Upper Six (Completed, Being Edited)

Fourteen: An Attempt

AN: If you are easily triggered by sensitive material, you should probably skip this chapter. Thank you that_minute for your help in this chapter.

***

Laura has been a bit happier over the past few days. I notice that she's getting better, opening up to me, talking to me more, even about  her mother. Especially about her mother. She has told me things about her childhood, about how once upon a time, she was very close to her mother. She told me about how her mother used to comb her hair before she went to preschool, and tell her how pretty she was, before she started calling her fat. This was about fourteen years ago, but she still remembers it.

"My earliest memory is of my mother reading one of the older renditions of Cinderella to me, when one of her stepsisters cut off her toe, and the other cut off her heel. Then, they went to the wedding, and had their eyes pecked out by birds. I was two, I think," she says, squinting her eyes, thinking about the story she just told. We're having breakfast alone -- mummy is at work, and it's a Saturday -- and she has a blanket covering her shoulders. Laura has very expressive, deep brown eyes. When I look into them, I see a twinge of pain, but also joy and fondness as she talks about the relationship that she and her mother once had. She smiles a little to herself. "Scared the living shit out of me. She had to sleep in the bed with me, afterwards. She also breastfed me to soothe me. She was trying to ween me, at the time, and that definitely set her back." Laura chuckles to herself.

"What does it taste like? Breast milk," I ask. I don't remember; I think my mother weened me before my second birthday. She cocks her head to the side, thinking for a moment, chewing her lip and swiveling the stool that she's sitting on back and forth.

"It's kinda sweet, but also creamy... but that's how I remember it. The taste and consistency changes, based on how old the child is, as in, how long the breast has been used for. It changes to suit the growing child's needs."

I find myself wanting to suck milk out of Laura's nipples, like some horny pervert. She's here talking about childhood memories, and I'm here getting all hot and bothered over the thought of being breastfed by her.

"What's the earliest thing you can remember?" she asks me, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Um, being burned by my mother's curling iron. I was three."

"Oh God, was it serious?"

"No, I don't even have the scar anymore. She used honey on it. It was on my wrist, because I was reaching behind it to grab my soother. Mummy had put it on the dresser because it had fallen. It just hurt, a lot. That's probably why I remember it so clearly."

I drink my lemonade through a straw, as we both go silent after that. It's not an awkward silence, though. It's a comfortable silence.

"I think I'm going to talk to my mother," she says.

I stop drinking.

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I mean I have to address our relationship at some point, right?" Even though she's trying to look and sound brave, I can tell that she's scared. Maybe not of physical harm, but of emotional trauma. 

"You know that you don't owe her anything because she's your mother, right?"

"I know that, Fiona, but she's still my mother. I want to make things right between us."

"Okay," I reply, looking at my lemonade. I decide against telling her how I feel: that she should stay away from her mother, because her mother isn't good for her.

"You don't think this is a good idea." It's a statement, not a question.

"She's your mother, Laura. If you think that you need to do this, then do it. My opinion doesn't matter in this."

She doesn't say anything for a few moments, but then, I hear her say, very softly, "Yes, it does."

***

It's Sunday, and I'm packing my bag for school the next day. Laura and I both have a class with Raw Sewage tomorrow, but it's our final week of school before Christmas holidays. I'm already longing for Friday, and I haven't even had my first class for the week yet. Laura said that she'd talk to her mother today, and I'm a bit nervous about what her mother will say to her. 

We were sitting together on the carpet in my room, watching videos on youtube together, before she decided that it was time to phone her mother. I simply said "Okay," not wanting to influence her decisions with my own opinions. I just kept my mouth closed, and let her go. 

I'm still waiting on her to return, but as time passes, I become more and more worried about her. What is that woman telling her? I try not to think about it, and when I'm done packing my bag, I take out my uniform. After that, I feel as if I have nothing left to do, but wait. I look at the clock on the wall, and it reads 8:06 pm. I sit on the bed, and look at the hideous uniform, hanging on the knob of my closet door. It really is ugly. Whoever conceptualised it must be a clown of the highest order. Good God, it looks like something a clown would wear. I wish I could just burn it. I probably will, on my last day.

I look at the clock. I've been staring at my uniform for over fifteen minutes, and I decide that I should probably check on Laura now. Not to stop her from talking to her mother, but to just see if she's okay. I leave the room, and start calling out for her.

"Laura?" I call as I walk to the living room. I get no answer. I check the kitchen, and she's not there, either. I can hear nothing, except for my own breathing and footsteps. 

"Laura?" I call a bit louder. What if she left? What if she went to see her mother without telling me?

"Laura?" I'm shouting now, and I hear no answer. That is, until I hear coughing. Loud coughing. Coming from the washroom. I feel my heart swelling with relief, because now I know that she's in the house. My relief, however, is short lived, when I see that Laura is on the floor, on her hands and knees, coughing, with an opened bottle of bleach beside her, some of the beach on t he floor, and some of it on the front of her black shirt, leaving a trail of white spots. It doesn't take long for me to put two and two together, and when I do, I feel panic, fear, and rage consume me all at once. Panic and fear for the health of my girlfriend, but rage, because I know that this has something to do with what her mother said to her.