Possible trigger warning: some familial dispute and light references to feelings of hopelessness; meltdown/breakdown scene
Emi POV
Dark shadows swirled around me threateningly, seeming to approach and retreat. Taunting me. I ran, feet moving soundlessly against the dark nothingness, propelling me forward at rapid speeds. Yet I stayed in place, never getting anywhere. I stopped running, frustrated and confused. I looked down at my feet and found them sinking into black mud. Tendrils of mud reached up, forming into hands and grasping at my legs, my hips, my chest, my face. I opened my mouth in a scream but the sound was swallowed by the void. A cold voice whispered into the silence, coming from nowhere and everywhere.
"Now the real fun starts, sweetheart."
I woke up with a start, panting and sick to my stomach. I was covered in a cold sweat that only amplified the slimy feeling crawling over my skin. I groaned, throwing back my covers and forcing my stiff limbs to move towards the shower. I knew I should have expected to have nightmares, but I had been hopeful that I wouldn't after not having had any yesterday morning and then having such a good day and evening with my friends.
As I had predicted we had only finished three of the movies before people started nodding off and we decided to call it a night. Honey had sweetly offered to stay the night but I had politely refused, though I had definitely been tempted. It wouldn't really be fair to either of us if I were to depend on him to feel safe. As much as I joked about him being an angel, I couldn't use him as a safety blanket to ward off nightmares.
I hopped in the hot shower, relaxing under the hot spray for a few moments before I started the time-consuming task of washing and detangling my hair, scrubbing my body vigorously while I let the deep conditioner sit for a bit. I had a call scheduled with my mum and I wanted to look at least somewhat presentable.
My mum… I loved her, I really did. And I was pretty grateful for all she had done for me over the years. Raising a fairly anxious child pretty much on her own while working full time couldn't have been easy. Without any familial support either, since she only had a sister left and that sister had stopped talking to her. Considering all that, and her own anxious tendencies, it was no wonder that my mum was what I'd call 'overprotective' and what some others might call 'overbearing'.
On top of that, her anxiety and depression had gotten worse in recent years, which made it so that I wasn't always sure which version of her I was going to get. Or whether I'd get both versions in one conversation.
That's one two-for-one deal I could do without, thank you very much…
I hopped out of the shower, dried off, styled my hair into two French braids, and changed into a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
Noting the time, I hopped onto my sofa and started the videocall with my mum.
She picked up after a few rings, taking a moment to orient the phone so that I could actually see her face, "Hello!"
I took in her frizzy black hair, dull skin lined with wrinkles, and her generally somewhat dishevelled appearance. It sounded a bit harsh, but she wasn't great at taking care of herself. She could be frugal to a fault when it came to herself and often only bought the least expensive hygiene products possible. She even went so far as to use a 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner, which everyone knew wasn't good for wavy hair like hers!
"Hi~!" I sang cheerfully, smiling and waving at the camera, "How are you?"
"Oh, I'm alright," she answered, before seemingly getting distracted by her appearance, combing her fingers through her bangs, "Ugh, I look terrible! Look at my wrinkles! And this double chin! I'm so old."
I sighed, "You're not old… and no negative self-talk!"
Her negative self-talk might as well have been legendary, and I might as well have been talking into a void for all the good it would do. It was always the same with her. I couldn't think of a time in my whole life when she'd ever been happy with her appearance. Even when she looked at old childhood photos of herself where I thought she looked cute or beautiful, she would have something negative to say. Sometimes she would go through a phase where she remembered the articles she had read about how harmful it is to talk negatively about yourself or to always talk about weight in front of your children, but that would last maybe a few days and then she'd be back to her regularly scheduled DIY-bullying.
"Well, I feel old," she said, as usual. "Anyway, how are you? How's school? Are you taking your vitamins? Eating healthily?"
You probably feel old because you don't eat enough, you hardly go out, and you don't get enough physical or mental exercise…
That was what I wanted to say, but of course that would only ever cause a huge conflict and I avoided conflict with my mother at all costs.
So instead I said, "I'm good! School's good too. I'm really enjoying the classes and I've made some really nice friends."
There was no way I was going to tell her I'd been attacked. She would worry too much. Besides, it was just recently that she stopped expecting me to text her anytime I went anywhere.
"That's great honey! And your vitamins?" she insisted, still not managing to center herself in the camera, so that I could only see the top half of her face now.
I held back from rolling my eyes or sighing and half-lied through my teeth, "Yes, I'm taking my vitamins."
"Really," she stated, tone skeptical, "The omega-3 and the lysine too? Why do I not believe you?"
This time I couldn't help the sigh that escaped me. Technically, she wasn't wrong, I was partially lying… but only because she never took 'no' as an answer. I took the iron supplements and Vitamin D that my doctor had prescribed, and I even took the B6 vitamin and Vitamin C that my mother had recommended, but there was absolutely no way I could or would take all the various other things she had recommended to me over the years. Lysine, echinacea, omega-3, turmeric, oil of oregano… the list was endless! I understood that she had the best of intentions but… she could be just a bit of a hypochondriac (though I knew that term was outdated) and I was in my 20s, perfectly capable of deciding what pills I did and didn't want to take.
"I don't know why you don't believe me, but I'm taking them so…" I answered, a bit of sass slipping into my tone.
"Hmph, alright… If you say so… And are you staying in touch with Sadie?" she asked. I relaxed slightly, glad that the vitamin thing hadn't caused a whole argument… this time. However, I couldn't fully relax because she had just thrown out another eggshell I'd have to avoid. Sadie had been one of my best friends as a child, but naturally we had slowly grown apart over the years, when we started attending different schools and making new friends. She had ended up being a popular, and our lifestyles were just completely different now. We were friends on social media and we'd wish each other a happy birthday, but that was it.
"No, we don't really talk anymore… Are you still in touch with her mom?" I said, fidgeting with the hand that wasn't holding the phone.
"Well why don't you just call her? You guys are friends, that's what friends do! Her mom and I were never really friends," she continued.
Um… you were friends though… That's the whole reason Sadie and I practically grew up as sisters when we were little…
I shook my head, still disturbed by my mother's ability to disregard the positives in her life and flip things in her head like that.
"I mean… we're not really friends though… more like acquaintances… so it would be weird to call her out of the blue," I tried to explain.
"Oh don't be silly! Just call her! It sounds to me like you're doing that 'fortune-telling' again," I heard her voice say (she had shifted the phone without thinking and now I was just looking at the ceiling).
I clenched my hands, feeling my stomach bubble in frustration and stress. I really hated when she used the terms my therapist had taught me to describe unhelpful thinking patterns against me like that. Like she was a professional. Like I just didn't understand social life and she understood it so much better.
"Mmm… Maybe I'll message her… Cold-calling just isn't something most people my age do anymore…" I responded noncommittally, doing my best to gently refuse her suggestion despite my annoyance.
"Nevermind Emi. You're so difficult to talk to. Do whatever you want. If I said the sky was blue you'd say it was red," she answered bitterly, voice going cold and hard.
Here we go… there's that eggshell I apparently stepped on…
"…what? How am I difficult to talk to?" I asked, really doing my best to stay calm and speak rationally. I was holding on by a thread. It didn't matter how often I heard those words, they never got any easier to hear.
"…"
"Hello?" I called out.
"Nevermind. I'm tired. I'm going to bed," she said frostily.
"Alright… sleep well then. I love you."
There was silence and then the videocall ended.
I wanted to throw my phone across the room, but I settled for tossing it to the other side of the sofa. I curled up, hands shaking and chest burning. I felt like someone had cut me open and filled me with rocks. A sob ripped its way out of my throat, followed by another, and another. I clutched my head in my hands, nails digging into my temples slightly. I was angry, and sad, and hurt, and confused.
Why? Why does she snap like that? Why does she seem to think I'm some horrible person? Some horrible daughter? Why do I have to stay calm and take whatever she throws at me while she gets to just lose her shit at the smallest things? I wasn't even rude… I just had a different opinion than her… It's okay to not want to call someone I'm not close to, right? Why does me not following her every suggestion equal being difficult? Why is she like this? Why won't she get help?
And then the thought that sometimes popped up in situations like this: I don't want to do this anymore.
I keened quietly, rocking myself as hot tears streamed down my face, and I wiped my nose on my sleeve, too weighed down to go get some tissues. I hated this. I hated that only my mother could affect me like this.
I wasn't sure how long I sat there sobbing and silently screaming. It felt like eons, but was probably just thirty minutes or so. I could feel a headache building behind my eyes, which I could already tell were extremely swollen. I wanted to stay where I was and never move again, but I was actually getting a bit hungry, and I did have work in the afternoon. Besides, this wasn't my first rodeo. I knew I had to get up and keep going. Maybe journal or play the piano.
So I made my way to the keyboard that had stood lonely as of late, and turned it on, tears still dripping down my face. My fingers automatically found the notes for my go-to song after conflicts with my mother, "If This is Love" by Ruth B. It took me a few tries before I was able to sing without my voice breaking in sorrow, but that was what made singing a good coping strategy for me. It forced me to breathe and calm down enough to actually be able to do it.
It took an hour of playing the piano, and sometimes singing, but afterwards I felt much better. Though now I only had a little over an hour before I had to leave for work. I had considered calling in sick, since I really didn't feel like dealing with any creepy customers today (or explaining any visible bruises) but dancing did usually make me feel better. Despite being shy, and usually feeling nervous before getting on stage, during a performance I always felt so powerful and confident. That was a feeling I could really use today.
Three hours into my shift I was rethinking my decision to be at work. The performing part had definitely been fun and had lifted my spirits considerably, but unfortunately today I was ending my shift on waitressing duty. And it seemed like literally every creepy old dude in a 10 mile radius had crawled out of their hidey-holes to come to the cabaret. To make matters worse, one of our bouncers was out sick, leaving the ratio of bouncer to creep disturbingly uneven.
I still had over an hour left before my shift would end, and my nerves were shot. I had lost count of how many wandering hands I'd had to tactfully remove, or outright slap away and my skin was starting to crawl with the same slimy feeling I'd woken up to this morning. I was having a hard time focusing, and had spilled a few drinks already.
As I walked back towards the bar to gather another tray of drinks I felt a hand reach out to touch my ass and heard a voice whisper, "Hey sweetheart…"
I jumped back in alarm, eyes wide as images of shadowy hands reaching for me flashed through my mind. Whatever else the customer said was left unheard as I bolted for the staff room and locked myself in one of the changing stalls.
I found myself frantically brushing off my skirt and had to make a concerted effort to still my hands. It wasn't him. It wasn't them. They're in the hospital being guarded by police. Police who are hired by Kyoya's family. Very competent police. Get it together, these are just run-of-the-mill creeps and I'm in a public space. I'm safe.
I had just started to calm down when I thought about how I'd be walking and taking the bus home in the dark, and I felt my heart rate increase a bit. Though I'd made the night-time trip countless times since I'd started working here, it now felt a lot more daunting.
I paced inside the stall as I thought. What do I do? Should I get a taxi?... That's going to add up pretty quickly though… Should I get a car?... But then I'd have to pay for insurance, and gas, and parking… I can't afford that. Should I ask someone for a drive?... It's the most realistic but I really REALLY don't want to impose. I'm a grown woman, I should be able to deal with this myself. It's fine. I can do this! It'll be just like every other trip home!
Having psyched myself up, I nodded determinedly and stepped out of the staff room to face the rest of my shift.
