1. My first language isn't English, so I apologize for any mistakes.
2. Maybe it's a bit slow, but give it a chance. Please.

"Throw the window"

Chapter 2

"Stop yelling at me!"

"This is my house, I'll yell if I want to."

"And again, always the same thing... you sound like a broken record! Because you want this, because you want that, you might as well want to stop sleeping with the whore of your secretary!·

"What?! I've never slept with Me-"

I closed the door. It was the third time today that my parents argued, and I couldn't take it anymore. Honestly, this was going to be the worst new year eve ever (and a couple of years ago Grandpa had a heart attack and we had to take him to the hospital). I had been really excited when Mom said that Dad was coming home for Christmas, that they would try again. That they would give their relationship another chance. But things weren't going well, since Dad's arrival the most repeated words were "divorce papers", used as a projectile weapon with any excuse. And this thing with the secretary was new.

It's been about three months since they decided to start living apart, and even though I saw it coming it was a hard blow; I didn't expect things to escalate that much. But I was being naive, on second thought it was the natural reaction. I can't remember the last time we looked like an ordinary family, whatever that means. I don't remember the feeling of weekends at the beach, family evenings, dinners without quarrels... What I felt when everything was normal. Why have I only been left with the shouting, the reproaches, the outbursts? My memory blurred as if it were a river, the current taking away the good memories. I think I read this somewhere.

It didn't matter. Now Dad lives in a hotel near the office, he hasn't wanted to look for an apartment yet, and Mom and I have stayed home alone. Well, Geralt's still around. Every day I consider him more of a father than my real parents. Could he adopt me?

I put on the earphones and turned on the computer. I didn't want to hear any more screaming. I knew it was immature to isolate myself, ignoring the facts doesn't make them go away, but it's not easy. Watch everything you took for granted fall apart, watch the figures you resemble behaving like children in a playground argument... I didn't know how to describe it. It, it was better to stop thinking about it for now, things will work out sooner or later. And if they don't work out the way you expect there's a new reality you're going to have to accept. That's life, isn't it?

At least that's what I'd learned from the behavior of the main character in the last book I read; a crime novel set in the California of the eighties, with a private detective as cunning as she is simple. Possessing a kind of indifference capable of solving all her problems, able to focus only on the vital and work diligently. I felt very identified with her. Why can't life be as easy as fiction? And this comes from someone who has her life solved, after all next year I will enter one of the most prestigious schools in the country. And I'm not going to waste my chance.

I massaged my temples; I needed to disconnect, and as contradictory as it may seem maybe the Internet could help me. So I searched on YouTube for a video that always relaxes me; a compilation of soft piano themes typical of a cozy cafe on a rainy afternoon like today. Well, not like today, the precipitation wasn't gentle. It didn't convey that. It's common knowledge that carries emotions, and washes away things. I've always loved the rain. When I could as a child I'd go out in the garden and play in a raincoat and water boots, and run and have fun. I had no worries then. Going out now would be irresponsible, there was a storm coming.

I was still sitting in front of the computer with nothing to do, staring at the screen with blurred vision and dubious fingers: drifting aimlessly over the keyboard. Long, thin mechanical fingers, with well-defined joints. My mother had always wanted to learn to play the piano, and since she didn't have time she thought I could fulfill her dream. I don't dislike playing the piano; it's a spectacular mental and coordination exercise, but sometimes what I want to do is stop thinking, not focus for hours with a terribly demanding teacher. Plus, practice alone. I turned around and looked at the wall piano, electric; with headphones so I don't make any noise when I practice, roasted café brown... It was a magnificent piece, but I consider it another obligation, like making the bed. It meant nothing to me.

I had nothing to do, I finished my homework days ago, and outside reading I have no more hobbies. I must always be reading, it's the most important thing for my quirk. The more I know, the more things I can do; the more situations I can plan. But now I didn't feel like reading, not an encyclopedia or books on chemistry or physics which are what I need to get better. I wanted to do something, anything, but all I could think about wasn't what I wanted, although I don't know what I wanted either. What an unpleasant feeling.

I finally decided to google the name of the book I'd read, "A is for Advocate". It had been a birthday present from Dad that I hadn't been able to read until now, and once I started it I had devoured it in a single day. I should read it again in case I'd missed something. The book had a "simple" plot that allowed to play with the environment, the descriptions; and made it possible for you to imagine what could happen. But in reality you always overlooked some detail, or not everything was what it seemed. The grace of this kind of book. And the main character... the main character was so different from everything I knew that it was impossible not to be attracted. She had all the qualities I wanted. It had only taken two hundred and eighty-five pages to occupy all my thoughts.

It turned out to be the first book of a long series of quite unknown novels, incomplete due to the author's death, which left me with a bittersweet taste in my mouth. On one hand I could keep reading more of the same character; from the same author, from the same creation. But at the same time I knew I wouldn't have a closed ending, the biggest literary issue. Was it worth reading the rest of the books?

I bought the next two volumes. That would be enough for now, I knew I had to savor the lecture more. The key to things is in the details, and in this type of novel you have to be very attentive. I started looking for extra information, curiosities and so on, and ended up on a kind of website for discussing crime series and creating them. A curious mix of forum and production, I've never set foot in this part of the net before. Television series were recommended -current and not so much-, sections were created to discuss all kinds of novels... it was interesting. I quickly found a post that caught my attention. It was about CSI, a TV series that I loved watching in the evenings while doing my homework. It was my little secret. I didn't watch it for anything special; it was just entertaining, and I could follow it while doing other things. I honestly was excited to see something I knew that other people enjoyed as well. There were a lot of comments from people explaining their connection to the series, how they felt about certain episodes; how they hated some of the characters. At school, there aren't many friends who watch this kind of series and can comment on it. They prefer, as cliché as it may seem, the romantic ones or more action-driven. It's also true that I don't have any friends at school.

I bookmarked the page and continued browsing, now in the creation section. It was poorly organized, and I had to use a thousand and one filters, but in the end I found a story about the book. It had been written by a user named "NineGreenValley", and it seemed to be quite successful even if it was the only mention to the saga in the whole page. According to the summary: "Young student Grover Jackson shows up late at night at the town police station incredibly shaken up; crying and asking for help. From his window, he saw someone pushing a woman who lives across the street down the building". He also commented that this was his first attempt at an original story using the main character in the series of novels, and apologized sincerely for misspellings and so on. He seemed nice, like a child writing big words.

It appeared to be a simple and attractive premise, enough to make me want to read. I didn't know what to expect, after all it was the work of a stranger, someone who didn't have any books published and simply wrote as a hobby, as a way of passing time, but I felt like reading more of the character. Even if it was done by a fan. I had only read the first of many volumes, 25 to be exact, but I was amazed. I needed more. And I wasn't going to pirate the books or buy them in digital form, the touch of the paper is just too good.

So, I started reading the story.

"Momo, sweetie."

...

"Momo. Momooo. Momo!"

Mom's scream pulled me out of the story. I quickly took off the earphones and turned around: she had half-opened the door, holding it with one hand and was only taking out her head. The image surprised me, her make-up had run off a bit -basically mascara -, and her face was slightly swollen and red.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"Did... Did you hear all that?"

"No." I said. "Well, only up to the secretary part. That's when I closed the door."

"C-Can I come in?"

I nodded, so Mom opened the door wide, heavily walking to my bed where she sat. She looked very tired. It wasn't easy to appreciate because of the ruined make-up, but she had dark circles under her eyes, and seemed to be aging by the minute. I... I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to act. She's my mother, but I felt her so distant, like there are endless stairs to get to her mind.

We were looking at each other, and I could hear her wheezing. I felt I should be angry with her; behave harshly. Not for anything special, I just had this feeling that that's how I should react. She wasn't crying anymore, but her eyes were still bright with that kind of watery glow, the warm light of the room giving her a lost aura. She seemed like a different person.

Our relationship wasn't shiny as a rainbow, lately, anything is a reason for discussion: if I've left the plate there because I've left it there, if this light is open because it's open, if I don't clean the vitroceramic hob because I don't clean it... It's frustrating. I had no idea what Mom was going through, I could imagine it, I could empathize, but I didn't know. It wa-

"Your father and I... We're, we're getting a divorce."

Right.

"Right."

"Aare, are you okay?" She shyly asked.

"Yeah, yeah... i- it's not like I didn't expect it."

"I know, I... I think it was better to tell you straight out. And well... I, I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm sure we'll get over it."

"Don't worry." I said with a pause. I felt like I was the adult.

We were silent for a few eternal seconds. Each of us looking away, or suddenly looking at how interesting the ground was. I listened to Mom take a deep breath, and then she tapped the bed a couple of times, signaling me to come to sit with her.

"Are you going to involve lawyers?"

"You're too smart for your own good." Mom said with a big warm smile, holding me with one arm. "But no. I hope so."

"I don't want to lose you. Both."

"You're never going to lose us, we love you. You are the most important thing, and don't ever forget it." She said, lightly tapping me on the nose.

Why did this look like a goodbye?

I felt the first tear come down my right cheek. It reached the corner of my mouth, noticing its salty taste. It is such a peculiar taste. I've always thought that there's nothing like it; just like the taste of blood. Yes, it's metallic, but too special to compare. It's the same with tears, it's such a hard taste to specify. I know they're composed of many things: lipids, electrolytes, proteins, water obviously- I was rambling.

It's been a long time since I last cried. I was crying in silence and I didn't know why. Well, I did know, but I didn't realize I was going to cry. I didn't want to cry. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later, but the situation was too much. This was the hormones' fault. Strong emotions cause your brain to activate hormone production mechanisms so that the hormones act in different ways; either reducing pain or improving mood... I didn't want to think.

"Come on, you're gonna make me cry again."

I tried to dry my tears with my fingers, to stop them from falling because it was now more of a constant. Luckily I didn't wear makeup. I was feeling my face get hotter and hotter, especially my ears, as if someone was burning them with a blowtorch. Breathing faster and faster, and getting very upset. I didn't want to. I wanted to stop it and be colder, I was a mature person, but my parents were getting a divorce. What... what was I going to do? I had prepared myself to take the hit, get over it fast and move on. You always have to move, Dad always says, and now I was crying like a little girl in a tantrum. I was supposed to be cooler, serene, more... more.

Mom grabbed both my wrists and pulled them away from my face, making me look her in the eye. She was massaging my palms with her thumbs, tenderly. I could feel the pleasant tingling.

"You're getting older so fast, so-"

"Why do you have to get a divorce?" I asked cutting her off, raising my voice more than I wanted to.

"Things change, you know. We've been together many years, wonderful years, but now it's not what it used to be. And we don't see any light at the end of the tunnel, so before we hurt each other anymore, it's better to... to stop. You'll learn it some day."

"Some day... " I said distancing myself, getting up, and taking a few steps forward. Anger. I knew it was the hormones making my system crazy, I had studied it, but I still let myself go. "What am I going to do?! Where am I going to live?! I'm going to be one of those poor girls who spends a weekend at daddy's and another at your house, and only one of you gets custody, and-"

Now it was Mom who wouldn't let me finish, getting up and hugging me tightly. Maybe too tightly. I couldn't see her face, but I knew that now she was crying too. I felt her chest swell, and she did that double-quick breathing.

We were like this for a while, breathing deeper and deeper and calming down. From time to time Mom caressed my hair, holding and turning; moving her fingers gently through the whole length.

"I don't know what's going to happen, but we can't go on like this."

1. That's it for this chapter. As always I hope you liked it or, at least, were entertained.
2. Slow chapter, but I had fun writing it. Besides, now I've discovered where I want to go with this story.
3. If there's anything you don't like, I'll be happy to correct it.

Thank you,

JayTzar out.