NOTHING GIRL || Remus Lupin

-Twenty: Mother's Love-

Helia was sat in the kitchen, hands wrapped around the mug of tea that had gone cold over an hour ago. Her eyes were fixed on the clock over the counter, directly opposite the newly cleaned table.

2:34 AM. Ten more minutes.

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

God, she hated that noise. Helia couldn't count the amount of Christmas Eves that she had spent the early hours of listening to the irritatingly regular beat of the cheap piece of crap from IKEA. Actually, she could. It was five. Five Christmas Eves (She didn't bother coming home for the first one).

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

But she had been home now for over a week, relishing in the sharp bite of freedom and grudgingly accepting the heavy weight of responsibility that came from having no strict timetable to stick to rigidly. She guessed, technically, it was  Christmas Eve now, though it didn't feel like it until she had gone to sleep and woken up to the sound of a new day. These waiting games had never made it feel like Christmas (unless those awful rounds of snap that her Grandma used to make everyone play counted. They were  waiting games, Helia supposed) .

2:44 AM

Any minute now.

Sure enough, the sound of the back door opening and closing, like a sharp inhale, cut through the still air. Helia felt the familiar presence at the door behind her, a shadow passing over her grave.

"Evening, Mum."

The woman grunted, pushing past Helia to get to the counter, dumping her muddy jacket on the previously sparkling surface. Helia watched with impassive eyes. There was no point trying to stop her mother; it wouldn't work. Her mum moved around, making a cup of coffee, and Helia had to stop her hands from clenching at the thought of this woman touching her  kettle, her  spoons, using the mug that she  had painted in primary school.

Instead, she let out a sigh, crossing to the wall, where a large map of the world was pinned up and picking up a black marker.

"Where were you this time?" she asked, sounding simultaneously disinterested and defeated. 

Her mother- no, Helia really needed to stop thinking of her like that- Mary  followed her over to the board, and Helia had to fight to stop herself from flinching away from the woman's heat. Mary seemed not to notice, taking a long gulp of coffee as her eyes tracked over the map.

"Italy, Florida, New York, bits of Canada- you wouldn't know them, I'll put them on later." Mary said, without a trace of regret or discomfort.

"How would you find out what I know about geography?"  Helia asked quietly, unable to help herself, with downcast eyes.

She physically felt Mary quirking an eyebrow, and cursed that she now knew where she had gotten that habit from, making a mental note to try and break it at the earliest opportunity. 

Mary walked back to the counter, setting her mug down heavily, and spilling hot coffee all over the surface. She didn't seem to care, choosing instead to rifle through the heavy rucksack she had brought.

"Ah, so we've finally hit the teenage angst stage, have we?" Mary said, in the same disinterested tone as Helia. "I was wondering when that was going to happen. I thought maybe you would have the better sense to avoid it, but I was obviously overestimating you." She spoke without one note of concern for her child's feelings.

Mary didn't look like Helia. No one in their family looked like Helia. When Helia was younger, some of the children in her class managed to convince her she was adopted (that was, until the disgusted look of disapproval she had gotten from her mum, vague "What are you on about, honey?" she had gotten from her dad and the incredulous laugh that Dean had gifted her with told her otherwise). Mary was a stick, all thin arms and bony edges. Straggly blond hair drifted vaguely around her shoulders, and light hazel eyes that were constantly red-rimmed hung like saucers in her always-tanned face.