We Perfer The Term Psychotic

2. Fucked Up

"No, I'm done I'm fucking done! Get out, get out!" The picture that usually hangs on the wall comes flying in my direction. I duck behind the island hearing it smash agaisnt the stove behind me. "Veronica do you hear me are you deaf?!" Her footsteps sound infront of me and I run to the other side still keeping low. My heart hammers in my chest as I hear her growl and move to the opposite side where we are now facing off. No matter how many times she gets shit faced drunk, no matter how many times I deal with her shit. My heart aches for it all to go back to how it was.

"Veronica-Dont run from me!" She screams as I run down the hallway my footsteps echoing in the narrow space. I reach my door turning to shut it I see her stomping something in her hands. Probably the damaged picture frame. I slam the door shut locking it. I slide down the wood surface. I made it in here, all I have to do is wait until she passes out and I can go clean the house, by the time she wakes up tomorrow she won't remember any of this. She never does.

Tomorrow I can pretend none of this happened too.

My eyes flicker to the blood pouring down my arm, where she had dug her nails into me. Faint bruises are already forming on the inside of my arm and I wipe the tear that slides down my face away.

Her screams fill the house as she throws objects around, I hear glass shattering as more pictures are being destroyed. The only things left that prove I once had a normal mother.

~

I wipe my sweaty forehead with my good arm, my hands covered in bleach. My eyes scan the clean house having been working for hours trying to get it back to normal. I look down at the blood stained green wash cloth before sighing I throw it away. I had dripped all the way to my room. The light wooden floors are stained faintly because I had to wait three hours before she finally fell asleep.

I almost dropped her when I carried her to her own bed instead of leaving her on the steps to the basement. She probably was going to see if she can find more alcohol.

My arm it turned out needed stitches I had stitched it up while I was waiting for her to fall asleep.

I go over to the sink and wash my hands. The smell of lemongrass fills my nostrils and I breathe it in. I used to be obsessed with this smell. Now it only reminds me of the soap I use after I clean up my mother's mistakes.

I do this every night, run from my mother. Clean my wounds I earned from getting away, listen for when her movements stop for the night. Then clean up the evidence that could prove her of something that she has not desire to be. And that is not enough.

A ritual.

I only sleep when she leaves or when I know she is asleep and will not be waking up anytime soon. Even then I sleep with my dresser infront of my door.

The clock reads 2:19 and I groan quietly as dump the bloody water, running the faucet to make sure it all goes down.

We now only have one working lamp, two usable plates and four mugs. My paycheck that I get from working at the bookstore is going out to the cover I so religiously hide. I just cant remember what the hours are at the store. I have been there plenty of times for this reason alone, but she hasn't done this much damage on a long time.

~

"Your total is $78.36." The cashier says. She sounds dead, like she has worked a ten day stretch and doesn't have it in her to even try yo be the polite person I know she is and agreed to be when she took this job. I pay with cash so that I can tell her to keep the change, maybe it will help her be in better spirits for the customer behind me.

Indeed. Her eyes light up with the ten dollar tip, she stuffs the note into her pocket a small smile tugging on her lips. She bids me goodbye and I walk out into the surprisingly warm night, for it being October exactly 31 days until Halloween. My favorite holiday.