When I Met Him In The Summer

Twenty four

I really should have gone out the window last night. If only I had known mum was going to be back today.

My face is partially hidden behind the door—it is just barely cracked open, the door...not my face—and I only see half the smile on her lips before my eyes dart behind her, and she snaps her fingers at me to get my attention.

My right eye must not look that bad if she's still smiling right now.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," she says, and I stop for a moment and smile back at her, not really present in the moment. If she's here, that can only mean...

"Where's dad?" I ask, my eyes still searching the entirety of the block. I cannot let him see me like this. No matter what I tell them, for him it is going to be my fault.

Especially if Jake is involved. I know he will do everything to make it about wanting to get back at him for the dinner all those weeks ago.

I can almost already hear all the icy, venomous comments before they actually spill from his mouth, and it makes me shiver.

She pushes the door all the way, almost knocking me right over and the smile lifts from her face as she looks at me, and then hugs me.

I can tell it is not with sympathy. It feels fierce, protective. Her maternal instinct has kicked in, and it's that last bit of humanity before she explodes at whoever did this to me.

I unintentionally wince in pain as she pulls away, and then I desperately try to divert her attention.

"What happened?" she asks, slapping my hand away as I reach for the bags that have been since discarded by her feet on the porch in an attempt to dismiss the conversation.

I will not protect Jake and Austin. I want them to burn in hell for what they have done to me, and I might not be able to do anything, but I know mum is going to rain terror on them.

So, I clear my throat, look her dead in the eye and say, "I slipped and fell down the stairs."

I am sure the expression on my face matches the pinched, disbelieving one on hers, but somehow, that was the first thing that came to my mind, and I said it without even thinking.

"What?" she asks, and I nod.

"I was drunk. I tried a beer, and then another, and I got drunk. I tried to go to my room on my own, and right at the top of the stairs, I slipped and fell," I tell her, with so much sincerity in my voice, I almost believe the story myself.

"And where was Jake when all this," she says, waving her hand wildly over my face, "was happening?"

Right on top of me, doing all this.

"In his room, out...I really do not know, mum. Do you want to come in? I don't think I can stand for much longer," I say, and she helps me inside. The chauffeur brings her bags in as she busies herself in the kitchen and then comes to the living room with a concoction, which she forces me to chug in front of her.

It burns as it goes down my throat, and I wonder what exactly people find exciting about alcohol. I have not had my first drink yet, but I imagine this is what liquor must taste like.

I don't know what is in it, but after a while, the pain eases a bit, and becomes a little more bearable. Would you look at that. There's hope...i just might make a full recovery at home.

I turn on the T.V and flick through Netflix as mum makes breakfast, and then comes and sits down next to me.

"You're not going to tell me what really happened to you?" she asks again, softly, trying to fool me into coming clean to her, but I cannot tell her the truth just yet.

Jake is not home, and her anger may be watered down by the time he decides he wants to be in the same space as me again.

Even if I'll look like a liar if I choose to do it later, I'll wait.

"I told you...I fell down the stairs," I say, sipping on my orange juice.

She makes a frustrated sound in her throat, and smiles but does not push it. We sit in silence and go through the new season of Love Island and at somewhere through the third episode, I fall asleep.

It is not for long though. Just barely half an hour later, I open my eyes and sit up, clutching my chest. It feels like there's cement dried up down my throat, and I cannot breathe. Quickly, I grab the left over orange juice and guzzle it, but it does not help.

"MOM? MOM!" I scream in panic as I shake her awake. Her eyes snap open, and she looks around, confused, until her eyes fall on my pathetic, wheezing self, fighting for dear life on the floor beside the couch.

"Honey what happened? How did you get down there? You were fine a few minutes ago," she says, and I can hear the panic and fear in her voice.

"Can't. Breathe," I heave out, and then throw my head back, because that took the last breathe out of me.

She sits still for a second, before springing up, grabbing her purse and pulling out her phone, hopefully to call an ambulance. She looks confused out of her wits...it cannot be easy seeing your child die right in front of you.

God, I'm so dramatic.

"Danny just stay with me. Look at me. The ambulance is coming, okay? They are going to be here really soon," are the last words I hear, before I once again, pass out.