So, this is my first Homestuck piece! I'm actually quite nervous about this one, but oh well!
Italics are flashbacks.
Enjoy!
Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and it's your 15th birthday.
You're spending it like you spent your 14th, and your 13th. Curled up on your bed, in front of your laptop, with a bottle of vodka in your hand.
It's not your vodka, of course. It's your mother's. She wouldn't notice, though. She never does. She's not around to notice.
Not that you let it get you down. Between your cats, and your three best friends, you have lots of company.
Admittedly, Dirk, Jane and Jake are your only friends. You did used to go to school - you used to be best friends with a girl called Amber. Then, your mom left.
It was your 10th birthday. You remember coming down the stairs that morning, and pulling a box of cheerios from the cupboard. Your mom wasn't downstairs, but you figured she was either asleep, or out. It's alright; you'd see her that evening. Maybe she'd read you another of her wizard stories? You hoped so.
So there you were, munching on your cereals, when you noticed a pink post-it-note on the box. It was written in purple pen, like most of the notes your mother left you. You smile to yourself, and read it.
'Dear Roxy,
Happy birthday, sweetheart! I'm sorry I can't be here to give you your present, but it's on my bed. I won't be home for a few days as I have work over in England to attend to, but I'm sure you can look after yourself. You're a big girl, now!'
You smiled to yourself as you read the note. Usually, your mom would call over Uncle Dave to look after you, but after you complained that he rapped too much, you guess she must have got the message.
You dash upstairs, and sure enough, a purple parcel is sat on your mom's bed. You rip it open, and find her purple and pink scarf. Your jaw drops.
This scarf belonged to your grandmother, and her mother before that. And now it's yours.
You ripped the note up on your 13th birthday. You had been talking to Jane, when you tore the note off the back of the laptop, and shredded it to pieces. You then charged downstairs, smashed open the drinks cabinet that your mother had locked up, and pulled out a bottle of vodka.
It was her fault for not being there to stop you, you decided.
That's when your life started to spiral downwards.
You drank every day, allowing the alcohol to wash away your anger, your fear, your emotions. It would often knock you out, but you didn't care.
You began to skip classes, then whole days of school. When you were there, children made fun of you, taunting you about your mother, and your permanent stink of alcohol. Amber was one. You punched her once, right in the face. That's when the teachers got involved.
They would pull you out of classes, and talk to you. They asked you if you were alright, if things were going alright at home. You would nod, and try to brush them off. In the end, you called up school, impersonated your mother, and told them that you were transferring schools.
You haven't left the house since then.
You didn't starve, though. Jane wouldn't let you. You received parcels in the post full of food. Jane was a good cook, and you loved her food. She worried about you, you could tell that. You didn't care, though. Martinis drowned your worry.
So, it was your 15th birthday. You were completely drunk, and Dirk had just gone offline. He had some mad shit to attend to with his big Bro, he said. Frigglish had wondered off somewhere, leaving you alone.
You started crying, then. Not loud, wailing crying. The quiet kind, where you don't realise you're crying until your vision blurred up, and your top starts to get wet. You rub your eyes, trying to rid yourself of the tears, but more take their place, building up until you throw your body fully face down onto your bed. The bottle of vodka rolls off, and smashes.
You vow to yourself, that, should you ever have a daughter, you'd love her and care for her, and always be there for her. You'd make sure her work was appreciated, and that she didn't flunk out of school. You'd raise her, and teach her about wizards, and give her her own cat to love. And finally, when you felt she was ready, you'd give her the scarf that you wore round your neck.
You hadn't taken it off since that fateful day.
You push yourself up, choking on your tears as your body shakes with sobs. You scrabble at your neck, scratching yourself as you pull the knitwear off. You throw it on the floor, before flopping back onto your tear-soaked bed. You long to hear your mother's voice again, to hear her re-assure you.
You can hear her now, saying "Oh sweetheart... What have you done to yourself?"
That's the kind of thing she'd say. She always calls you 'sweetheart'. She says it rubbed off from her mother. It felt strange when she called that, as she never showed any outer emotions to anybody else. You'd always wondered what she'd been like around your father.
You long for her so much, you start to smell her perfume. It reminded you of wizards and the colour purple. You had hold her so when you were five. She had laughed, and the name stuck.
Purple Wizard. It sounded more like a drink than a perfume to you, now.
You miss your mother. The realisation hits you like a train. It hurts, and a sob escapes you. You start to cry noisily, and the smell of Purple Wizard seems to become more real, as does your mother's voice.
"Oh Roxy... I'm here, now. Don't cry."
You're imagining it all. Your mother left you 5 years ago.
But the arms wrapping around you are certainly real. As are the kisses being placed on the back of your head. You feel a body lying next to you, and a hand stroking your hair. A voice whispers in your ear to calm down, that everything's alright, that mommy's here. Your eyes scrunch up. You're dreaming, that has to be it!
The bed bounces slightly as Frigglish jumps on.
"Ahhh, there you are, Jasper."
No. Only your mom calls Frigglish by that stupid name.
You turn your head to face the body next to you.
Your mom smiles.
"I'm back, sweetheart."