"Rose, can I come in?"
Rose, who was knitting the last row of wool on a scarf, sighed deeply. Once again, her mother had chosen the worst time to temporarily stay "sober".
"Yes, mother, it is definitely a congenial time for a visit," Rose sarcastically and rudely replied, "even though, upon your visit to the entrance of my bedroom, the locked door should of answered your question."
Rose reluctantly got off her messy bed and slowly walked to the door; she unlocked it hastily and roughly, not bothering to stay long enough to see her mother, and jumped back unto the middle of her bed.
"So, Rose," Roxanne began as she walked to her daughter's bed, "what are you knitting?"
Rose sighed heavily, hiding the scarf and knitting supplies behind her back. It was a gift for her mother, but she didn't want her to know just yet. Luckily, when her mother walked to the tweenager's bed, her mother's eyes weren't drawn to the unfinished, brightly pink present.
"For now, I've let my knitting go on a short hiatus."
Roxanne scooted a tad closer to Rose, who then scooted a tad away from her mother; however, it was not out of maliciousness, and the tween pulled her mother closer to her, by her mother's long sleeves.
"Your sudden visit was quite unexpected, mother," Rose began, "and I can only conclude that said visit is only due to the 'reservoir' of mother's ruin, which has been completely devoured by your dependency."
Roxanne fidgeted with her hands at that remark, looking up and down between the floor and her feet. Yes, her supply of alcohol was completely empty, but she had used the opportunity to permanently step away from alcohol, for Rose; she was not using her daughter as a rebound occupation!
"Rose, I am not hanging out with you in spite—I am hanging out with you because you are my daughter! My lack of alcohol has helped me realize how much I tend to neglect you!"
Rose slightly scoffed at her mother, before picking up a novella, The Thing on the Doorstep, from the top of her left pillow. She turned the white pages till she reached the thirtieth page, and read right where she left off prior to her knitting.
"Yes, mother, you are spending time with me," Rose unamusingly responded, still reading her novella, "until the expected shipment containing your favorite children arrives."
Roxanne immediately responded with a hurt, shocked gasp; she knew that Rose had completely justified reasons to be unamused by her mother's attempt to bond with her, but she never thought that her daughter would believe that she preferred alcohol over her!
Yes, Roxanne would spend more time drinking than keeping a good supervision on the tween, but she had tried her hardest to give Rose affection, from presents, expensive and keen to her love of horror novels and knitting, to the placement of horror and wizard statues all over the mansion.
"Rose, baby," Roxanne grimmly said with a voice crack, "I would never leave you for alcohol! I am trying to change for the better!"
Rose slowly stopped reading and stared at her heartbroken mother, before putting her novella back on her left pillow. Rose had always had her hopes too high when it came to her mother and her addiction, but, this time, she felt as if her mother was telling the truth. With a face of concern and mild shock, she turned to her mother.
"M...mom," Rose began, actually calling her mother by the typical nickname an adolescent would give, and actually acting her age as well, "You mean it? You're letting go of the bottles?"
Roxanne wrapped her arms tightly around Rose, almost strangling the tween, and began to sob. Rose's subconscious was practically clawing at her; yes, her mother had been too dependent on alcohol, but she didn't neglect her 24/7.
Over the years, the single mother tried to buy Rose many supplies to further the goth's skills in knitting and the violin, and drank less and less around the tween. Her mother even swapped heavy vodka and martinis for light wine and champagne.
"Rose, baby, I know I haven't always been there for you," Roxanne admitted with guilt, "but that ends today. I'm going to do my best to make up for all the times I've let you down."
Rose sighed deeply, hugging her mother back. After a few minutes of silence, the goth turned her back around, and grabbed the almost finished scarf.
"I cannot lie, moth-...mom, I actually was knitting up something. I was going to give it you on your birthday, but now is a much better time."
Rose sighed heavily; she picked up the needles that were connected to the end of the scarf, and quickly finished the last bottom pieces.
"Rose," Roxanne began, astonished at the scarf's length, "this scarf is so long! It must've taken you hours to complete."
Rose slightly chuckled in embarassment, before landing the scarf unto her mother's lap. As Roxanne wrapped it around her neck, Rose slightly sweated.
"It only took me three weeks, mom," Rose said, humbleness in her tone for once, "so I apologize if any parts of the wool is...sloppy."
Roxanne smiled, kissing Rose on the cheek, causing the tween to playfully groan.
"Rose, this is beautiful! Oh, my little baby is such a prodigy!"
Rose smiled, responding, "I got it from my roots."
Roxanne slightly got up and grabbed the novella on the pillow, looking up and down the page her daughter left at.
"A Lovecraftian novella? I had a taste for his work, back in the day. Let me read the rest of this out loud for you, Rose."
Rose was quite surprised at her mother's request, but nodded in delight.
"Of course, mom."
Rose grabbed her needles and her leftover supplies of pink wool.
"It may be long now, mom," Rose began happily, "but I'll make it so long, it'll flourishly mix with wind and rain, withstanding any fluids or attacks that dares to foundle with it."
With gentle smiles, the mother and daughter entwined their their left pinkies together; they quickly separated after a few seconds, and Roxanne picked the book back up. She quickly went to the page Rose stopped at.
"I dare not tell my father, for he could not grasp the whole thing. But I have told him of my danger, and he now has four men from a detective agency watching the house..."
Rose lifted her right foot up, blood leaking from her black flats unto the white and black checkered floor. She kneeled to the ground, using both of her trembling, pale hands to cup her mother's bloody scarf. She almost gagged at the slight sight of her mother's chest intestines in front of her.
"My promise was one not delivered at the right time..."
Rose held her needles tightly; she was so delirious and vengeful, she didn't even notice her pale hands turning gray.
"However, mom, perhaps it'll be delivered now."
John can wait.