Eventually

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

June 22nd 1999 - Arthur Valgari

"Are you going to see her?"

I looked up briefly from my phone to find my mother gawking over at me from the island counter-top centred in the middle of the kitchen. Her brownish-black hair was ruffled from sleep, and in between her fingers she was grasping onto a cup of steaming coffee like her life depended on it.

Something I came to realise about my mum was that she never looked worse than when she did in the morning, but then again, the same could be said about everyone. (Except me duh.) After her first cup of coffee, she'd perk up, waltz upstairs, and shimmy herself down an hour later looking ready to walk for Victoria's Secret.

"Who?" I asked, flicking back down to my phone without a care. I'd been texting all morning. "Be more specific, mother mine."

"Amber Bambrough," she persisted.

"Oh, yeah, the poor slag," I droned on, barely paying attention. "What about her?"

"Arthur! She just fell down a massive flight of stairs a few days ago. How many bones did she break? She'll never be the same again, either way. I think she'll need friends around her when she wakes up, don't you?"

"I don't care about that bitch," I spat, still staring down at my phone.

"Listen up, Arthur," my mum replied quickly, leaning over the table to try and grab my attention, "she's gone through a trauma, she needs people like you around her. Apparently she has amnesia." I laughed on the inside. At least she couldn't accuse me of pushing her. Not like anyone would believe the bitch anyway, if her memory was to miraculously return - which, knowing her, you couldn't exactly rule out. "Who are you texting that's so important anyway?"

I saw her eyes flash to the phone, and her fingers slowly settle down the cup of coffee in her hands. I should have seen it coming. She lunged over the island and grabbed it, loosening my grip on it. "Let go!" I screamed. "I enjoy the liberty of privacy in this country!"

"Not from me," she replied, nabbing the phone from my hands and staring down at the screen. Her finger started scrolling, her eyes growing wider the more texts she read. "Who do you have saved as 'Butter Me Up'?" she half-gagged, half-laughed.

"No one you know, now give it back!"

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Her eyebrows wiggled and I wanted to punch her so hard for once again shoving herself into my personal, private, romantic, sexual entanglements. My mum hardly ever showed an interest in me, but at times like these, I knew exactly why. She'd usually get so caught up in work that she'd go days without seeing me around the house, speaking to me, and when she'd eventually realise she'd forgotten she had a son, she tried to make up for it by interjecting herself into my private affairs of a sexual or homoerotic nature.

"It's private," I said.

"I'll give it back when you tell me who it is."

"Fuck you," I replied, diving over the counter to try and grab it from her, but she turned and swerved out of the kitchen. In a hurry, I jumped off of the counter and chased her out of the room, up the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway.

"What's this? You just got a text back from them," she shouted, just as the bathroom door slammed behind her.

"Don't read it!" I warned her, banging on the door as hard as I could. "You'll regret it."

"It says 'Can't wait to fuck you so hard you'll-' WHAT?" She didn't speak after that.

I heard my phone hit the bathroom floor, and the door swing open. "Mum?" I asked.