I blink my eyes open, but my left one immediately shuts itself again. I can feel the tears running down it, which tells me that it’s either swollen, or my mother has accidentally hit the area around my pupil. Either way, it hurts so much, I can barely think.
“I don’t…” I rise a little and attempt to move, but end up failing. “I don’t know what you’re…” I feel dizzy all of a sudden, and when I shake my head to get rid of it, it only intensifies. “I don’t know what you’re talking…about.” I push myself away from her.
My mother bends and fists my hair, making me flinch. “I saw the rough draft of your finalized attire for the event,” she says between gritted teeth, then yanks at my hair before bringing her face close to mine. “You have someone you wish to impress this Saturday, or are you simply looking to shame me?” She pulls at my hair further, which makes me groan, and for the pain in my head to multiply.
I can smell vodka on her breath, and when I glance at her with my one good eye, I notice that she’s wearing the exact same bodycon dress which she had on at the HQ yesterday, which means that she was working late, and then most definitely went out for drinks with that Waleed guy after.
“You’re overreacting,” I rasp out, because that’s all I’m capable of right now.
My mother – my own fucking flesh and blood – just injured me speechless because she thought I was trying to one-up her through anunmadedress for an event I didn’t even wanna attend, to begin with.
At first notice, it does seem bizarre, doesn’t it? But it shouldn’t, not to me. Not when I’ve been beaten and bruised by her for far less in the past.
“I’m overreacting?” she hisses in my face, then all but throws me across the room.
I scream – I don’t know how, given the fact that I can barely take a proper breath – and cry out as I crash against my dressing table chair. Something sharp cuts through my right cheek, and as I hit the ground, the chair falls next to me with a softthud.
I don’t even have time to recover before my mother is on me again. She turns me around and straddles me, but I grab her wrists before she can slap me again, and manage to push her off me.
She yelps and falls back, and I think her right arm connects dangerously with the fallen chair, because she shrieks and grabs her elbow.
I take that as an opportunity to drag myself away from her, but every bit of pain I’m feeling in my body right now, fails in comparison to the fear that’s taken ahold of me.
I hit her.
Oh my God, I fuckinghither.
I don’t have any sort of humanly compassion towards her, no; nor is my fear driven by the same. What I’m dreading is her kicking me out of the house for hurting her. Because she’s done it before, and I’ve been subjected to my uncle’s disappointment when I’d knocked on his door and asked him to let me stay with him instead.
“She’s your mother, Cignette,” Uncle Chase had said. “Just because she hit you to put some sense into you, doesn’t mean you should retaliate. That is very unbecoming of you, sweet pea.”
My uncle loves me, but when it comes to his baby sister, he’s blinded by love, and is willing to dismiss any and every wrongdoing written under her name.
If I’d somehow gathered the balls to get my own place after that little rejection of his all those months ago, then I’d have to face two very concrete consequences.
1) My credit cards getting blocked.
2) Becoming a constant target in not only my mother’s eyes, but also on my uncle’s hit-list.
And honestly, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to either of those things.
It sucks, though. Despite her being an unmerciful human being, my mom has still got someone who she can always rely on for her safety and support.
Her own family.
And I? I don’t have that; I’ve got no one.
I lose. I always do.
Why?
Because I’m alone.
“You bitch!” my mother hisses. “You fucking pushed me!” She charges at me, and slaps my right cheek before wrapping her fingers around my throat. “You worthless little cunt!” She squeezes my throat, and the madness I see in her glassy eyes would be terrifying to others, but it’s nothing new to me. I know damn well the kind of darkness she hides behind them, and the kind of monster she really is.
I try to gasp for air when her fingers press on tighter, but it’s useless. I kick and thrash under her; claw at her hands and lift my hips to get her off me, but she doesn’t budge. She keeps squeezing, and squeezing – with a raw determination on her face – and soon, my vision turns hazy. My lips feel numb, and so does the rest of my body. My protests weaken, and I feel a leaden-like weight settle on the center of my chest.
She’s saying something to me, but with the state I’m in, it’s hard for me to focus on anything.
