Read Online Afire: Entire Blinded Series by Sarah Masters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Masters
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camping trip comes to mind, and although this situation is dire, I smile.
"What's so funny? What the bloody hell is so funny?” Mum bunches her hands, arms rigid, and stares down at me.
I rise and dump the holdall on the bed, moving to the drawer to remove a stack of tops.
"And what do you think you're doing?” Her strident tones rasp on my nerves.
She's gearing herself up for the big one, but I'm not going to let her reach the pinnacle. No, I'll get out of here before she goes too far. Wouldn't put it past her to find one of my belts and whip my arse like she used to. Would I let her? I shake my head. No, I don't reckon I would. She stopped hitting me a while ago now, probably realising that one day, despite her being my mother, I might hit her back. I ignore her and pack my bag with more clothes, mentally going through how much I can fit into it.
"Oh, so you're giving me the silent treatment now, hmm? That's all the thanks I get, is it? I catch you up to no good with that dirty little bastard—and to think I let him in this house to play up here as a child!—and you're ignoring me as though I'm in the wrong?” She closes my open drawers and tidies things on top, busying herself like she does when she's thinking on her next move, what to say, do, to make me bend to her will.
I clench my jaw, then say, “But you are."
"What?” One hand stills above my aftershave bottles; the other grips a can of deodorant. “I sincerely hope you're joking. Speaking in the heat of the moment.” She reorganises my things, not a dust-surrounded circle to be seen as she slides bottles into the position she prefers.
Finished packing, I zip up my bag and slip a sweatshirt over my head. Trainers on, I shove my arms into my jacket and pick up my dirty boxers, stuffing them into a side pocket of my bag. Can't be doing with the embarrassment of her knowing I'd already come before she arrived. I lift the bag, its weight heavy and a strain on my shoulder. “No, I'm leaving."
"Leaving?” She laughs, an irritating titter, and spreads her hands into stars, arms lifted as if she can stop me walking past.
"Yeah, leaving.” I brush past her and, in the doorway, glance back at my room, taking it all in. The layout, the memories, the things I'm leaving behind. None of them matter now. “Should have done this long ago."
She spins to face me, her face redder, eyes wide. “So, after all I've done for you, after bringing you up alone for the past eight years, that's it? You're just going to go? Up and leave because I caught you?"
"There's more to it than that. Don't pretend any different.” I walk across the landing and pause at the top of the stairs.
She scuttles to my bedroom doorway, peering into the gloom. “Oh, well, that's just marvellous. I've raised an ungrateful boy. One who walks out when he can't get his own way. Like your father, you are. A little heat and you're off, burying your head in the sand, unable to stay and face up to what you've done. Fabulous!"
"Don't bring Dad into this. Not when he's not here to put his side forward."
"And why isn't he here, Lee? You tell me why he isn't here. Why he hasn't been here since you were ten years old!"
"Because you're such a bitch to live with."
Shit! Did I really say that?
"Oh, so that's what you think, is it? Wonder ful! He does the damage, and I get the blame. Typical!"
"You just don't get it, do you?” I stare at her—hard. “He left because of you. He wasn't having an affair; he just didn't want to come home after work because he couldn't face the shit you put him through. He sat in his car, night after night, wishing he didn't have to come back here. And the only reason he did come back was because of me."
She laughs again. “And you know this how?"
"Because he told me before—"
"Oh, he did, did he? And when was that?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it? He taints your view of me, and you think it doesn't matter ?"
"You tainted my view of you. You ."
She slaps her
"What's so funny? What the bloody hell is so funny?” Mum bunches her hands, arms rigid, and stares down at me.
I rise and dump the holdall on the bed, moving to the drawer to remove a stack of tops.
"And what do you think you're doing?” Her strident tones rasp on my nerves.
She's gearing herself up for the big one, but I'm not going to let her reach the pinnacle. No, I'll get out of here before she goes too far. Wouldn't put it past her to find one of my belts and whip my arse like she used to. Would I let her? I shake my head. No, I don't reckon I would. She stopped hitting me a while ago now, probably realising that one day, despite her being my mother, I might hit her back. I ignore her and pack my bag with more clothes, mentally going through how much I can fit into it.
"Oh, so you're giving me the silent treatment now, hmm? That's all the thanks I get, is it? I catch you up to no good with that dirty little bastard—and to think I let him in this house to play up here as a child!—and you're ignoring me as though I'm in the wrong?” She closes my open drawers and tidies things on top, busying herself like she does when she's thinking on her next move, what to say, do, to make me bend to her will.
I clench my jaw, then say, “But you are."
"What?” One hand stills above my aftershave bottles; the other grips a can of deodorant. “I sincerely hope you're joking. Speaking in the heat of the moment.” She reorganises my things, not a dust-surrounded circle to be seen as she slides bottles into the position she prefers.
Finished packing, I zip up my bag and slip a sweatshirt over my head. Trainers on, I shove my arms into my jacket and pick up my dirty boxers, stuffing them into a side pocket of my bag. Can't be doing with the embarrassment of her knowing I'd already come before she arrived. I lift the bag, its weight heavy and a strain on my shoulder. “No, I'm leaving."
"Leaving?” She laughs, an irritating titter, and spreads her hands into stars, arms lifted as if she can stop me walking past.
"Yeah, leaving.” I brush past her and, in the doorway, glance back at my room, taking it all in. The layout, the memories, the things I'm leaving behind. None of them matter now. “Should have done this long ago."
She spins to face me, her face redder, eyes wide. “So, after all I've done for you, after bringing you up alone for the past eight years, that's it? You're just going to go? Up and leave because I caught you?"
"There's more to it than that. Don't pretend any different.” I walk across the landing and pause at the top of the stairs.
She scuttles to my bedroom doorway, peering into the gloom. “Oh, well, that's just marvellous. I've raised an ungrateful boy. One who walks out when he can't get his own way. Like your father, you are. A little heat and you're off, burying your head in the sand, unable to stay and face up to what you've done. Fabulous!"
"Don't bring Dad into this. Not when he's not here to put his side forward."
"And why isn't he here, Lee? You tell me why he isn't here. Why he hasn't been here since you were ten years old!"
"Because you're such a bitch to live with."
Shit! Did I really say that?
"Oh, so that's what you think, is it? Wonder ful! He does the damage, and I get the blame. Typical!"
"You just don't get it, do you?” I stare at her—hard. “He left because of you. He wasn't having an affair; he just didn't want to come home after work because he couldn't face the shit you put him through. He sat in his car, night after night, wishing he didn't have to come back here. And the only reason he did come back was because of me."
She laughs again. “And you know this how?"
"Because he told me before—"
"Oh, he did, did he? And when was that?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it? He taints your view of me, and you think it doesn't matter ?"
"You tainted my view of you. You ."
She slaps her
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