The Inceptive Flame⎪✓

❨38❩

♀︎

Squatting down to her level, her eyes flicker to mine. They are rimmed red, completely bloodshot, and my mind briefly wonders if she has been smoking something as well. Elijah now knows that I deal with my mom and her problems, but he's standing a safe distance away, not wanting to reveal himself. Once again, I appreciate him for knowing when to back off, her seeing him would only stir more problems. 

"Mother," I scold as her eyes drift closed. "We need to get you inside, there is a storm and this time I refuse to leave you out here."

Her hand is completely bloodied, it's extremely painful to see her lose herself like this. Usually, I would leave her out here on her own, my soul can't deal with her drunk ass every night. But the coldness of tonight will literally kill her, so this time I have no choice but to help her get inside. 

Shaking her thin shoulder, she wakes up again and immediately scowls at me, "Let me... Sleep."

Rolling my eyes at her pathetic attempt to get me to leave her alone, I grab her beer and place it on the floor, before dragging her heavy body into the house. In a matter of seconds, her wet clothes have drenched the floor entirely, an annoyed sigh erupting from me. By now this is just straight up annoying, her ass is fucking annoying. I'm losing my dad while she is out here acting like a troubled teenager, too pathetic. 

As I close the door, Elijah is still standing by the road. His worried gaze almost breaks me, but I won't let it show. My body is frozen staring into his beautiful eyes, dazing into a daydream of what we could have been. If only my life was normal, he would be the perfect guy for me to date. Others see him as an angry and dangerous individual, they haven't seen the sides to him that I have. He is so much more than what they make him out to be. Unfortunately for us, I am nothing more than what they say about me, they clearly know everything about my life and my family. 

Elijah deserves better and that isn't even a lie. It's not about me tearing myself down, it's not about me hating myself or hating what I see in the mirror, but if we're being realistic here, my life isn't really what anyone would want for a girlfriend. My mind is not and should not be on having a boyfriend, my dad is a huge priority right now. No one, but him. 

Snapping myself out of it, his hair has turned black by the rain, his saddened eyes break a part of myself that I refuse to admit to anyone that I have. He clearly has wormed himself into my heart, his smirk and the green eyes that I can stare into for hours, his personality and teasing attitude, everything about him is so tauntingly attractive to me. 

Deciding to protect myself from the heartache, I wave my hand at him and close the door before seeing his reaction to my cowardliness. The shame washes over me instantly, but I can't bring myself to undo what is done. It was unfair of me to kiss him today, the thought of how far I would have allowed it to go scares me for a minute. And yet it doesn't. If anyone should touch me like that, it should be him. I was more than ready for him tonight. Everything about him and his kisses feels right and so incredibly natural. 

A groan from behind me forcefully awakens me to the harsh reality, my mom is a blubbering mess on the floor. Her wet hair hides her face from me, but as her body starts retching I know what's coming. Grabbing a bucket from the laundry room, I place it next to her. Squatting down, I remove the hair from her face and angle her face. Not a second later she throws up into the bucket, my eyes remove themselves as I will myself not to gag by the sounds of her throwing up. 

When she is done, I hurry and get the first aid kit from the kitchen. Sitting on the floor next to her, my limited skills try to fix her up, bandaging the huge cut on the front of her hand. She doesn't even look at me, the white is turned out in her eyes and it makes me look away from her. The puke dripping down the side of her mouth, her wet appearance and then her eyes, it's just too much for me right now. 

Flushing her puke out through the toilet, I rinse the bucket and place it in the laundry room again. She is still knocked out when I return and clean her face. Lifting her body to the best of my abilities, my strength struggles to remove her clothes. She is dead weight, not helping in the slightest. After a long while of struggling, I finally remove the last sock and breathe a heavy breath of relief. 

Placing my arms under her armpits, I tug her into the living room and drape her upper body across the couch, managing to push her legs up, too. Fatigue hugs my body immediately, my eyelids dropping suddenly. Giving her one last glance, my tears are forced down and I hurry upstairs into my room. Once again, the feeling of everything falling down on top of me returns. The stubborn side of myself forces the tears away, they truly want to fall, but now is not the time. 

My phone buzzes on the table next to my bed, Elijah's name flashes across the screen. The painful tug in my chest wants to answer the phone, but the more rational side of me knows how egotistical that would be. Ignoring his call, I turn around in bed and force myself to sleep, praying that I will get a full night's sleep for once.