Upon the Gaze (Ghostface X Reader 18+)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Mother Dreary

The sky was cloudy over head and I was only twenty minutes outside of the city now. I drove passed the miles remaining sign, reading Los Robles and feeling a sense of pained nostalgia at the name. I remembered the way it felt the first time I had passed the "Welcome to Los Robles" sign on the city limit. I imagined all the things that were yet to come and felt the excitement of moving to a big city for the first time. Though the city wasn't too far from where I was now, a mere hour and a half of driving, it still felt like a life time away from me. I tried to avoid even thinking of the name, as it was just a reminder of my failure at making it in a big city. I wished that this trip of coming back to the city would have been a pleasant one, maybe even reasons leaning towards my return, but unfortunately not. I was meeting with my mother at a coffee shop in the downtown district. I felt a pit in my stomach at the thought of talking with her.
Truthfully she wasn't the worst mother, but she had left me in my father's care which came to be the worst decision she could have made for me. She had chosen to leave it all behind after her divorce with my father, and to chase her dreams she had before a husband and child were in her care. She became somewhat successful in the fashion industry as a designer. It certainly wasn't my cup of tea, but she made decent money doing it. None I often ever saw. She would send once a year a Christmas card with a check for two hundred, but that was about all I ever received from her. She didn't think I knew about fashion enough to offer buying me clothes, as the last time she took me out, I came off as "ungrateful" because I wanted to choose the wardrobe for myself.
My mother and I were very different people, that couldn't be ignored, but we were closer when I was a child. She showed me pictures of her designs of clothing from when she was in college, dreaming of walking down the runway herself. She dressed me up and seemed to urge me to pursue the same career one day. She likely assumed she'd never achieve it being bogged down by an old fashioned kind of husband and a child she was raising practically singlehandedly. She wanted to live vicariously through me.
When careers had been mentioned while I was in my freshman year of high school, and I started actually considering my life, my mother was not pleased when she found I was happier pursuing film as a writer of scripts. I was more comfortable being the person pulling the strings of the production, rather than the star of the show. After that I only seemed to disappoint her in my decision making for my own life.
My mother and father were always the sort of bickering couple type. They seemed completely incapable of agreeing on any one thing, and often would get so heated, one would choose to sleep on the couch. Nine times out of ten it was my father, considering my mother was a prideful women. My father was never the type of man to raise a fist to someone, but his words sting like hot iron to the heart. He was a lawyer, so he kept a tight composure most of the time, and kept track of all the important little details about a person. He could tear a man to threads with merely his words, and was not the kind of person you'd want to piss off.
Maybe that's why it was so hard to forget about the choice of words he always had for me. The job of a lawyer was a lot like acting convincing in a play, making the watchers truly believe you were truthful and spoke from facts. It's hard not to take the words of a man in a profession like that as the truth.

Nostalgia blanketed my mind as I drove through a familiar part of town. I drove passed a bar Lisa and I often frequented. She would usually end up leaving with some guy who would fancy her, and I would remain at the bar to drink alone. I drove passed my favorite antique store, one of the many interesting shops around Los Robles, but one that had been my favorite. I still had a collection of old trinkets I had found there. I drove passed the college campus a couple of my younger, yet more successful friends from town attended. I was happy when I didn't see the small english-lawn daisies that grew on the campus grounds there in the summertime, for I was in no mood to think of my ex, Freddie.

I breathed in shakily as I pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop I was meeting my mother at. I pulled my keys from the ignition, and squeezed the steering wheel. I had to remain strong, I had to show her I was doing just fine without her. I climbed out of the drivers seat, and made my way to the door. Upon entering I could tell immediately where she was in the coffee shop, but I pretended not to notice her at first. She noticed me as well immediately, and waved me over. I sat down while greeting her. "Hi mom, how are you?" I tried my and best not to appear anxious, and luckily even though she was infact my mother, she never seemed to pick up on my anxiety. "Fine, fine. Sorry I called you here on such a short notice, but I figured it was better to speak in person." Right, I thought, she asked me to meet with her to discuss something but I had no idea what it had been. She was stirring her coffee that she had ordered apparently without waiting for me and continued to speak. "So how are things? You're living outside of town now, in your grandfathers old home, how is that?" I had never told her where I had moved to, but I assumed my father had mentioned something to her. Though they acted as though they despised each other, they did stay in contact. "It's alright. It was a bit dusty when I first moved in, but it works. Better than being on the streets. The area is quiet and pretty-" she cut me short, not seeming really all that interested. "I told your father he should have gone out there and cleaned it up a bit for you. The lazy oaf." Who says oaf anymore, I mentally questioned, trying not to make a bothered expression. "You feel safe out there, by yourself?" She asked me. Safe. There was that question of safety again. I was curious as to why she asked me that. "Yeah, it seems like a good area. I'd think anyone would probably be safe out in the middle of nowhere like that." Upon saying it like that I thought of the number of possibilities that could infact take place in the middle of nowhere, thinking on the many happenings from interesting serial killer articles. "Why do you ask?" I questioned. She looked at me like I was completely oblivious. "Well, the serial killings that have been happening in that small town Borose! That's only thirty minute away from you!" I'm sure she took my exprssion as suggesting I had no idea they were happening, but really it was because that serial killer was infact staying with me in my home. I felt immediately anxious. I never thought about how I would have to be carful with my words so as to not give that fact away. The room felt warm now, as I began to sweat with a growing nervousness. "R-really? I had no idea." My mother was unaware of my serial killer studying habits, so if I played my cards right I could easily play it off as though I really was unaware of that fact. "Oh well, so long as your careful, keep your doors locked at night, I'm sure you'll be fine." I actually almost laughed at her response. Not only was she oblivious but clearly those tactics didn't stop Ghostface from getting in. I had to pretend to clear my throat to shake off those chuckles. "Oh here, take my water." She passed her glass of ice water on to me, and I thanked her. I began to take a sip when she changed the subject of the conversation. "So, do you have a boyfriend yet?" I nearly spat the water onto the table. At the mention of a boyfriend, strangely Ghostface entered my mind. My mother snickered, as I had never given her that reaction before. "So what's his name?" She asked leaning with her arm on the table as she passed me a napkin. "W-wha-pardon?" I coughed. "You can't lie to me, (y/n). I'm your mother after all. What's his name?"
My mind began to race. There's no way I could tell my mother I was seeing a serial killer, and the very one she had just mentioned. Of course I wouldn't, but more importantly, I never learned his name! Hell, I couldn't even tell her what he looked like! She expected an answer though. What to say? What to say!? I went back through my memories, digging for a name of a man she wouldn't know. Suddenly, one did enter my mind.

In the few weeks I had left in Los Robles, I attended an interview for a position as a receptionist at a journalist studio. It was a simple job, and although it didn't pay much, it would have been enough to get me by. The man I met with for the interview just had to be an attractive one. Attractive people were the most difficult to interact with. My social anxiety just wouldn't allow a proper interaction with such. I remember him walking me into his office, and he gestured for me to sit down. I practically fumbled into the chair as I did so in such a hurry. The man was very charismatic and had a charming smile. His hair was dark and slightly long in the front, reminding me oddly of the popular 90's cut. I wished I could remember more about him, but I was so nervous at the time, all I could think about was trying my best not to screw up the interview. He spoke in such a way that was both soothing and nerve-wracking at the same time. The interview progressed as any other would. Simple questions were asked like, "why do you want to work for us? What's your availability? Why should we hire you?" By the end of it, the man simply sat across from me, resting his chin over his hands that proped him above his desk. He had a curt smile on his face, one that made me nervous. He simply said, "I apologize miss (y/n), but I'm afraid you're not what we're looking for. We need a more confident face at the door of this company." And with that the interview was over. Infact, not only did I not get the job but I lost more of my confidence and dignity. This man described me as not being confident enough to even work as a receptionist. I was devastated. Through that devastation however came a bit of spite. I was determined to make my way up in the ranks of this city, even if I had to fake a smile and claw my way through bomb fields of attractive and confident men and women.
I would rember his name, maybe even use it as a villain's name or incompetent character for a future script. He better remember me when my movies were played in theatres, because I certainly would remember his, "Jed Olsen."