The day was young, and there was no possible way for it to get any worse, so Hazel decided to get all the nasty bits out of the way all at once. The more Hazel thought about the earlier meeting, the more she agreed with the rational side of her that thought she had blown it out of proportion. And then there was her stomping away act with Van goth mere minutes after. Her behavior thus far was simply catastrophic. She needed to get a handle on things.
She took a bus that passed by the glorious cluster of luxurious townhouses that was the community that she grew up in. She had seen her father twice since her return, and not once had he mentioned a good time to visit her mother and sister. Considering they were the selling points for roping her in, he was doing a poor job of dangling them before her. Or maybe he was doing a good job.
Her anxiety to see them was sky rocketing. Her little sister had barely been 11 years old when the entire fiasco had gone down with her leaving. By then, the brunette angel that had once adored her had seemed to hate her has much as their father hated not being in control. Hazel had tried to keep in contact with her but with the preteen's reluctance, and Lionel's eventual shutdown of the whole situation, keeping in touch had not lasted longer than three months. She wondered what Violet looked like. Hazel stalked Violet on social media, with a lousy fake account, like a nosy mom, but seeing edited photos on a desktop was not the same as seeing someone face-to-face in all their unedited glory.
And then there was Carla George. Her mother only ever occasionally appeared in the irregular society pages. And again, it was not the same. Her mother looked more vibrant and alive than the delicate memories Hazel had of her.
Hazel slowed down at the steps of the house she was all too familiar with. She had a strange moment of déjà vu, watching an image of her teenage-self gliding up the steps the way her mother had taught her how to. And then another fleeting memory of herself storming out, boots stomping down those very steps with tears streaming from her eyes. One past version of herself was well on her way to becoming a doll; the other had met a rude awakening.
"Stop stalling." The redhead mumbled.
Pressing her lips, Hazel took the stairs tentatively. She stopped short of the door and extended her hand, lifting the knocker and dropping it against the heavy wood three times. After what seemed like an eternity, Hazel lifted her hand to knock again just as the door swung open.
In the doorway stood Violet George; all five feet six of her. Her brows furred in confusion as she looked Hazel up and down. They stared at each other for an awkward moment until Violet scuffed.
"Seriously?! This is just not my year." She stood unmovingly, her arms crossed beneath her breast as she continued to glare.
"No 'hello, how are you' then?" Hazel muttered under her breathe. She looked up, fully prepared to deal with Violet's attitude.
"Who is it?" came Lionel's voice just before he appeared at the door. His eyes found Hazel's and he seemed to darken as he looked at her.
"What are you doing here?" he growled out, injecting a stern tone into his voice.
Flushing a deep red and at a loss for words, Hazel managed to say, "Isn't it obvious why I'm here?"
Lionel sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to explain something complicated to a child. His stern glare stayed in place as he said begrudgingly, "Well you might as well come in so to get this over with."
"Why?" Violet gasped, looking from her father to Hazel, "Why are you letting her in?"
"Be quiet and wait." Lionel grunted.
Hazel followed the two into the house, struck by an immense feeling of loss and hurt. The rooms had been remodeled since she left but she knew the layout like the back of her hand. They walked in the direction of the kitchen where Hazel figured her mother was. In that time, Hazel gave Violet a once over again.
Her sixteen year old sister looked like a high-end, well-bred stripper.
The younger George sister was dressed in flat ankle boots with black meshed stockings, a mini skirt that left little to the imagination, a crop top that stopped just below her breast –which seemed to be receiving substantial support from a pushup bra –, and a shit ton of makeup. None of the pictures she had seen online had prepared her for the sight she was seeing.
"Darling, come." Lionel was saying as they entered the kitchen.
Hazel thought he was talking to Violet until she realized he was looking at her. She narrowed her eyes, immediately understanding the situation.
Of course Carla would not know about the true nature of what was happening, if she knew anything at all. And considering the shock written all over Violet's face, it was safe to assume Carla did not know that there was a 'situation'.
"Hazel!" Carla smiled softly.
Rather than a mother who had not seen her daughter in years, Carla glided over to greet her like a distant relative who had come to visit for Christmas. She embraced Hazel softly and air kissed both her cheeks then stepped back into her husband's side, all the while smiling serenely.
"Mother." Hazel chocked out.
Her mind was racing. A part of her felt horrid; Carla felt like skin and bone and nothing like a woman of her stature should have felt like. There was no one factor that Hazel could point out that made her worry for her mother, but it all added to the daunting doll imagery. Then another part of her felt enraged. This reception was what she traded her freedom for; they were no better than strangers to her. Or maybe they were simply worse; at least strangers had never turned their backs on her.
But Hazel's rage was aimed mostly at Lionel and what was left trickled over to her contemptuous sister who was glaring daggers at her from the corner she had gravitated to as the moments passed. Lionel was the root of her major problems, Violet was a facilitator.
Carla George was just a pitiable puppet caught in the middle. Hazel could not bring herself to feel any ill will against her.
And in that moment she remembered why she returned to NY and why she would play by the rules of the cluster-fudge agreement; because she pitied, rather than loved, her delicate mother.
*****FORCED*****
Oooohkay. That does it for the repeated chapters. The chapters after this point will be smooth sailing without the previous issue of repeated content.
I literally just churned out this kinda' short chapter and forced <wink wink> myself to do a quick edit to post tonight. This chapter/scene was originally not included at all in the first version of Forced and I am so glad inspiration hit me with this one because it was a link that definitely need to happen for pacing, character development and plot.
Thanks for reading!!!
FOLLOW me: here on Watty, on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter @ ambersamperry.
Lots of love,
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
