Taking a deep breath and preparing myself for being alone in a solemnly silent home, I turned off my car and got out. A shiver shook my body as an icy gust blew over me, the cold making me tighten my coat over my chest and cross my arms as I darted across the grass to the door. Slip on the icy driveway? Never again. God, that hurt. As soon as I’d unlocked the door, I realized I had made a mistake. I wasn’t alone, my mother’s typing filling the otherwise silent space… and judging by the sound, typing was way too gentle of a word for the way she pounded at the keys.
Grounding, here I come.
“Emma, is that you?” her hard voice called out, the short, snappy tone making me cringe.
“Yeah, Mom,” I responded, shedding my winter weather gear and hanging them on the hooks that lined the small entryway.
“Come here, please.”
At least she said please, I thought grimly. Resolving to get the scolding over with as soon as possible, I hustled down the steps to the basement and dropped my bag next to the couch then made my way directly upstairs.
“Yes?” I asked when I reached the door to her office.
“Because of your actions over the weekend you are grounded for the next two weeks,” she bit out, her eyes cutting from her computer screen to stare daggers at me instead. “Without your phone. If you get a call from your work, I will let you know, but when you are home, you will not be texting your friends or those boys. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“They are no longer welcome in this house,” she continued, holding open her hand for me to surrender my phone. A sense of panic filled me. It wasn’t because the guys weren’t being allowed in the house. I had anticipated that after her previously vehement disregard of our relationship. No, this panic was something I hadn’t realized existed, and my grip tightened around my cell. My one lifeline, given over to my mom where I didn’t have access.
What if something happens? my brain hissed. There’s no way to call for help.
Squashing the sensation as best I could, I stepped forward and placed my phone in her waiting palm. A lump formed in my throat, my chest constricting as she tucked it into her desk drawer, but I smoothed out my frown as she waved me away. Not going to look at me, Mom? Or even say anything as you dismiss me? No questions about the trial or maybe even checking whether I’m okay or even need your support?
After all the fighting with my mom and months of the cold shoulder, of being treated like I didn’t exist, I had expected to be used to it by now, but it still stung. The stairs started to waver as I made my way down to my room, a wall of unshed tears building with each step.
There were so many things I wanted to talk about, ask, and confide in her, but every time I had tried it resulted in nothing but arguing. My mom was too wrapped up in seeing what she wanted to, her jaded views tinting anything I said or did into the wrong light, and I knew there wasn’t anything I could do. At least not today. So after I shut my bedroom door and turned on my newest CD, I decided on what I wanted to try to help me find some semblance of comfort.
Part of me wanted to flop face first onto my bed, but everything swirling around in my mind practically screamed to be written down. So, grabbing hold of Mr. Fritz, I sank into my desk chair and pulled up a fresh digital diary page.
January 28th
#TickedOffTuesday
34 days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve spent any significant amount of time with my mom. Since freaking Christmas, almost five long weeks. I miss my mom. I miss when I could go to her with everything under the sun, anything on my mind. Now though… I don’t know what the hell we are.
I’ve had nightmares and fears threading through me when I leave the house, enough ‘what if’ thoughts to make anyone crazy. What if there’s someone else who would do something to me? What if something happened to someone else when I was there? Would I be able to help, or would I freeze? There are so many underlying questions that