My Kind of Woman

31. Normalcy; You've Got It All

AN: Sorry for delay! Was a busy weekend, but hope you enjoy this one !!

I seemed to have been knocked wide awake.

As well as my crippling heartache, I'd been gifted with overwhelming fear. I had far too many questions. I was sure she'd been coming in the house whilst everyone was out during the day, taking what she could, most likely to pawn and pay into her addiction. She was still using. I'd seen it in her face; in the sores on her lips, and her sunken eyes, and the smell of her breath.

My fake illness started to become less convincing, and I resorted to a new stage of lying. I woke up each morning of the next week, got into my uniform, told my dad goodbye and went around the street corner, waiting for him to leave. Then I'd unlock the front door, toss my bag down and sit on the bottom step of the stairs with the bat. Every day. I was far too worried to go to school and pretend everything in my life was normal. It was the furthest from normal it had ever been, and I wasn't sure when I could go back.

Did I even want to?

Of course, there were times when it was boring. Sitting on the bottom step of my staircase wasn't the most exciting of pastimes. The bat was quite heavy, and it made my palms feel numb and rough to the touch. I'd been squeezing it and rolling it in my hand when I got bored.

Jackie didn't call. She didn't come by either, and I started wishing she would. But I'd put off my reasoning for too long. Jackie had never been properly angry at me before, and we'd never fallen out, so I was in unfamiliar waters. I didn't know how I'd say sorry, or make up a convincing excuse, or whether she'd even forgive me at all. The idea of her not forgiving me made me so anxious that my leg bounced.

Along with the reminder that Mio had given up on me, Jackie leaving also made me cry. A few times, I'd cried on the step, and once on the street corner while waiting for my dad to leave.

And he seemed to take longer everyday.  My legs got tired standing on the corner quickly, and even after I saw his car leave, I hung around for a few minutes more - just in case he came back. The first day I went into the house, he came back looking for something and in a moment of jumbled nerves, I scrambled out the back door and over the fence. I sent myself flying into a thicket of bushes, and tore the back of my socks, but he mentioned nothing of it later, nor did he come out to the backyard to inspect the swaying bushes or the fluttering of my limbs up by the fence. I was sure he hadn't even seen, even as I flailed about, trying to shake out the branches from under my blouse and skirt.

That day, I'd torn the back of my thighs too - only with little scratches, but they were lasting. The next morning over, I treated them on the bottom step with rubbing alcohol and gauze pads. The bat was resting against the wall beside me, within arm's reach. I never let it stray any further than that. After the day she'd pushed me to the floor, I decided that the next time I would not hesitate. I would knock her out with it. I would protect my house and my dad, and me. And she'd never come back.

For a few days, no one came to the house at all.

Those days were utterly boring. Some hours I almost dozed off through, my head leaned against the bannister. But as to wake myself up, I would jog around the house, leaving all the downstairs doors open so that I could do a full lap. Then I started skidding across the floorboards in my socks like I was ten again.

It was a Thursday when my anxiety eased slightly. Just so that I could doze off for a few hours. I was almost certain that my mother would not come that day. There was a settled feeling of exhaustion in my stomach, one that made my brain stop working so fast, one that made the wooden bannister much more comfortable than usual. I'd brought my pillow down with me, and had it leaned against one of the beams. Just for an hour, I thought.