Loving Lakyn | ✓

[46] You Hate Me

L O V I N G
L A K Y N

I WOKE UP gasping for air. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I hyperventilated. My eyebrows furrowed as I took a look at my surroundings, feeling extremely confused and uncoordinated.

My mother? Was that all a dream?

My toes touched the chillingly cold floor as I stepped out of bed, dismissing my warm duvet covers as I looked around confusedly. It is light outside, like really light. What time is it?

Goosebumps appeared on my porcelain skin as I looked down at my attire. A dress? I may love my dresses, but never have I purposely fallen asleep in one.

My hand grasped the metal doorknob as my feet padded against the floor, my hand sliding across the cold railing. Once reaching the bottom floor, I paced the house. No one was in sight. Not Elaine, not my father, and so far, not my mother either.

I waltzed down the hall, nearing my father's intimidating wooden office doors before making a sharp turn into the laundry. The only person whom comes in here is Elaine, mostly because none of us actually do our own laundry.

The sound of the doorknob startled me as I turned around, my heart racing. 

The door swung open and in came Alison Hayes. My mother.

She walked in, looking awfully pale, shaking as though she was in Alaska without clothing. Her head was tainted with sweat, her entire body shaking as she stumbled in, checking the hall then quietly closing the door as if she was being watched. Why on earth was she being so paranoid?

"Mother?" I said confusedly. I had expected her to jump, then greet me back, but instead she did not react. It seemed as though she could not hear me. "You are here." I whispered, happy to see her again.

I thought she was really gone this time. Once and for all.

She ignored me, surpassing me as she stepped aside the modern laundry machine before placing her foot on one of the many wooden floor boards—this room is the only one in the house that has wooden flooring—she then squatted down, using one of her freshly manicured nails to slip through the tiny crack aside the wood, then flicking it up.

Out of pure curiosity, I walked closer. Though I should have known better. Curiosity did kill the car, after all. 

There was her stash. Her unhealthy addiction. Her syringes, her heroin. Everything was in there, right beneath my feet this entire time, literally.

I tried to stop her as she reached for a syringe, then one of several bags containing a white powder, but my hand breezed through her skin like wind.

"Please, do not do this." I begged her; my tone unbelievably desperate. "Stop ignoring me!" I screamed, but my voice did not come out as loud and strong as I had intentioned, it sounded frail. . .weak.

She exited the laundry after making sure to put the plank of wood back into its designated spot, walking back down the hall, then making a left into the living room and directly into the kitchen, placing the deathtrap on the marbled surface, shivering as she rubbed her arms over her scarlet silk sleeves.

She looked as though she was in a trance, like she was mid daydreaming. Whomever I was staring at, she was no longer my mother. This was the devil in her body.

I observed closely as my mother opened the top drawer, pulling out a table spoon, then slamming the drawer shut, stunning me. There was a candle lit on the counter. Several actually. The flame blared and swayed, threatening to blow out. It was almost as though the fire felt the cold ambiance vibrating off her, threatening to kill the flame.