Hello ladies and gentlemen. Gosh it has been a while since I wrote anything. Well... I didn't really write anything. I planned on finally continuing the one for Twilight story I put up about a year or so ago only to find I had deleted it... I still don't remember doing it. Anyway. So I re-wrote everything and made some changes. And here is what I came up with. Also, if you're re-reading, you'll find I put chapters one and two together to make the prologue. But enough of my babbling. Go ahead and read the thing! And remember: I, like many of my other fellow authors live for your reviews and comments, good or bad. So don't be shy, let me know what you think!
Slamming the door behind me I dropped my backpack at the door and turned into the kitchen off of the front hall. The house was filled with the noise of my mother's cheery Christmas music. I hummed along to Jingle Bell Rock as I picked through what little bit of food we had left in the refrigerator. Finding nothing of interest to me I shut the door and pulled the marker off of the whiteboard stuck to the fridge, leaving a note for my mom.
SHOPPING IS NEEDED NOW! NO FOOD! I penned in my large, block handwriting. I was about to put the pen back when I noticed something a tad bit off about the G in "shopping". I took off the cap and wiped the marker away with my sleeve and re-wrote the message.
Satisfied I replaced the marker and turned to the cabinets, still on a search for nourishment. Finding it, I unwrapped one of the snack cakes and made my way toward the stairs, munching down on Little Debbie.
"Mooooooooooommm," I called. "I'm home!" I received no answer so I continued up the stairs and to my room. As I passed the bathroom shared previously by my mom, my father and I, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. Curiosity drew me toward it. My mom never left doors open, not ever. She was convinced something or someone would burst in and kill her I think..
"Mom?" I knocked lightly, but not so lightly as to not be heard. I didn't get an answer so I pushed the door open. Inside lay my mother inside the claw foot tub, one arm flung over her face, the other over the side of the tub. Bright red dripped from her wrist and had formed a rather large pool on the floor beside the tub.
Well, that certainly is a lot of blood, I thought calmly. She must have been like this for quite a while.
I took an unsteady step toward her then another. My eyes roamed over her inert form. They stopped on the hand hanging limply over the side of the tub. There was something inside it. When I reached her I stood over the tub looking down inside it. Beside her lay a nearly empty bottle of vodka.
I reached my hand out and drew it back quickly when it neared hers. For some reason my mind went to a conversation we had a few months before, about my hands. I made a comment about them being ugly. She told me it was nonsense, that I had beautiful hands. She said sometimes when I used them to talk like I do she was reminded of an albino spider. Long, thin and white, moving gracefully always. Not like hers, which were short and dark, dusted lightly with freckles from being in the sun.
My mother's hands were no longer dark. They held no color at all. The light brown freckles that dusted the backs of her hands and fingers looked unnaturally dark against the dead white of her skin…
Dead white… Dead… Dead… The word repeated in my mind, trying to convince me of the truth. But I wouldn't accept it. I moved forward another couple of inches and knelt beside the tub. My hand once again moved to my mother's and this time I did not pull back.
I pried the orange prescription bottle from her fingers, not yet stiff with rigor mortis. I looked at the label and saw my name printed in big, black letters. The letters stood out from the rest like an accusation. I dropped the bottle and it rolled across the floor.
"Mom," I said again. I shook her lightly by the shoulder. Her skin was cool to the touch. "Mom," I repeated again, a little more loudly this time. There was no response, though I didn't expect there to be. "Mommy," I squeaked, my throat tight with restrained emotions. I couldn't bring myself to touch her wrists, either of them. I pushed back her blond hair and felt for a pulse in her neck. Nothing moved beneath my fingers, no indication of life.
I snatched my hand away from her and fell off balance onto the floor. I felt the fabric of my jeans and the hem of my sweater grow wet and begin sticking to my skin. Scooting away from the tub, I stumbled to my feet and walked unsteadily to the toilet. There I threw up the Zebra Cake I had inhaled on my way upstairs.
After a few moments of dry-heaving I stood a little steadier and walked to the pedestal sink. Turning the faucet on cold I splashed the water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. My mother's body was reflected behind me. I couldn't bring myself to stop looking at her.
My mind was empty the next few days. I don't remember much. After finding my mom like I did I walked down the stairs and out the door. I walked for a while, I'm not sure for how long before I ended up at the door to my friend Brian's. I knocked, he let me in and saw my clothes. Immediately launching into an interrogation that would make most seasoned homicide detectives proud he asked what happened. I told him, he called his mom, she came and called an ambulance. I broke down in their kitchen. Then everything went dark.
The next thing I remember I was standing next to my sister dressed in black. I didn't know who made the arragements. She had her arm around me protectively. After the service was through I hadn't moved and she followed my gaze. I had been staring at my father the whole time over the top of my mother's coffin. Beside him was his pretty new wife, probably five years older than I at the most. She was crying like it was her mother who had died. My sister's arm turned from protective to restraining in an instant though I never made a move toward the happy couple.
My father and his wife came to us at the wake. The woman, Lindsey was her name, offered her condolences and said how sorry she was that this had all happened.
"As well you should be," I deadpanned. "It's your fault," I elaborated when she gave me a blank look of confusion, though it was also said to my father. He grimaced and sent a quick slap across my face, telling me what a disrespectful child I was. I smiled ruefully and turned to walk outside, leaving my sister and father to argue.
I lit a cigarette and pulled out my cell phone, ignoring the reproachful glances I received from my elderly relatives and giving them a cool smile. Their thoughts didn't matter to me. They were occasional relatives. My sister came outside after a few moments. She asked what I was doing.
"Calling a cab. I think we should leave a little earlier than planned." She nodded her agreement and scowled when she saw me lift the cigarette to my lips for another drag.
"You have no idea how wrong it is for you to be smoking right now, especially after all the times mom wanted you to quit." She shook her head and looked over at our occasional relatives, giving them a wave. They waved back and turned back to their conversation. My sister sighed. "Damned old people." She held out her hand to me. I raised a black brow. "I know you have more. Give me one." I smiled around the butt between my lips and dug into my pocket for the crushed pack of menthol cigarettes. She took one and lit it, inhaling the smoke gratefully.
We stood on the front porch for another twenty minutes, chain-smoking all the time, before our cab pulled up. I told her I would get our things, and did so, walking through the house we had lived in our whole lives with my cigarette in hand, not caring what people had to say. I was past caring. My father caught my arm in a viselike grip as I descended the stairs, mine and my sister's bags in one hand, my two duffels on each shoulder. I held a fresh cigarette in the other. I put the butt between my teeth and stared at him. He plucked the cigarette away and tossed it to the carpet.
He turned back to say something to me and was caught in the jaw by my fist. Amid the exclaimed reproaches, shouts of outrage and my sister's calls to me I bent to retrieve the cigarette that had burnt a small black spot in the flawless white carpet, stuck it between my lips and walked out the door, my sister behind me taking a bag and alternately praising my standing up to Daddy and reprimanding my doing so at Mom's wake. I fell asleep shortly after that and woke up just as we passed a sign that read "Welcome to Forks".
All right peoples, that was the first chapter/prologue/whatever you want to call it. I promise to try and stay on top of this instead of letting it sit and get deleted. Leave me a review. The next one should be up within the week. Thanks, C.