Forget me lots (Completed)

8. Dawn🌿

By the time I'm home, the storm has subsided and darkness has fallen over the quiet neighborhood like a wet blanket. I try lying low. The least thing I want is to anger my mother. She gets feisty when I disappear for hours without texting or letting her know I'm running late.

The wetness of the lawn coats my wobbly limp, and for a second, I think I might pull it off. If I let myself in by the kitchen door, perhaps I can make it to my bedroom for a quick shower before facing the Kraken. She might even buy that I've been here the whole time, napping after school.

Mom mustn't see me in my drenched, dirty dress. She can't witness how my muddy hair sticks to my face like a second furry skin. I'm sure she'll freak and think her daughter is a poltergeist in the making.

As I make my way into the kitchen, the wooden staircase creaks under my weight. Damn you planks, I'm fat, I get it now. Please don't rat me out. My gaze fixates on the back doorknob as I thrust a shaking hand to grab it. My fingers hold on to it for dear life. I'm frozen, the iced kiss from the deluge working its way underneath my skin into my heavy bones. I need that hot shower like a heart needs a beat. I try gyrating the knob with little ruckus, and I'm almost done opening the door that oversees the small corridor prior to the pantry when noises come barging in. My stomach flip-flops, and my breathing shallows. It's her. She's in there. Like a bloodhound, she's sniffed my arrival, and I'm doomed.

With slumped shoulders, I face my impending demise. The second our eyes meet, I know I'm in for big trouble. Mom looks exhausted, like more tired than usual, kind of hard-and- crumpling-at-the-edges tired. It saddens me to see her like this, knowing I must be, if not a hundred percent guilty of such a devastating state, close enough.

She looks so darn pissed off too, I'm hitting myself, because I knew this scenario would likely happen. She thumps around the room, opening and shutting cupboard doors, picking up saucepans and random pots to bang them down a second later.

My siblings are nowhere to be seen, and I'm grateful for it. They get intense whenever they stumble their tiny, energetic feet upon my messes.

A loud snort rises above the clattering, ear splitting anger concert. If I know Mom like I think I know Mom, I'm in deep shit. I'm aware of how I look and she is too. She's scanned my drenched attire from tip to toes. She's smelled the foul stench in my lake-reeking, filthy dress. Her eagle vision notices how I'm clutching my stupid boot like a fucking see-Mom-I'm-not-dead trophy.

I see my face reflected in the metallic extractor above the stove. I watch how blood drains from my flustered, chubby cheeks at the idea she might have developed the ability to read my mind. She can't know I tried to—wait. No. I didn't try to—did I?

"Did you try to kill yourself, Dawn? Were you that stupid?" The pots crackle with each thud. They too are not pleased.

The wooden floor squeaks under my limping weight, because yes, I've walked all the way from Elsie lake to my home wearing only one boot. And yes, I have just realized how screwed up that is. How? Because Mom won't stop staring at her broken daughter.

"Dawn, where the fuck have you been? I was worried sick! What kind of teenager forgets her phone at home?"

"Mom ..."

"All teenagers I see at Providence Hospital live glued to that thing, and the single one that doesn't is my daughter. What are the odds, huh?" She won't listen to me or even notice Tommy and Bree appearing subtly in the kitchen. The first looking rather puzzled—because he never hears Mom yell—and the second holding a half-combed dolly. A clear sign she's heard it all and stopped what she was doing to eavesdrop shamelessly.