what family does. Through the lows and the highs, the arguments and the laughs, family stick together.
And my family?
Family wouldn't be the right word.
Instead of waking up to a glorious life I wake up to a living horror of a surreal existence. My father is busy doing God knows what, God knows where and my mother is either shit faced drunk or just lounging around the kitchen looking for food of which we don't have because it's me who usually does the shopping and when you have school to deal with, there isn't much time for shopping trips.
No one makes sure my lunch is packed so I'm stuck getting free school meals payed for by the government like I'm some low life piece of scum and no smiles would ever be served my way because apparently I'm undeserving of any kind of happiness.
No one in my household eats together and we certainly do not wish each other a good day and I'm pretty sure my mother actually wishes me dead. Through the lows and the highs there are only lows for us and the arguments do not get redeemed with laughs because my family don't stick together.
My family?
We are nothing at all.
There is nothing special really about my room. The walls and the ceiling are a simple white colour because when we first moved in my mother never bothered to decorate. I don't have curtains, just a few supposed to be white blinds that are in fact tattered and mouldy.
My bed is a single one with a grey duvet and matching pillow. I am overdue a new mattress because whenever I shift in the middle of the night I wake up to a spring digging into my spine making me feel as though I'm sleeping on a pile of bricks.
I have a small oak wardrobe that has the left door hanging my the last nail and a matching set of chest-of-drawers that still have the last two drawers empty from my lack of clothing. So yea, nothing special.
I'm in the bathroom currently glaring at how ridiculous I look. My school uniform has never looked more stupid than it does right now. Rose Wood High has always had the most hideous colours for their uniform and mine consisted of, a white button up shirt, a florescent yellow blazer and don't even get me started on the navy blue pencil skirt that of course comes with a pair of tights that give you the most unbearable itch.
And because my mother can't be arsed ironing, not that I'm even sure we have an iron, my uniform looks like I've been picked up, scrunched into a small paper ball and been thrown half way across Japan. Small creases obscure the fabric of my uniform, I literally look like a crumpled piece of paper. Glaring at myself once more, I bend down to try and smooth the material of my skirt and it is having non of it, I groan in frustration.
I'm about to yell something absurd at my own reflection when the sound of her ever so cheerful voice ricochets through the bathroom.
"Blair get down here now, I don't have all day to wait for you."
I sigh inwardly and brace myself to fall in the presence of that she devil of a mother.
"You do have all day because you don't have a job," I mutter to myself, I wouldn't dare say it to her personally.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and take an overly long deep breath with my hand hovering above the doorknob. Anxiety begins to bubble up inside of me and a sweat breaks out along my forehead, a wave of heat crashes into me and it takes all my strength to remain balanced. I hate admitting this but I'm scared.
Scared of her because she is the only person in this world who can hurt me and I will still love her regardless. Maybe it's the Stockholm syndrome talking or maybe it's because she, by name, is my mother and so I feel obliged to care for her.
Whatever it is, it has a chokehold over me and it won't let go. So I do what I do best, I open the door with my sweaty hand and follow the voice of my mother because even though I'm scared, I hate that I care for her, and I hate myself more for even doing so.
The car is silent as always, the only sound being the purr of the engine. The country roads seem longer than normal and the road seems to be stretching on for miles. I lean my head on the window slowly getting into the rhythm of feeling the car go over the stones and potholes that litter the ground.
With each jump I am shaken back into reality, the reality of the person who is sat next to me. I still feel fear even from being sat next to her with the gear stick in between us. Feeling her warmth should comfort me and make me feel safe and instead it's making me feel unsafe and overheated.
She hasn't said a word to me since we set off from our house and the fierce grip she has on the steering wheel is slightly concerning. My own palms are growing sweaty and my nails are digging furiously into my skin. My teeth couldn't be clamping down harder on inside of my cheek if I tried.
"I think I deserve an apology," she says suddenly. I flinch slightly from her tone, momentarily closing my eyes. Her voice was loud and certain, so certain that's always me who's in the wrong. I don't even know what I'm supposed to apologise for.
"What did I do?" I question, quietly afraid to even speak too loud.
She snorts obnoxiously shaking her head in sheer hatred. She glances over at me quickly with a sneer taking over her face and I subconsciously press my body into my seat squirming away from her.
"I'm driving you to school right now when I don't even have to. I could just decide one day to make you walk but no, I spend an hour of my time making sure you get an education so the least you can do is apologise for being such an ungrateful brat," she spits, the pure venom is leaking from her tongue. What have I done to inspire such hatred?
My hands tremble on my lap and I try to obscure them from her view, I clear my throat not wanting to speak and sound as afraid as I really am.
"Please, what is it that I have done?"
"God are you stupid?" The force of her yell, scrapes through my head with it's claws making me wince. I feel the anger starting to take over my nerves because I don't understand why she wants me to apologise.
She rants, "I drive you places, I am taking to counselling so when you grow up you don't become even more of a screw up, I allow you to leave the house whenever you want, I let you live in my house for God sake. Nothing is stopping me from changing the locks and just kicking you out."
The blaze in her eyes and the animalistic look on her twisted face is forcing me into a deeper state of panic, especially since she was driving.
As if sensing this the car comes to a screeching halt next to the curb and it's then that I realise we are no longer in the country lanes but the middle of town. She sighs heavily with her shoulders heaving down and turns to me with a neutral frown. I shrink back even further.
"Apologise to me, please," she begs looking almost soft. Her eyes are not tense but droopy like something is weighing her down, she is conflicted. One of her hands remains on the steering wheel with her knuckles a ghostly white, the other hand is balled up into a tight fist resting rigid on her lap.
"I don't understand, what is it that I've done, tell me," I demand.
A hand finds me cheek and I force my body to not back away, I freeze every muscle and every bone and force my eyes to not blink just in case I'm dreaming all of this.
Her skin feels warm but rough against the softness of my cheek, it feels like how a mother's touch should feel, calm, comforting and inviting. I find myself leaning into it, craving the love she has never not once bestowed upon me. I almost feel safe, almost.
Her eyes look into mine like she can actually see me, she doesn't look at me like I'm something to get rid of, or as if she glanced at me by accident, it's by purpose that her eyes are searching mine. She seems almost regretful, almost like she was the day we went to the park. Almost. I let myself blink and just like that the moment is gone.
The hand that was gentle is now tightly gripping the roots of my hair causing me to wince and yelp in pain. My hands grab her wrist and I scratch my nails hard into her skin like that of a cat and I tug ferociously, but surprisingly her grip is strong. I feel the tears burn my eyes and despite my promise to never cry in front of her, I have broken it greatly.
"You should apologise to me for being the biggest mistake of my life, your father loved me before you, your father wanted me before you, your father was happy before you and I foolishly thought having a child would make us complete but you only ruined things quicker. You destroyed us and every minute of the day I spend thinking about it."
She yanks my head closer towards her lips so the venom in her voice is sounding even clearer.
"You should apologise to me for being nothing, you serve no purpose."
With that last blow she pushes me back and my head whacks against the window and I supress a groan by furiously biting my lip drawing blood.
"Get out of my car," she says quietly, too quietly and I know if I don't comply things will only escalate.
After slamming the car door shut and standing on the pavement shivering from anger and fear and possibly the cold, I feel myself wanting to disappear because I am nothing.
Its all I am.
It's all I ever will be.
And I watch her drive away taking what little sanity I have left along with her.
She hurts me, hates me and destroys me and yet I always find in my heart to forgive her because I love her.
Foolishly so.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
What do you think of the relationship between Blair and her mother?
Do you think her mother will get nicer?
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