CHAPTER 04: a stab in the back

[tw: mentioning of drugs]

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I didn't believe in God.

My family wasn't religious and I wasn't brought into what others believed in. I knew Kelly and her dad used to go to church every Sunday and Owen's family were pretty religious, but it had less of an impact in their lives now.

However, ever since my parents started arguing, I questioned my beliefs because I couldn't quite understand why a fate such as this had landed and corrupted my life. I didn't understand why people who were most deserving of happiness got screwed over by life.

It shouldn't be a big deal. After all, I was in school the majority of the time so their fighting shouldn't impact me, but yet, it did and it did impact me a lot more than I'd like to admit.

I would've preferred to drown myself in all my work: studying, volleyball, art and listening to music. They were the only activities that made life bearable. If only it did, though. I did those things and I'd still feel like life hated me.

I used to like Saturdays. Saturdays used to be my mom and dad's day off work and we'd spend the day together...as a family. We would be happy and go out for picnics, pick flowers in the nearby fields or we'd get ice creams if it was summer and build a snowman family if it was winter.

She never tried to hide how she wasn't happy anymore; she was always truthful, but she'd never expose me to that kind of life. Somehow, I still landed in it and she'd do anything in her power to get me away from it even if she was posing a risk to herself.

But I woke up on that Saturday morning feeling rather nauseous. Maybe it was the continuation of my dread from the night before or the silence that I awoke to. Birds sang their melodies outside, cheerful and hoping for a good day whilst cars drove past. I think I've lost my mind, I thought, sitting up in bed, either that or I'm dead.

The sound of utter silence was foreign to me and it was something that I'd associate with dread rather than calmness. It's too silent and that made me uncomfortable.

I would say my mother is the epitome of happiness, especially when I got downstairs that morning and entered our kitchen. Pancake batter wafted through the air as she hummed to herself a song, most likely one from the eighties that she really likes. That's it, I thought, I've officially gone mad.

"Oh, you're awake. Sit down and help yourself to some pancakes. Pick any toppings you want," she spoke enthusiastically not even sparing a second glance at my wariness.

I should be happy. She's happy so I should be happy. I have to be happy; she can't see me frown.

"Well, come on, tuck in." she joined me at the table with her own plate, placing some pancakes onto her plate and drizzling on some maple syrup, "is something the matter? I hope the pancakes turned out well."

"No, it's not the pancakes, mom," I muttered, suddenly feeling on edge where I was sat. How was I even going to ask her what's going on? I felt awkward enough as it is, "it's just...well, what's going on? You just seem really happy today."

My mother paused, placing her knife and fork on her plate before humming in response, "that is true. I'm not denying it, but I'm telling you now, Brielle. Things can only go up from here. Positivity, okay?"

I only nodded rather cautiously, watching my mother's smile broaden. She settled back into her pancakes whilst I only gazed over her for a few more seconds. Someone pinch me so I can wake up.

We worked through some of mom's paperwork today, something I remembered I used to do as a child, though I didn't really help much. It felt refreshing to just do something with at least one of my parents and I hated to admit it, but doing these things brought a sense of stability into my life that I needed.

That evening, she showed me how to make my grandmother's recipe of a lemon sponge cake, baked to perfection with a drizzling of icing over the top. Whilst my mom cut slices for the two of us, I went upstairs to collect my laundry for the wash when I heard my mom's phone in her room.

Upon entering, the call had gone to voicemail and dad's name popped up on the screen. I was expecting a few things within the voicemail, but that was just my lack of trust from him. Though when I heard the voicemail, nothing actually prepared me for what I heard, "hey, Layla, I'm gonna be home late tonight—woah, Mandy, get off me. I'll be there in a second—so yeah, I'm coming home late tonight and whatever you do, don't look under the pillows of the couch. I've got a surprise there for you and I don't want to ruin it. See you later."

Of course, it's Mandy. It's so obvious she's been trying to dig her claws into him since she first met him.

And the surprise? Bullshit. Me and my father weren't close, but I've always known he knew mom hated surprises. Ever since they met, she's made it clear she didn't admire being given something that would be the main cause of her death through shock.

However, I've learnt to take things with a pinch of salt. Dad's change in behaviour isn't something unexpected; we tried to help him when he was struggling, but he didn't want it—made it clear he didn't want help. So we left it to him to do what he wanted to get some sense of closure.

He wasn't going to be late home because of work or anything, but because of little miss Mandy and the limitless amount of alcohol he's consuming.

We weren't stupid and my mother definitely wasn't. She knew everything that was going on with him. He wasn't great at hiding it; he had a lot of secrets that he thought we didn't know or wouldn't ever find out.

I told her about the voicemail, which she listened to and only rolled her eyes at. Of course, because at this point, nothing about dad phases her in any way whatsoever.

"Your father knows I hate surprises—oh, he thinks he's so slick, that little—right, you finish with drizzling the icing. I'm checking the couch because if your father thinks he can pull one over on me, I swear." she handed me the spoon, which contained some icing on it whilst she went to wipe her hands on her apron.

It had been around ten minutes and my mother still hadn't made her way back into the room. The cake was all finished, its icing drizzled over the cake now forming a hard layer like the sponge was encased in its own armour.

"Mom," I called, glancing around over the cake to make sure it was perfect, "mom? The cake's done—you want me to put it on the table?"

With no response, I quickly took my apron off and went into the next room only to see her sat on the carpet by the couch. In her hand, she had a bag of white powder and I saw that look in her eyes, one of red hot danger. Her voice was quiet, a stray tear falling on her cheek, "he really thinks he could pull one over for me—well, he's the stupidest person I have ever met."

"Please tell me that isn't what I think it is..." she didn't need to say anything, not a single word because I already knew. My father had stooped to many lows, but nothing could amount to the bag of white powder that sat under our couch; he was either stupid or smart, unintentional or intentional and whether he did this to get a reaction out of her is something that wouldn't surprise me. The man practically got off on my mother's pain, "oh my god—where is he, mom? Where the fuck is he?"

Now I was told to never do things on the spur of the moment—heck, I always regretting it straight after I've done it, but true to my word, I'm my mother's daughter. There is no room for regret.

"No, you will not go out there, okay? This is something I have to sort out and you won't get involved. Look at me and tell me you won't get involved," she spoke sharply, her brows furrowing slightly at my hesitation. He broke a promise to his wife and hurt her in so many ways that I'd gladly return the favour in as much pain if not more.

Suddenly, I heard the front door unlock and before my mother could stop me, I spun on my heel and walked into the entry. As I took in his drunken form, he glanced over at me as he took his shoes off. The man wreaked of alcohol, the stench of it bitter in my nose and on my tongue, "mom wants to talk to you in the front room..."

My words went unnoticed until... "about your surprise."

I could've sworn I saw it or at least wished I did, that twinkle of pure horror in his eyes as he attempted to make his sorry excuse of a man more presentable.

Cue the shouting in three, two, one—

"You're a fucking liar—that's all you do. You lied to me and your child! You said you'd try, but you were never trying this whole damn time. Honestly, it's pathetic how easy you think you can pull one over on me." she shouted like her life depended on it and when I glanced into the room, she shoved the bag into his hands, "you better start explaining what this shit is and where you got it because I know for a fact this isn't icing sugar."

Though he wouldn't give up so easily, throwing said bag onto the coffee table and retaliated at my mother like he always does. Making excuses, gaslighting and begging.

"You thought we were stupid, huh? You brought that stuff into our house when you said you'd try for me and especially for mom. Did you seriously think we wouldn't find out? Because if you did, you might as well have walked out on us—actually, maybe that would've been better. If you had left, we wouldn't be in this position right now." I left the room, grabbing my jacket on one of the hooks and putting my shoes on before leaving the house with a slam of the door.

Allowing myself a second to slow my breathing, I made my way down the path and went on a walk, which was a regular occurrence when I wasn't able to go anywhere else.

It wasn't a particularly chilly evening, but the feeling of loneliness in my gut made it seem like it was actually colder. I was incredibly numb from the whole ordeal, a feeling I always ended up associating with whenever I spoke to my father.

Nevertheless, I could feel the tears pricking at my eyes. God, this was pathetic, I thought, whatever did I do to deserve this?

There wasn't anything surprising about his actions, but it definitely didn't hurt any less. As a kid, he always promised me he'd protect me from anyone who hurts me; that I deserved the whole world and I would be lying if I said he wasn't part of that world.

He always would be because he's my dad and he's had it rough, but I wouldn't just sit there and allow him to stab us in the back the way he does. I wanted him to try—he could've tried harder and he knows he's capable of trying harder.

But I know he doesn't want to. In his eyes, we weren't worth fighting for.

And I can't change his opinion on us even if I didn't want us to turn out the way we did.

END OF CHAPTER 04

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[I don't think I can fathom how much stress I'm feeling about going back to school]

- j