Spoiler! :
The contest I entered can be found here - Spoiler! :
The sound of a hacking cough and heels clicking on the kitchen floor woke me from the light doze I’d fallen into. Soon after, a sliver of light appeared between the bottom of my bedroom door and the threadbare carpet. I blinked in recognition and slipped my feet out from beneath the covers. My heart was already beating in anticipation and when I glanced at the alarm clock on my dresser, my pulse rocketed ever faster. One in the morning.
A cool breeze from the cracked window coated my skin with goosebumps as I tip-toed towards the door. A shiver worked its way down my spine, leaving a feeling of dread at the pit of my stomach. Worry seeped into my brain as I gripped the door handle and pressed down ever so slightly. I could hear a different noise from the kitchen now. Scurrying. Desperate searching; china mugs hitting glasses as she scoured the cupboards. A smash made me jump and the door came open.
I stepped into the hallway just as a shadow spread over the rug that was stained with red wine and cigarette ash. Late nights and sore heads. My stomach rumbled and my hand flew to my middle, pressing down to ease my hunger. Creeping along the short corridor, I bit my lip anxiously. Too soon there was no wall layered in peeling paper left to hide behind. Too soon I could see the back of my mother. Ripped tights. Dirty stilettos. Rain sodden hair and coat. The anger replaced the worry in an instant. This was becoming too much of a game to her. The second time this month.
“It’s been two days.” My voice was loud, inflicted with as much hate as I could muster.
Her shoulders raised, indicating that I’d caught her off guard. Bony hands let go of my Winnie the Pooh mug, and she turned to face me slowly. Mum was still wearing the same make-up that she’d put on two days before. Now though, the mascara and eyeliner that had been applied with precision was smudged and greasy. Her face was pale, her lips stained crimson round the edges where she hadn’t used her lipstick for a while. She looked tired. My anger grew.
“You’ve been gone for two days. No explanation. No idea where you are. No thought to how I’d get to school. What I’d eat.”
I'd tried to reason with her last time. She'd just walked off, telling me she was my mother, but she had her own life too. That had hurt me, and the tears I'd been crying had turned to tears of hate. If she wasn't going to listen then I was going to have to shout.
She moved her mouth into a subtle ‘o’ as if she were thinking of what to say, and how to explain another episode of her reckless behaviour.
I stepped towards her, my feet colliding with the sharp edges of a broken cup. I winced in pain but didn’t break my gaze from the woman standing in front of me. She’d turned around now, showing off dirty skin and tangled hair.
“You don’t care anymore, do you?” My fists were clenched tightly. My breathing hard. “Why don’t you care, Mum?”
She still said nothing. Instead, her eyes flitted back and forth, between me and the Winnie the Pooh mug she’d set on the draining board.
A surge of rage made me bolt forwards. Hands grabbed wrists and eyes connected. “You won’t find it there,” I spat. “I’ve hidden the last of the money. I’m not going to let you piss it all away anymore.”
Mum frowned then, narrowing her bloodshot eyes. Lack of sleep and too much alcohol. “You can’t do that!”
I didn’t even flinch as she shouted into my face, spit flying at me. “I shouldn’t have to!” I screamed, not caring whether my voice reached the neighbours through the papery walls. “I shouldn’t have to hide money from my own mother, but if I don’t, I know you’ll just spend it all on drugs!”
My skin prickled with fury as a hot tear rolled down her face. Crocodile tears. Worthless. Pointless. Useless. Her knees buckled, but I leaned into the counter to keep her from crashing to the cold kitchen floor. I wanted her to see how angry I was.
“You’re a selfish bitch!” I screeched. “You leave your fourteen year old daughter alone. Do you know how much it hurts me to know that you’d rather party yourself to death than look after me?”
Her gaze fell to my throbbing feet but I wrenched her face back up to look at me. For a moment her eyes flashed and I thought she was going to hit me like she did when she was drunk. But it was gone as quick as it had came, replaced with self pity.
“You’re thirty years old, Mum! Stop living like you’re eighteen! You’ve got responsibilities now. You can’t just do what you like anymore.” I gave her wrist an extra hard squeeze. “It’s time to grow up!”
“But what if I don’t want too, huh?” She gazed up at me hard, trying to stare me down. “What if I’m fed up of being a slave to a nine to five job, huh?”
I gritted my teeth and started forwards again, careening and knocking her back into the sink. She grimaced as I rounded on her weak, lifeless body. “You don’t have a choice!” I seethed, shaking with anger. “I didn’t get the choice of a decent Mother who cares about me. Who cares about her body. I just get you.”
Every hate filled thought that I’d ever had was bubbling to the surface now, injecting me with angst and so much revulsion for my mother that I couldn’t even stand to look at her anymore. Seeing the way she was watching me with dead eyes. Letting me hold her against her will without even trying to struggle. Crying without a meaning.
“This is my life too!” I cried. “Don’t you understand?”
“Caitlin.” My name sounded wrong when uttered from her chapped lips. Her voice made it seem like I was the one in the wrong. Like I was the one partying with strangers. Sleeping with them for money. Money I then spent on drugs and alcohol.
I was fuming to the point that I thought my heart would burst out of my chest if I was in the same room as her for a second longer. I let go of her suddenly, watching as she sank back against the sideboard, a look of relief on her face as if she thought I was relenting. Giving up.
“If you think for one minute that you can get away with living in a daydream for the rest of your life, you’re more sick in the head than I realised.” I could feel my lips curling upwards into a sneer. “You need to seriously decide what’s most important to you ‘cause if you pick drugs then I’ll be the one to suffer. I’ll be the one identifying your body at the local morgue when they find your corpse in some alleyway downtown. I’ll be the one living as an orphan for the rest of my life.” Bitter tears of resentment leaked from my eyes and streamed down my face, stinging my cheeks. “I’ll be the one to suffer because you want to live the life you can’t have. You shouldn’t want to have.”
My heart was hammering so hard that I could hear the sound of blood pumping in my ears. My throat was raw from shouting and the muscles in my arms were sore from holding my deadbeat mother up. My whole being was vibrating with rage as the final accusation shot like venom from my lips.
“You’ve been acting out ever since Dad died and it’s not fair! It hit me hard too, you know. I still think about him everyday! I still wish he could come back!” My hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Sometimes I wish you’d died instead of him!”
It was then that Mum straightened up and wiped the smeared make-up from her face with the back of a grubby hand. She considered me with her dead eyes for a second before her lips quivered. “It’s not my fault your dad died,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I grabbed fistfuls of my hair and pulled in frustration. The pain did nothing to numb the hate. “And it’s not my fault either!” The tears blurred my vision but I still saw red. “Grow up, Mum! Nothing you do will bring him back and it’s about time you realised that before I’m gone too. Then what will you have?”
I swiped at the tears and settled my glare on her pale face. “Nothing. That’s what you’ll have. Nothing but drugs and alcohol. I hope that makes you happy.” With the last ounce of restraint I had left I forced myself back to my room. “I hope I never end up like you!” I called, glaring over my shoulder to see her weeping into her hands. "You're my idea of hell."
I can't really pin-point where the rage really gets into her, so I think that if you created more of a build up, it would really be effective. Don't get me wrong because I can see that there's definitely some kind of build up, but I think you could do it more powerfully. I might not be suggesting this under normal circumstances, but considering the main focus of this contest is the emotion, I reckon you should think about doing this.
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