the black raven | THE FIGHT

° ONE YEAR LATER °

■ mara ■

° 4:30 PM °

The things that followed Mom coming home five minutes ago were terrible. She comes home and has a drink, with some random drug mixed in I already know, and just sits for a while.

I know she's got drugs in her drink because she's done the same thing for over a year. Just like I've been doing Mom's jobs with her- for her, actually-, and justify the actions with the fact that there are people out there with much worse situations than I, so I better suck it up and deal with it.

And I don't dare fight Mom, although I've seen her hit her lowest-- she's at rock bottom now. Every time I try to talk to her, she ignores me or grumbles for me to leave.

Unless she wants to talk to me, I don't confront her on anything; not her smelling like alchohol or smoke every other day, not the drug residue on the countertop, and definitely not the dried blood on the knives in the kitchen.

In a rare case, when I went to go ask her for something one night, I realized the depth of this situation-- she didn't recognize me. She yelled at me to get out of her house, shoving me out the front door. And I did. It wasn't until the next morning that she let me back in, half high-half drunk.

Mom just sits there when I come downstairs and I just watch her, from the railing on the stairs, when she turns to me.

"What?" She spits, and I quickly run upstairs and into my room.

Her footsteps pound the ground as I wait for her to come up here and scold me for spying on her, watching her, and not greeting her.

When she does that, I respond with a couple 'sorrys' and a big hug, which makes her feel better.

But of course its all about her now.

Whatever makes her feel better. I hate hugging. Hate physical contact.

Especially with her.

I'm glad she can't read my mind, because she would surely threaten to shove a bar of soap down my throat again. I let go and turn to sit back down, but she grabs my wrist and stops me, sending a terrifying chill down my spine.

Her grip is ice and fire at the same time, the cold trying to instill fear in me and the heat trying to burn and harm me.

"I have a call with my boss later, so you need to be silent. He takes our work very seriously, so you need to be professional. Take dinner upstairs and stay there until I tell you to come back down, got it?" I nod my head in response, but she just tightens her grip on my wrist. I turn and face her, brows furrowing.

"I said, do you get it?"

Now I'm confused, and a little irritated. She doesn't have to yell at me for answering.

"Yeah, I just nodded my head."

"Are you talking back to me?"

"What? No! I just nodded my head to say 'yes' and now I just said yes. Do you understand me?" I quip, and realize my mistake as soon as it comes out.

She blinks once, twice, and then multiple times in a row, showing her irritation. My eyes widen and I respond quickly.

"Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I just- I just had a rough day and school was a lot of work and the teachers were really hard on us and-!"

"Fine. Whatever." Mom states, lets go of my wrist, and walks away. I could barely stop my rambling.

I hear her sigh of frustration from all the way up here, even though I know she's all the way at the landing at the bottom of the stairs.

I've learned to listen for that stuff. I guess you could say that living with her for eleven years now, a short tempered mother anyways, does that to you.

° 7:47 PM °

"Mara Novagez! Get down here now!"

Mom's scream of fury jolts me out of my calmed state. I was listening to music and writing. It's my favorite playlist and just a random story I'd been working on with a friend of mine.

I quickly scramble to untangle my headphones and get out of my seat, then rushing downstairs.

About five stairs from the landing, I use the railings to jump down to the bottom and run around the corner to the kitchen.

I see Mom's face-- eyebrows down, eyes narrow, jaw tight. And then my body goes rigid-- I start spiraling. Spiraling down the rabbit hole of what I've done everything within the past week, trying to find something that I've messed up.

I can't find anything.

I might as well jump into my own grave, and now I want to scream. I want to just say 'sorry' and go back upstairs and stay up there.

I don't want to be around anyone right now. Not anymore. Now I don't like the messy, distraught, almost petrified feeling that my Mom's brought on.

Automatically, my toes start to curl and uncurl and my fingers play with my rings as the anxiety increases, with each passing moment of the edgy silence.

Mom takes a deep breath, calming herself I assume, before speaking.

"Mara, I don't know what the hell you did, but I swear to hell, you keep your mouth shut until I'm fucking finished..." Mom's looks me in the eyes, then down at the floor. For a split second, only a split second, I think she's done.

I'm wrong; Mom explodes instead.

"I just lost my fucking job! Ballard just threatened this household, and it's all your fault, you piece of shit! You fucked us over, because you couldn't give Quarrison his goddamned fix! I trained you, you-- I taught YOU how to survive, I put a roof over your head all of these years, and this is how you fucking repay me, you little bitch!?"

Mom's explosion causes a lump to grip my throat, closing my lungs airways-- and suddenly I can barely inhale and-- !

My anger. It practically roars to life, almost instantaneously. And suddenly I can inhale.

She cannot, will not, blame her work problems on me. Tears slide down my face before I start going, the grip on my throat fallingnout of my burning eyes.

"I don't know, Mom, but your job is wrong! It's illegal! And I never wanted to be apart of it because it's scary! A job is something for people like you to deal with! I'm a kid!" I raise my voice at her, which surprises her, but she doesn't back down. Almost immediately she fires back.

"You- you- how dare you disrespect my job! I have worked my ass off,  day and night to get you everything you own! Your bed, chair, desk, this house, the car, your schoolbag, your clothing, everything!!! So don't go turning this on me, because all of this is your fault!"

I can barely keep myself from just running away, my legs are trembling with the urge to. But I can't, I just can't.

Hiw can she say that this is my fault? I'm just a kid, I can't- I shouldn't- !

"What? Jesus Christ, Jessica, it's  not my fault! Mom, I'm not supposed to be selling drugs to people! Your job is what got us here, and I don't want to deal with that, it's too much! I shouldn't have to fucking deal with your mistakes, I shouldn't have to deal with your drinking! I shouldn't have to deal with your problems, I shouldn't have to clean them up! I'm YOUR kid, you should love me!" 

I don't register what I've said. I don't even know if Mom registered it either. I didn't think I had it in me. I've lost control of my emotions, and I can't get them back.

Mom doesn't even look human anymore, and I can feel the loss of control on her end. The tears keep streaming down, and I start to sob, heaving in and out loud racks of my pent up rage, regret. Guilt, melancholy, pain.

But Mom doesn't respond. And I keep sobbing, feeling everything at four hundred percent. I wait, for just a moment, when she turns around and looks back at her phone. And here we go again.

I feel the lump form in my throat as I wipe my face with my shaky, unstable hands, and I try to calm myself. After the tears are gone from my face, I try to inhale, slowly. 

I don't know what comes over me, but I have the need to stop crying-- it makes me look weak. And after what I've just said and kept Mom speechless, crying makes me look like I can't handle what I've said.

The tears form, but I don't let them fall. I look up at the ceiling, I'm going to be strong and not show her any other weakness. Okay, that's stupid. My emotions just suck right now, worse than normal, and not because they're in overdrive. It's now because they all just blew out in that screaming match. Now I feel absolutely numb.

"I just lost my job. And it's someones fault. So tell me, what did you do?" The voice slithers out of her, and I feel the bite to my everything.

My hands are tensing and relaxing like crazy, as well as my knuckles cracking like a music festival. I swallow, and a small, childish voice responds.

"I don't know, but I will try to remember,"

"What happened on your most recent deals?"

"I gave them the drugs. They gave me the money. I swear, I swear on my life, I swear on God himself that I didn't do anything wrong. Everything I did was correct and under the radar. I swear," I tell the complete truth.

She listens to me, surprisingly, and stares into my eyes, my trembling soul. She huffs and then turns back to her phone. She's quiet for a moment, and then she looks back to me.

"So you didn't do anything wrong?"

"I don't believe so, no... I didn't do anything wrong. If I did, I, um, I want your boss to explain it to me, and if he says it's your fault, then, I guess, it's my fault," I pause for a moment, taking a breath after my quick rambling, my eyes darting everywhere accept for my mother.

"Yeah, if he says it's your fault, then it's my fault," I finish slower, sounding more controlled. I finally expect her to understand what I'm saying and let me leave, but instead she decides to do the opposite.

She sighs, chuckling slightly, and what she says next pulls the trigger on my anger of unknown origin. I realize this woman doesn't stop for anything, or in this case, anyone.

"Wow kiddo, you think you got it all figured out, huh? Isn't that just peachy. See, Mara, here's the fuckin' thing-- I can't go back and talk to my boss, or he'll have my fucking head on a plate, because of you! But hey, your right when you say that all this is my fault," she shouts, waving her arms in the air, as she pauses, undeniably seething.

"You are unbelievable! I can't believe I ever trusted you, you little brat! All you do is ruin my life, you take the things I need to keep this fucking house above our heads! This is all your fault-- all of this! I do all of this for you, so that you can have what you want and I get what I need, and here you are, turning this on me, making ME the bad guy!" Her screams echo through the silent house, through my silence.

I blink back the tears multiple times, suddenly feeling all of my anger dissapate, and my guilt for what I've done to her and her life creep and embrace my chest.

My eyebrows tremble, I bite my lips, and shut my eyes, afraid, guilty, and disappointed in myself.

I pray to God that he can send some help. In whatever form, just please. The tears threaten to fall through my shut eyes and down my face, as I've automatically taken a couple steps away from her and bumped into the front hallway table.

I open my eyes, and two tears slide. Quickly I wipe them, as I see the horrid look on her face-- animalistic.

And then it all just comes out of no where, just as I thought everything had died down.

The bottle, the scream, the shock.

The absolute fear that rises in me. The beer bottle that mother threw- the one that almost hit my head - brings the anger out of my body and shatters with the bottle.

The liquid drips from the wall and creates splotches onto the table and floor. The liquid allows the numbness to suddenly creep into my system, taking over my extremeties.

But then, her scream of fury triggers my shock, of what she just did. The tears slide down my face, and I want to run, far, far away from everything, but my legs don't move. Neither do my arms. I don't blink.

I'm completely tense, like a turtle out of it's shell an inch away from a predator's mouth. The thought of dad runs through my head, and it doesn't make me angry anymore.

I know it never will.

From this point on, he's a part of my safe haven. From this point on, I hate my mother. All I want to do is run. But then, there's the tiniest voice in my head that says fight.

And the fight wants to come out. But I won't let it. If I let it out, I'll be just like her. And that is never going to happen. Ever. I'm nothing like her. I'm my fathers girl, whoever he is. And no one elses.

"I'm sorry."

That's all I know. Nothing else I can say.

I finally make eye contact with her again, and I flinch. Just at her eyes. They are souless, heartless, seeing things.

She sighs, like it's any other day, any other situation, and I'm terrified.

I back into the space between the table and the wall, and get as close to the wall as possible. It's grounding my body and spirit. I might just faint, frozen against the objects.

"Thank you. Really, thank you. I appreciate the apology and I accept it. But were done. I've had this ready for a while, and just haven't seen the right moment to tell you. But now, well now is perfect. I know that you think I've lost my marbles and that you hate me, and that I shouldn't be a legal guardian because of all this, but I need you to know that you will live with me until you are done with college. Then you will leave and visit me every week. Every weekend. Saturday and Sunday, you'll visit me and talk to me and make food for me and tell me everything. But don't worry. You won't actually have to visit me. You can legally get a restraining order against me, because you no longer are family. You are the worst thing that I have ever seen walk the Earth," The stranger explains, and then rummages in her purse for something.

She pulls out a couple white papers and puts them on the counter, slams on them with her hand, and heads out the front door with her purse.

"I'll be out. See you later."

° 7:59 PM °

I've been standing here staring at the papers for nine minutes now.

Alone.

It's all I do. The papers are formal, authentic, and signed by a bunch of government officials and my mother. The stranger. The papers just sit there. Lines of government words and stuff like that. Adult words. I blink.

The tears are long gone. Numb. I hear a slight rumble somewhere, snapping me out of the daze slightly. I blink, slowly turning and mindlessly walking to the front door. I lock it, bolt it, and then slowly walk around the house, bolting and locking all the other entrances to the house.

I don't want anyone coming here. I want to be alone. Just like those papers say.

My mother is wicked. My mother is not my mother. She wasn't ever my mother, and she never will be. She's not my family, and I'm not hers. All these papers, they only state one clear fact: she disowned me.