Cunt had driven Freya to the hospital to check on her mum, after receiving a phone call saying that she was perfectly fine. Freya had quickly packed a soft cardigan for her mother, some light jeans and her favourite Ugg boots. The ride to the hospital was silent from both Cunt and Freya. Although she didn't know him well, she trusted Rosie and Rosie obviously trusted him; resulting in her second-hand trust towards the brotherly figure.
"Here," Cunt said as he pulled up.
"Thank you-" She paused, not feeling quite comfortable calling him Cunt.
"Louis." He smiled softly. "Yeah, my nickname is pretty stupid, just ignore it and call me what you want."
"Thank you, Louis,"
"Will you need a lift back? I can wait if you'd like."
"No thank you," Freya wiped her hand across her forehead nervously. "What if she's mad with me? What if she hates me?"
"Hey, she won't be mad, she'll understand that you didn't mean it. And either way she's your mum, I don't think it's possible for a mother to hate her child."
"Wish me luck," Freya mumbled, climbing out of the car.
"Hey," Louis called to her. "You don't need it." He tried to encourage her with a soft smile.
Freya felt her world plummeting with guilt and fear. Guilt, for hurting her mum. Fear, that her mum may never forgive her. With each step that she took in the white hallway, the smell of disinfectant blocking her nose, more colour crumpled from her life. Her canvas was slowly falling apart, the wooden base attached to the back had been ripped off, the material of the canvas was on fire. Burning slowly with the smoke smothering her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't do anything.
"Miss Yates?"
Freya looked up to see a tall woman with an emotion damaged face. She had laughter lines around her mouth and soft wrinkles around her eyes. Although she looked the same age as her mother, she was very beautiful in a womanly way. Her sandy blonde hair had been tied back in a neat bun, a pair of thin framed glasses had been pushed up her button nose. Her eyes were wide with long lashes. She had a crisp white nurses coat over her blue shirt and blue slacks. A clipboard was resting in her right arm against her waist.
"Yes, that's me, I'm here for my mum." Freya replied. "Martha Yates."
"Ah, yes, the one with a head injury."
"Did she say how she did it?"
"Yes," The nurse replied, a genuinely sweet smile tilting her lips. "It must've been a nasty fall. She said she was cleaning in her kitchen and mopping her tiles. She thinks she used too much water, or maybe too much product mixed with her water. But anyway, she slipped and fell. She says she remembers you coming down and phoning an ambulance, you should be proud of yourself, Miss Yates."
Freya was frozen with astonishment. How could her mother lie for her like that? Lying was a sin, her mother was a sinless being. She'd married Mr Yates before having Freya, she'd never drank alcohol except in church when they offered wine and bread which represented the body and blood of Jesus...or something like that. She'd taken Freya to church every Sunday like a good Christian parent.
"She's been waiting for you." The nurse broke the silence.
"Really?"
"Well of course," The nurse laughed softly. "You're her daughter, she loves you very much."
The nurse took Freya to see her mother.
Freya half expected her to look pale with stained blood down her temple. She expected a dirty snarl to be slapped on Martha's face. She thought a dark shadow would've passed over her mother's snap, as if a sudden snap of her mind had happened. She thought that maybe her personality would be like a mirror, shattered.
Martha had a piece of cotton tapped to her temple, she looked slightly paler but not white. She had soft bags under her eyes, just showing how tired she was. She looked weird in a hospital night-gown. Her hair had been tied back, she looked older with her hair tied back; she always did. Martha looked up at the sound of the door opening, her eyes lightening up when they fell on Freya. It was like everything had disappeared in that moment, as if the argument had never happened. As if they'd been separated for years upon years.
Freya ran to her mother and hugged her tightly.
No words were spoken. Freya didn't need to apologise; she'd already been forgiven.
__________
May I just say, I personally hate reading stories where the only aspect of the story is romance and it takes forever for the two main characters that you just ship so hard to get together.
But I also hate the type of stories where they see eachother and BAM! They've loved eachother forever, they're just meant to be together!
I'm trying my best here not to write just pure clichés, and I'm trying to approach it as an ordinary teenager would. Being a teenager myself probably helps, but I'm an awkward piece of fuck and I always knew I was bisexual, I didn't discover, I just knew. So this is quite hard for me to achieve, but I promise I will try my best for you guys! (Not that many people read this).
This chapter is also mainly so you guys understand the bond between Martha and Freya.
YOU ARE READING
Pipsqueak (BEING EDITED)
Romance|ORIGINALLY TITLED THE BAD GIRL CALLS ME PIPSQUEAK| Rosie was a tall girl; her hair was dark brown and fell short by her ears in a scruffy pixie cut. She had a black beanie hat on her head and dark red lipstick on her lips. She was wearing black, r...
