𝐋𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐚…

"Bye, Mrs. Larson," I called out, pumping as much energy into my voice as I could while grabbing the bag filled with food for my mom and me from the kitchen table.

"Bye, Layla dear," she replied, she replied, her signature smile lighting up the room.

Mrs. Larson is my boss, and I work at the café she owns, but she's really kind and doesn't boss me around like others did. She has black hair with gray highlights that reflect her age, and she's in her 50s. She's a generous woman with a polite demeanor. I've been a part of this café for two years now-the first job I plunged into when I took a leap from the cozy nest of home. When I first arrived here, I didn't know much-let's be honest, I didn't know anything-about how a café operates. but thanks to Mrs. Larson's patient guidance, I transformed into a competent barista, crafting lattes and pastries like I'd been doing it forever.

"Oh, wait!" I paused mid-step, turning back to her.

"Yes?"

"Be sure to try the pastry! I'm eager for your review," she urged, her voice warm and inviting.

"Absolutely, I will!" I beamed back at her, gratitude swelling in my chest.

How could I not adore her? She's been my unwavering support, preparing meals for my mom and me every day, easing the financial burden that clings to us like a shadow. I know she noticed the way my paycheck vanishes into my mother's insatiable cravings-alcohol, cigarettes, joints-each pull a desperate grasp for something I can not easily fill.

I often find myself hoping she'd be blissfully passed out by the time I got home, lost in her haze of oblivion and completely unaware. I know it's wrong and I hated feeling this way about my own flesh and blood-my own mother-but with each passing day the bond of blood feels like it turned into a burden. Each day, her addiction weighs heavily on me, like a relentless stone pressing down, stealing my breath.

Sometimes, I couldn't shake the thought that she was just trying to fill the gaping void left by my dad and brother-two shadows that had flickered out of our lives two years ago, leaving behind a suffocating silence that echoed through our empty home. We hadn't heard a word from either of them since they disappeared, and I have no idea where they are. Are they alive or dead?-Ugh, let's not go there, Layla. Think positive.

The twenty-minute walk from Larson's Café to my house felt deceptively short, my mind racing with spiraling thoughts even as my feet moved on autopilot through the chill of the evening air.

When I finally stood in front of our door, I let out a deep breath, a sigh filled with all my exhaustion. I fished the keys out of my purse, the cold metal a grounding sensation against my palm, and unlocked the door, whispering a silent prayer that my mother would still be in a deep sleep.

Welcome to my Hell!!

With a swift but controlled motion, I stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind me, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace that existed in her absence. I tiptoed through the dim hallway, making my way to the kitchen, where I set down the handbag on the table.

I intended to heat up just enough for my meal and put the rest in the fridge. Mom might be asleep, and I don't think waking her up would be a great idea-she might yell at me for interrupting her precious sleep. Once I finished eating and cleaned up the dishes, I'd head to my room, preparing myself for another tough day ahead.

"Where the hell were you, bitch?" My mother's voice sliced through my fog like a butcher's knife, dragging me from my trance and spinning me around. There she stood, swathed in an oversized t-shirt that hung off her skeletal frame like a shroud woven from despair, her hair a chaotic, unkempt nest that even the most desperate of birds would turn away from. Glistening drool dripped from the corner of her mouth.

"Mom," I exhaled, drawing in a breath as if it were my last gasp of air in a world that offered none.

Here we go! Meet my Lucifer-My Mother-Marylin Richards

"Why didn't you wake me up for dinner? Are you trying to starve me?" she charged toward me, each step deliberate and predatory, like a hunter stalking her wounded prey.

"No! Mom, I thought you were asleep! I didn't want to disturb you," I stammered, scrabbling for the right words to soothe the tempest swirling around us.

"You're a damn good liar, just like your father," she hissed, her nostrils flaring as if they had caught the scent of blood. "You mirror him in every damned way-your voice, your looks, and those horrific blue eyes that scream of that bastard," she spat, fury radiating from her in waves, scorching me like heat rising off molten asphalt.

"No! Mom, it's not like-"

"Shut up!" Her scream erupted, a lightning bolt of fear that jolted me back a step. "Don't you dare call me 'mother.'" The word dripped from her lips like venom, rancid and caustic, her face twisted in a mask of loathing.

I shrank back as she closed the distance, looming over me. Instinct screamed for me to flee, but I'm  frozen, caught in a web of terror. With a sudden shove, she sent me sprawling onto the floor, landing hard on my ass with a dull thud. Before I could gather my wits, she was upon me, pinning my right arm beneath her knee, her grip on my left arm, while her hand wrapped around my throat, choking the very breath from my lungs. Tears coursed down my cheeks, a desperate release from the pressure she inflicted. How could she still have that kind of energy after downing whatever toxic concoction she had drunk?

"I could never call a slut like you my daughter. You're nothing but a reflection of him. I have one son, Nathan-my Nathan! And your father, that coward, couldn't bear to let him stay with his mother, opting instead to collect the shattered remnants of his so-called peace," she thundered, her eyes flaring wide with rage, a storm threatening to burst within her skull.

In a swift motion, she released my throat, leaving me gasping like a fish thrown onto dry land. I scrambled to my feet, bolting toward my room as if it were a sanctuary, slamming the door behind me. Her mutterings droned on outside, fading into the hollow echo of my fear.

I sank down beside my bed, the mattress sagging beneath the weight of my despair as I curled into a ball, sobbing violently as the floodgates burst open. Each sob tore through me like a jagged shard of glass, an unrelenting tide of anguish pressing down on my heart, suffocating the flicker of hope within.

My father had adored me, I was his radiant princess in his world, and my brother had wrapped me in a cocoon of affection. Once, my mother had gazed upon me with admiration for reflecting my father's essence, but that had twisted into a cruel curse, the very source of her loathing.

I miss you Dad!!

After an eternity lost to my tears, sleep finally claimed me, offering a fleeting escape from the relentless torment of a reality that felt more like a waking nightmare.

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Published on 18th October, 2024.