Never Worry About Me

Chapter 11: "My mind deceived my heart."

Angelica's P.O.V.

Cold hands skimmed the surface of my skin from head to toe. Her fingers lightly traced my scars, making me wince.

"Sorry."

Her eyes raised as she glanced at my face for a mere second.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, and that I was not here to prevent it."

Her voice was filled with regret and sadness. I tilted my head to the side as my eyes squinted.

"But, why? Why weren't you here, Mom?" I questioned. "Why weren't you here to protect me."

My tears streamed down my face, as my heart ached.

Mom kneeled down on her knees as her arms ran from my shoulders, stopping at my waist.

"Oh, Angelica. I wanted to. Believe me, I did."

She sighed as she stood up and grabbed Dad's and my hand. She then led us to the couch, where we sat. My mom, however, pulled a chair up in front of us, so that she could face us.

"But, I didn't have the strength or any determination left inside of me to want to stay here anymore."

Her eyes seemed to dilate as she began to tell us what had happened the night she disappeared.

"One night, I had a stressful day at work. My manager yelled at me, accusing me of pocketing the tips I had made..."

I arched a brow.

She was a waitress at a local restaurant called The Ruins, and it was a rule that all tips would be collected by the manager and the restaurant itself would keep forty percent of it all.

"Did you?" I questioned.

"Yes." She bit her lip, though didn't show any hint of self-disappointment. "But, I did it, because I needed the money."

"Why? We were not financially struggling." I retorted. I just didn't understand.

"True, but I had my reasons." She then eyed my dad, and I let my eyes wander to him as well. "When I got home, I noticed a trail of alcohol bottles leading from the front door and into the living room..."

Dad gulped as his head lowered. He was unable to maintain eye contact.

"I followed the path, knowing what I would see in the end. Your father was fatally drunk, once again. He sat on the kitchen floor, leaning against the refrigerator. Noticing me, he then tilted his head up, and looked at me, though his eyes revealed no evidence of actually being there or processing anything. 'Dance with me,' he pleaded as he tried to stand up. 'Dance with me, Clarise,' his voice was quivery, along with his shaky movements. I shook my head as I grabbed the bottle that was in his hand and placed it onto the counter."

Her eyes lowered slightly. I could tell she was having difficulty talking about this, just as it was difficult for me to hear it.

"An idea then came to me."

She gained back her confidence to continue.

"I was already having a bad day, and I was not feeling like myself. I was uncomfortable, angry, upset... confused, so I did something terrible. I figured that your father would be too drunk to remember anything, so I grabbed one of the kitchen knives and lightly scraped the palm of my hands and rubbed my blood on the sides of the knife and on his hands. I then grabbed his hand and placed the knife in it, and I walked out with both my purse and my secret stash of money in hand."

"W-what?"

What was I hearing right now? I've always and only had the image of my mom as the sweet, beautiful, and caring woman she was. She was the type of person that wouldn't even hurt a fly. My mind couldn't comprehend how a person like her could think of something this bizarre and selfish. In what world was that okay?