Intoxicated

Chapter Twenty Three

The graveyard has never felt so lonely. The usual eerie feeling of being watched by the presence of the people beneath the ground is gone. The trees are bare of leaves and birds, their spiky tendrils not even scratching my face once. I'm sitting on the grass with my jumper beneath me, the damp grass still soaking through it slightly. I can't bring myself to care. The only thing I can think about is everything.

Jace. Noah. Sadie. Alex. Mom. Dad. Alex's parents. Me. The list goes on. I don't know where to begin. I rock back and forth, knees drawn to my chest. It sort of reminds me when Mom used to growl me, and I'd sit in the corner and sulk. Force myself to go into the 'naughty corner' even though she never told me to.

But because I felt like I should. Or deserved to.

The house goes quiet. All I can hear is my own hum as I fiddle with Ginger's paws. His rough, fluffy brown paws. I make them touch his dot black eyes. He always looks friendly and gentle - a word Mom uses when she sees me spinning in circles with him.

I have to be gentle with him because he's a bit old, Mom says, and he likes cuddles more than playing. But I think she says that just to make me sit down and be quiet.

Now she's quiet. I wonder if she's just sitting down.

She was in the kitchen, I think to myself as I clamber onto my feet, gripping Ginger's paw. "Let's go find Mom, Ginger."

I rest him in the crook of my elbow as I head downstairs, because he's too old and his legs are too short to go down them himself. "Mommy?" I call, my voice echoing through the house.

I stumble at the bottom step as I look around. The hallways look like they go on forever. I follow the wooden flooring into the kitchen. It's the same colour of ginger. Not my bear, though - he's darker.

The sweet smell of ginger and cinnamon fills my nose. Mommy must be baking. Maybe she's baking ginger bears. I step into the kitchen, with Ginger in my hand. "Mom, are you -"

She's leaning against the counter, a tray beside her. It's full of ginger bears, just like I thought. But why is she leaning?

I move closer to her, another frown overcoming my face. "Mommy, what's wrong?" I ask, tugging her rose printed apron lightly.

She pushes her tan brown hair from her face, clutching her stomach. "It's okay, sweetie," she tells me, reaching out her hand to stroke my head. "Could you please call Daddy? The phone is in the lounge on the couch."

I look up at her face. Her eyes are squinted like she's in pain. "What's wrong?"

She drops her hand, squeezing her eyes shut. "I just don't feel well, sweetie," she tells me. "Can you call Daddy, please?"

I squeeze Ginger's hand harder and nod. "Okay, Mommy." I say as I walk quickly into the lounge, and grab the phone on the couch.

I start to press the numbers, because I know Dad's off by heart. And Mom's. I put it against my ear. Beep beep, beep beep, beep beep, bee-

"Hello?"

"Hi Daddy," I say, looking at Mom in the kitchen. She's still bending over. "Mommy's not feeling well. She told me to call you."

There's a pause. "What do you mean, hon?"

Ginger dangles at my side. Squeezing his hand makes me feel better. Maybe I should give it to Mommy so she feels better. "She's leaning over in the kitchen."