BEAUTY

Chapter 1: Home

My eyes snap open at the sound of glass shattering. I sit up in bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. A drawer slams, then another. A chair screeches across the floor. It sounds as if it’s coming from downstairs. My brain stutters, struggling to pull itself free from sleep and piece together what’s happening. Another glass breaks. I jump up from my bed and head for the stairs.

I hold onto the banister, swaying a little. “Ma?” I call out, frantically rubbing my face.

My chest tightens painfully as I finally tumble towards the living room door. It’s all torn apart, and she’s in the middle of it.

One hand is holding the strap of her bag, while the other tosses things over her shoulder. Pens, tissues, erasers, and random screws add to the shattered glass already on the floorboards. She then stumbles over to the coffee table, stuffing half drank alcohol bottles into her bag.

“Ma? What’s going on?” I question again, bracing myself on either side of the door frame. I can’t decide what to settle my eyes on.

“I’m going — away. Just for a — a bit,” she scrambles words together as she continues to pack. Half out of breath, half dazed.

She drops her bag, ignoring the crash of bottles knocking together, and rushes toward the glass cabinet, barely managing to stay on her feet. She pulls out the spare house key we keep tucked inside one of the antique cups, but a small plate slips free with it and shatters on the floor.

“Shit,” she mutters, swaying where she stands.

She waves a hand around the room, “You’ll clean all this up, won’t you.”

I take a hesitant step towards her.

“Wwhat do you mean? You can’t be leaving.”

My voice comes out quiet but raw, straining under the weight of panic. I wait for her to look at me so I can see her face, but she’s already moving back over to her bag.

She slips the key into it, then grabs a handful of tissue packets from the couch and stuffs them too. The bottles crash together, the clinking unnaturally loud in the silence of the sleeping house.

“Ma, seriously what is going on?” I quickly move towards the couch to face her. Her brown eyes are glassy and bloodshot, struggling to settle on anything for more than a second. They drift aimlessly around the room, squinting as though they’re fighting to stay focused.

I gasp. A large purple-and-green bruise covers the apple of her cheek.

“What happened?” I whisper, stepping closer to her and slowly reaching out for her face. Before my fingers can brush her cheek, her hand shoots out. Clumsy, but fast enough. She catches my wrist and clamps down, her grip surprisingly strong. Her nails dig into my skin as her unfocused eyes struggle to meet mine.

“Don’t fucking touch.” Her drunken smile is wiped off her face and replaced with a scowl. “What have I told you about touching me?”

She snaps, dropping my hand like it’s infectious and pointing a finger very close to my face.

“You can’t be serious,” I shake my head frantically. Her eyes look around the room again. I fight the urge to snap my fingers in front of her face.

“Seriously? Now? You can’t be leaving.” I plead. She stumbles towards another set of drawers by the living room door.

“Who gave you that bruise?” I follow after her.

“I will be fine,” she says, swallowing down some dark brown liquid left in a glass. She clears her throat after it, briefly closing her eyes as she takes it in. “I need you to get my jumper from upstairs,” she croaks.

“Ma, you promised you wouldn’t leave again. Please don’t go. Especially not with him.” I beg her. It is pathetic and useless, but I try nonetheless. There’s no doubt in my mind that the bruises came from him.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” she yells, gripping the glass. Her shoulders brushes past me as she goes back to the couch. Nothing she does makes any sense. She’s in no position to be leaving the house at this time of night.

My insides close up at the idea of not being able to stop her again. As I struggle to breath calmly, she simply finishes her drink, unaffected by the room that is only collapsing in on me.

“When will you be back?” I ask barely in a whisper.

I know the answer already, but I wish she would say something that signals even the slightest bit of change from her.

“I already said, in a bit. Now go get me my jumper from upstairs,” she looks away from me again as if I am already gone. I blink away tears, and do not move from where I’m standing. I have to hold my ground. I have to make her take me seriously.

Once she notices, she looks up and a dark cloud hovers over her face.

“I can’t keep letting you leave,” I begin softly. “If you need money, you know I have a job. I’ll lend you whatever you need.” My voice breaks. “Just please, Ma. Stay.”

There’s a pause. She stares at me. I briefly wonder if I’m finally getting through to her, or if she’s too gone to understand. She stumbles closer, and I stretch my hand, wanting to provide her some balance, only for her to slap me hard across the face. The sound of the crack lingers in the air.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

Her voice is loud and filled with hatred that it makes me flinch even more than the slap did.

“Now go. Get. My. Jumper,” she spits.

For a second, I just stand there.I look at her face, mouth open, eyes wide, yet she’s not even looking at me. She resumes packing, unfazed.

My ears are buzzing as I walk up to her room to get her jumper. Tears slip, adding to the burn on my cheek and I don’t stop them.

The jacket is yanked out of my hand before I can properly enter the living room and she storms past me into the hallway.

My eyes suddenly find Rosco’s, my dog, who blocks the front door. He whimpers quietly, clearly frightened by the commotion.

“Don’t!” I shout at her, already knowing what she’ll do.

She lifts her foot as if to kick him. Rosco scrambles out of the way before it can land. “Get out of the way.”

Rosco shrieks to the side. She stumbles past us without a second thought, flinging open the front door. I grab a hold of her arm just as her left foot is about to touch the grass.

“Ma, stop!” I yell again, without a care for a noise complaint from the neighbours.

“Save your breath, sweets.” She stretches her arm and I flinch, expecting another hit. Yet she only tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’m leaving,” she leaves no room for argument.

“No, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

A car beeps right in front of our driveway. My eyes snap up, and despite being blurred, I would recognise his car and long hair anywhere.

“I’m going with him—”

“Not with Ronn. Please, please, he’s going to ruin you.”

“Oh stop with these dramatics,” she laughs, her head tossing back in laughter. The alcohol is definitely hitting her more now. “Make sure you’ve stocked up for when I return. And if a big guy comes around asking for money I owe him, deal with it.”

Before I can say anything else, she sloppily kisses my still-burning cheek and stumbles down the driveway again. There’s another woman with dark hair, opening the back door ready for my mother to get in. My feet are locked in a trance, too terrified to move. All I can do is watch as she gets into the car. There’s nothing left for me to grab onto. Nothing left to say.

Ronn’s eyes meet mine and he smiles. My breathing is heavy as the car quickly pulls back onto the street. My vision blurs, but it’s not because of tears. My knees buckle, and I lurch forward, vomiting onto the pavement.