We can resume this grudge match tomorrow.
“We made your favorite, Mom. I hope you like it.” What I really want to say is…I made it.But once again, I keep that to myself.
“Who saidthisis my favorite?” The way she says the wordthisis full of disgust, as if somehow the spaghetti and meatballs on her plate have personally offended her. “You both know what my favorite is and it’s not this. Honestly, who eats big balls of meat like this?”
Axel chokes like he’s trying to hold in a laugh and I shoot him an icy glare.
“Mom. You’ve always loved spaghetti and meatballs. At least that’s what you’ve always said.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Arabella?”Is she being serious right now?“Cause if I’m not mistaken, there’s onlyoneliar at this table. You might want to look in the mirror.”
Uncomfortable silence fills the air as we sit and I absorb her harsh words. My chair squeaks against the hardwood floor as I push out from the table to stand.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I need a minute.”
“Arabella,” Mom bellows. “You better stop right where you are, young lady.”
Young lady? Young fucking lady? I turn and regard her for a moment to watch her stand from her seat, before redirecting my gaze to the ground at her feet. “I’m not a young lady,” I whisper.
“What was that?” She questions as she steps into my space. I thought her voice was hard before, but it’s completely cold now. Void of emotion.
“I didn’t quite hear you,daughter.”
I lift my chin to look her in the eyes. A silent challenge that I’m not able to vocalize. She picked the wrong day to fuck with me. “I said I’m not a young lady.” This time my words cut through the silence, firm and unmoving.
“You’re right. You’re not a lady at all. You’re an immature, little whore that couldn’t keep her legs closed for her own mother’s trash.” As if her words weren’t enough, she takes the opportunity to drive her distaste for me home, as she pulls back her arm and backhands me.
The pain radiates through my cheek, as her knuckles make direct contact with my cheekbone. “I can’t believe he broke up with me because of you.”
My hand flies up to cradle my cheek, that I know will have a bruise. My mother has always been cruel, but she’s never hit me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know he broke up with me because he was soft on you and thought I was too hard on you.”
“I didn’t know for sure, but I do now,” I mumble under my breath. “Is the rest of it true?”
She stares at me blankly, defiance in her eyes, refusing to answer me. There’s truth to the concept of knocking the sense into someone, because I don’t think I’ve ever had more clarity than I do right now. Suddenly, I see her so clearly. She’s so small, afraid, and self-conscious.
She’s so fucking miserable and wants me to be just as miserable.
But I don’t want to be miserable.
I’m a good fucking person, despite her attempts to ruin me.
How have I been so stupid all these years?
I realize now that Ryker was right. He was my safety net, my beautiful crutch. I was never going to break free from my mother’s manipulation, as long as I kept running to him so he could nurse my emotional wounds every time she knocked me down.
Only I can stop the cycle.
I straighten my spine and place my feet firm underneath me.
“No.” She throws me a look of sheer confusion, like she doesn’t recognize the word. Before she can speak and spew more bullshit, I continue. “I don’t want to fucking hear it, Mother. All my life, you’ve given me shit for everything. From the clothes I wear, to my weight, to what I make for dinner. I know you’ve been through some shit in your life, but that does not give you the right to treat your own daughter like fucking garbage.”
Grabbing the hem of my sweater, I pull it over my head in one swift movement. Thankfully, I wore a tank top underneath. It’s not particularly warm in here, but my elevated heart rate and the blood boiling in my veins will keep me warm enough.
“Arabella–” she starts, but I stop her before she can continue.
