POD 17- A point of re-direction

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:!: Philosophy of the Dark- Authors Comments: Once again, a rather clean (refering to language and content) chapter...again....wow...cool eh? Enjoy! :!:


Chapter 17
-A point of re-direction


The drive back was shorter than it should have been, passing in a blur of new found determination. The house was lit up in every window except for one, the stone walls reflecting the light in glimmers. Jamie parked across the street, leaving the doors unlocked before she walked nervously to the door.

Everything was quiet, there were no screams of abuse, no half silenced cries of desperation. Silent in a way that held no comfort.

She opened the door and slid in, silently closing it behind her. The living room was bright, the same as it has always been, the same furniture, the same television set, the same eerie normality as always. Nobody was in here, and Jamie scurried up the stairs, trying to be as light on her feet as possible. Her heart beat furiously, giving away the sense of panic she couldn't shake away.

Down the hall Jamie could see her door, below it no light shone, as always it would be dark, one last comfort before she left it forever.

She reached the door, extending one sweating hand to grasp the handle unwilling to turn it. There were cracks on the door from earlier, cracks from every fight she ever put up like tally marks, reminding her why she was leaving, giving her the strength to turn the knob.

Somebody had replaced the curtain so that even the stars couldn't shine in the room. Jamie closed the door gently behind her, hearing the satisfying click as she did so.

There was no light, Jamie could barely see her hand in front of her face, but she knew the room well, walking through it as if it were as bright as day. She reached the desk, putting one hand on it's smooth surface, sliding it across to the lamp. She turned the knob enough to create a small orange glow, enabling her to see.

She turned to get the notebook from it's hiding place, a figure was sitting in the middle of the room, silhouetted with a notebook in hand.

Had Jamie not been paralyzed with fear she would have screamed, and had she screamed she would have faced a much worse fate.

“Mom,” she sighed, letting the air whoosh out of her.

“Jamie, I wasn't sure if you'd come back,” her mom said. Jamie felt bad, in
all the excitement of leaving she had never once considered her mom, or
what leaving might do to her. She felt even worse upon realizing that she
hadn't come back for her, but for something else.

“I had to,” Jamie said, leaving out the painful truth that she only had to
come back for her writing. She would be leaving again soon.

“I'm glad you did honey.”

“Where's Richard?” Jamie asked, taking a step closer to her mom, who was
still sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“He's out drinking.”

“Oh crap, Mom, I'm sorry,” Jamie lowered herself to the floor, sitting across
from her mother.

“Don't be,” her mom said.

“It's all my fault,” Jamie shook her head, “He wouldn't be out if it weren't
for me.”

“I can take the punishment,” her mom said. Jamie's head jerked up,
catching her mothers defeated gaze.

“No,” she said firmly, “Never again, I won't let you be responsible for my
actions.”

“It's not your fault honey.”

“It is though, what have you ever done to deserve half of what you've
gotten. Mom, you deserve way better than this,” Jamie took her mothers
hand in hers, not escaping her gaze, “you deserve more than me.”

“Jamie-” her mom began, tightening her grip.

“You can't argue that, everything is my fault, you've never done anything
but protect me, yet I still can't do anything right.”

“You're perfect Jamie, it's Richards fault that he can't see that.”

“No. I've finally realized, and it took me seventeen years. I'm so obsessed
with trying to do everything right, being perfect and everything that he
wants me to be, that I've only ever succeeded in doing wrong. By you, by
him, and especially by myself. I'm not leaving until I fix things, one way or
another we'll both be free, and that will be the rightest thing I could ever
do.”

“Jamie,” her mother said, “I am free. This is all I ever wanted, a life with
Richard and my daughter. It was what I dreamed of on my wedding day,
and I have it.”

“It's not what you want though!” Jamie exclaimed in a hushed voice, “It's
that he's made you believe every lie he's ever told you, believe that every
hit was valid, and that every screwup was ten times worse than it was. I
know you Mom, you're way better than this, don't let him run your life with
fake promises and lies.”

“What if I don't know how?” her mom asked, leaning forward as if she were
a teenager again, waiting for the secrets to come spilling out to shine light
on her.

“Then we'll learn, together.” Jamie answered.

And then they heard the unmistakable slamming of a car door.

“Quick,” Jamie said, tugging her keys out of her pocket, “get in the closet.”

“What, no!” Her mother said, eyes open wide.

“Please, mom, just listen to me!” Jamie said, taking the book from her
mothers hands. A pen fell to the ground unnoticed.

Jamie shoved the book in it's hiding spot, tugging the sheets over the hole
as if it weren't even there.

“You said I have to be strong Jamie,” her mom said, standing up, “that
starts now.”


Not now, Jamie thought, anytime but now.

The front door opened, slamming shut with the same velocity as the car
door had moments earlier. Jamie was in full panic mode.

“Mom, please,” she said.

“No Jamie. You're my daughter, I have to protect you.” her mom said.

“I don't want you to get hurt out of duty,” Jamie said, her voice getting
higher and higher pitched as her heart pounded. Sweat collected at her
hairline, her pulse's almost audible frantic beat rushed through her, and
still, through all the chaos her mom refused to budge.

“It's not out of duty,” she said, as the ever heavy footsteps made their way
down the hall, getting closer and closer to them with every drunk thud. “It's
out of love.”

Jamie paused, once again weakened by the word she so desperately
wanted to believe in. That pause was enough for the footsteps to reach the
door, hands itching for something to hit turned the knob. Enough for Jamie
to open the door to him, and let him stumble in, momentarily baffled.

“Aha!” Richard proclaimed, throwing one arm up in the air, off balancing
him as he fell to the ground looking up with quivering eyes.

“Just the women I wanted to see!”
[/i]

:idea: POD 18- Accidental confessions- Will be Rated R for violence and language. Now Posted! :idea:
Last edited by JC on Wed Apr 25, 2007 3:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
But that is not the question. Why we are here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come. -Beckett




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Noo you cant leave it there!

I'm running out of wrods to say how much i really like POD, i will make sure to look out for #18 I'm guessing it wont be on the maind page :)

Meevs
x
Bag.

Got YWS?




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Hey again. I don't think there's anything for me to critique here. This chapter was amazing. Hopefully the next one'll be out in the next day. I'll be waiting. ;)




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Chapter 18 is posted, but its rated R.

-JC
But that is not the question. Why we are here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come. -Beckett




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The living room was bright, the same as it [s]has[/s] had always been


extending one sweating hand to grasp the handle unwilling to turn it.
This sounds weird.

her pulse's almost audible frantic beat rushed through her
"audible frantic" is odd.

It's so sad to see that even her mother is so weak. This was good :-) The story is very capturing, for sure, at this point. I can say that with a rewrite and a clean up and all that this would turn out really, really good. Way better than it already is.
“It's necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo



Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact.
— William James