Coming Home

Very short story. First time ever posting on-line so this is just one of my drafts. Any reviews appreciated. Not one of my better pieces

I pressed lightly against the creaky door and pushed it open as slowly and quietly as I possibly could, not wanting to alert anyone of my presence. I knew if my mother was in she’d be drunk or on something and if she was in that sort of mood then I’d never get away and I needed to be alone right now. I couldn’t deal with today’s drama. As the door squeaked slightly I panicked, but luckily for me the sound of the door was masked by a loud smash coming from the living room, which only confirmed my fears. So not only was she hammered, she was most likely either upset or angry or both, none of which were good. I managed to slip through the small crack, the smell of stale alcohol, cats and rubbish bags instantly filling my nostrils. As I shut the door without making a sound I realised that I had not taken all of the rubbish bags outside before I had gone to college this morning. So it was as the hallway was plunged into almost blackness that I now had to try and manoeuvre my way through the minefield of things I could fall on which could cause her to realise I was home. I simply stood and sighed with a lack of hope as I allowed my eyes to adjust to the lack of light I started to slowly creep towards the stairs. I managed to get to the bottom with no major noises or injuries, now to go up. I wasn’t sure whether to move slowly and carefully or just run as though my life depended on it and lock my bedroom door and window. The only problem with the second option is that last time she was so drugged up and angry that she climbed up the fire escape and smashed the window to get into my room at me to tell me that she wanted to order pizza for tea. Slowly and carefully it was. I strained my eyes to see if there was anything on the second step as the first squeaked, which I had learned from years of experience in climbing these stairs quietly and as I didn’t think there was I took my first step upwards, successfully doing so I started to make my way up, only nearly falling on one step. The seventh step looked clear from what I could see, but when my converse touched the step I discovered that there was an unused black plastic bin bag thrown on it, god knows why. My foot slid of the step and I almost fell back down the stairs. Luckily I managed to make it to the top with no noise made, and avoided the squeaky floorboard successfully, but as I took the last step, confident of my success of a soundless journey an ear splitting high pitched screech defeated me as well as making me jump out of my skin. I hadn’t looked at the floor and my foot had landed on the tail of my black and white fluffy Persian cat, Oreo. Of course he had screamed in pain and instantly clawed at the monster that attacked him, which was obviously my leg. I felt his claws rip easily through my tights and into my shin, and the blood that I started to seep out of the wound and down my leg. It took every ounce of strength I had (which is not much) not to join Oreo and cry out in pain. Then I heard the downstairs door open and my heart stopped. I immediately opened my bedroom door and as Oreo was still attached to my leg he came in with me as I stepped inside my sanctuary. As I turned to lock my door, put the chain on and bolt across he detached himself from my leg and made his way to my bed. As he made himself comfortable I walked to my window to close and lock it. I pulled down my blind and closed my curtains and after plugging my phone into my speakers and playing my music as loudly as my ears could handle I switched off the light and plunged my bedroom into almost darkness apart from the Mickey and Minnie Mouse head shaped fairy lights that were draped around my headboard, which although I knew were childish for a 17 year old girl to have in her bedroom but I thought they were fabulous. When I was 7, I was walking home from school with my mum and saw them tucked in the corner of the window of a charity shop for £1.50. For 45 minutes I cried and screamed and threw myself on the floor until I got what I wanted on the condition that I helped to cook when we got home. That day is still one of my happiest memories. As well as the charity shop we also called in on the corner shop on the way home to pick up all the ingredients for spaghetti bolognaise. As mum chopped the vegetables I played upstairs and tried to decide where to put my new fairy lights. At the time I decided that I wanted them on my ceiling, and when she called me down to help her with the sauce and to serve it up I tried to summon up the courage to ask her to ask her boyfriend, Jason to do it for me. I didn’t want to ask him. He scared me. Even when he was sober, and it wasn’t very often that he was. It wasn’t until after we had eaten and were sat watching an old Disney movie that I managed to choke out my long awaited question, of which she said she would see what kind of mood he was in when he got home. Just as the movie was ending was when got home. He was drunk, again. He was an alcoholic who also claimed he liked to ‘dabble’ with LSD, which in his terms must have meant him and my mum spending every weekend tripping balls in the living room riding on pink monkeys until they eventually got in a fight because one thought that they were fighting a dragon whereas the other thought it was a goblin. It was just unlucky for me, that day was a Friday. So in he stormed and instantly demanded I go to bed because after a stressful week at work he ‘needed to chill and couldn’t be doing with her weird kid any longer than he had to’, and just like that, my wonderful day was over. I didn’t even get chance to find out if he would put my lights on my ceiling. He never did, which is how they came to be draped over my headboard. At the risk of sounding depressing most of my wonderful days seemed to get ruined at the hands of my mum and her partners. I have to say partners since she became bisexual when I was 11 and has since dated eight women. Each one lasting less than three months before she screwed it up, more often than not for sleeping with a man. Once she was even caught in the act. I just can’t understand her. What was her problem? Why couldn’t she just let herself be happy? Why did it seem as though she had to go out of her way to ruin all of her relationships? She was paranoid, she wanted drugs, and then two minutes later she didn’t want drugs. She liked men, she liked women. It was as though she couldn’t handle unconditional or pure love, there had to be some sort of drama or something going wrong or else  she just seemed to get bored and ruin it just to create some, always expecting that they would just come back when she was done or when it suited her. The only problem was, after a while each one of them realised this and left not returning, and I can understand why. I wouldn’t stay in a relationship like that, I just wish sometimes my mother would think about me and how I feel every time another person walks out of my life and I’m the one playing the adult picking up the pieces of my mother’s broken heart. I really thought this time was different, but judging by what I’ve come home to I’m not so sure that’s the case as she is currently banging what I’m only assuming is her fist against the door, demanding I come out. At least it’s her fist and not another ornament, because I always ended up getting the blame when she broke it as apparently it was my fault that I wouldn’t open the door when she was acting like a lunatic. She sounds angry. I can’t bring myself to be sympathetic to her right now, not with the way I feel, so kicking off my shoes I headed to my bed to lie down with Oreo. It feels so good to know its Friday and I don’t have college for two days. Lying on my back I felt my body instantly relax and I closed my eyes and just let myself get lost in my music. There’s nothing like a good few hours of music to calm me down after a bad day. The perfect combination of instruments along with a beautiful voice is enough to make me feel like the world is instantly a better place, instead of the heavily messed up place I knew it was. Everything else fell away, it was just me and the music, nothing else existed to make things bad or hurt me. Nothing could go wrong.