“I love him, and so should you,” she breathes, taking a long shaky drag of her cigarette, and I huff.
“Do you love him, or do you love the potential his role has to offer to you?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her fingers are poised, but she doesn’t take another drag as she stares at me with genuine confusion flickering in her eyes.
“Do you think he hits you because he loves you?” I tilt my head to the side, making it more than clear that I’m judging the hell out of her right now.
“No, it’s because he’s stressed.”
“Funny, when I’m stressed, do I hit you?” I push, and she rolls her eyes, taking a hit of the nicotine stick that’s keeping her going.
“No, but you’re a child.”
“And when you’re stressed, do you hit me?”
She gives me a sidelong glance this time, refusing to meet my stare head on. “You know the answer to that.”
“So tell me how it makes it okay when he does it when we are both decent enough humans to know it’s not fucking right?” I feel like I could puke, I’m that choked up.
“Don’t swear, Elodie,” she chastises, and I throw my hands up in the air in defeat.
“Or what, I’ll get another strike of his fucking belt?” I definitely swore again to get a rise out of her, but for the second time, all I get is my name on her tongue.
“Elodie.” It’s a warning, one she always feels the need to make.
“Mother.”
She takes a moment to look out the window, the yellow stains blocking most of her view, but she doesn’t seem to care. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to leave him? Do you think he’d go if I kicked him out? Do you think he’d leave and never come back?” The sadness is thick in her tone.
“He doesn’t have to be the one to go.” I’ve said it a thousand times, what’s once more?
She laughs, it’s as haunting as ever, as her gaze finally comes back to mine. “And where do you think we would go?”
“Anywhere. Literally anywhere is better than here,” I promise, and she shakes her head, her mind already made up. She’s too familiar with his wrath to find comfort in the darkness. The fear of being alone is something I refuse to ever let have a hold on me.
“Why are you home, Elodie?”
“I dropped out.”
“You did what?” She launches to her feet, cigarette nestled between her lips as her eyes grow wild.
“I dropped out,” I repeat, aware she heard me the first time.
“You can’t do that,” she says with a shake of her head, and I shrug.
“I already have.”
“Then undo it.”
“Don’t you want to know why?” I wave my hands at my sides, making sure she can really see the tears in my clothes and the disheveled appearance I don’t usually present. Her eyes track mine, but there’s still an air of disappointment in her stare when her gaze reaches mine again.
“What on Earth is a good enough reason for you to drop out of high school, Elodie?”
“My teacher tried to touch me.”
It feels like my words hang in the air for an eternity as her eyes widen slowly. “No, he didn’t.”
My heart lurches again.
