Chapter 2
Violet
“Mum, I’m home,” I called through the dark, surprised not to be greeted at the door. Sliding the lock into place, I set my keys into the bowl before stepping into the living room. “You wouldn’t believe the date. He had a bigger ego than… mum?”
The TV flickered on standby, a slight static sound radiating from the screen. Reaching for the controller, I turned it off, only to be met with aching silence. Panic perforated my lungs, strangling my breath and forcing my heart to beat violently against my ribs.
But I’d been noticing signs, her moods and hallucinations more manic as of late. Unpredictable, and increasing.
Throwing my coat onto the floor I ran to the bathroom, finding it empty.
“Mum?” My heart raced now, and scrambling to my own room I came to a halt when I found her kneeling on the rug, surrounded in shards of glass and little white pills.
The packet was tossed on my bed, torn open.
“What happened?” I asked, the relief at seeing her almost enough for my eyes to prickle with heat. “Mum?”
Carefully kneeling, I checked her arms, my fingers gently brushing over her scars to check for anything fresh. Tears glistened on her cheeks, head turning slowly to stare at me.
“They’re watching us through the mirrors,” she whispered, as if to keep our conversation private. “I can feel their eyes on me.”
“There’s no one here, mum,” I said gently. “Did you cut yourself on the mirror?”
“Of course not, Violet,” she snapped, her mood shifting as she jerked away and climbed to her feet. “Where have you been? You didn’t come home.”
“I went on that date, remember?” I collected the broken shards on my knees, thankful it had shattered in relatively chunky pieces. “He was a complete tool. Made a mess, disappeared, and then left me with the bill.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have gone out,” she tutted, picking up one of the pill packets to frown at the label. “It’s dangerous. You could’ve been followed and drawn those monsters straight here.”
“I promise it was fine. No one followed me.” Placing the mirror carefully on the side of my desk, I began to collect the pills that I could reach on the carpet.
Unfortunately, my room was a mess, with clothes thrown lazily from the bed to my door, books stacked sideways in unstable towers, and my half-finished sketches claiming almost every flat surface. The rug itself was a dull grey, the cheap pile surprisingly thick enough to swallow anything small.
Which meant it took a while to find them all.
“Have you taken your medication tonight?” Or have you just thrown it around the room? I wanted to add, but I knew it would only antagonise her further.
“Of course.” Mum brushed her fingers through my hair, her nails scraping slightly on my scalp. “Where’s your necklace?”
Shit.
I carefully untangled her fingers before pressing my hand instinctively to my collarbone. “I must have left it at the studio. You know I don’t like wearing it while I paint.”
Mum’s eyes narrowed, dark compared to my light. “You should never take it off, Violet. It’s important.”
“I’m sorry, I know. I’ll put it back on.”
“You know, and yet you still take it off,” she muttered before mumbling something I couldn’t quite hear. Her eyes watered once more, her breathing becoming laboured.
“It’s okay, it’s just us here. No one else,” I tried to reassure her, but there wasn’t much I could do. Not recently. Not since her last episode where she cut open her own arm to remove a tracking device that didn’t exist.
“They’re looking for me.” Her hands clenched onto mine, scratching against my skin. “I can feel it.”
“Mum, no one is looking for you, okay? It’s just me here.”
“No, you don’t understand. They’re going to get us.
” She sucked in a breath, looking over her shoulder at what remained of the vanity mirror.
“We’re in danger. We need to get out!” Her words rose to a scream, her movements frantic as she flung herself towards my wardrobe and began to grab my clothes.
“We need to get out, Violet! Before they find us.”
I swallowed my tears, forcing my voice not to break. “Mum, my hair,” I said gently, making sure my movements were slow as I sat myself down on the stool. “I just can’t get this tangle; can you help?”
Mum immediately paused, her dark eyes rimmed in red.
“Please.” I reached for the brush, holding it out towards her. “Brush my hair first, and then we can run, okay?”
Her nod was more of a violent jerk, her movements rigid as she took the brush from my outstretched hand and then began to untangle my braid. After a while, her ministrations calmed, the rhythmic movement not so rushed as she carefully brushed through the long strands.
I watched her in the broken reflection, the woman who used to kiss my cuts, sing me nursery rhymes, and read me fairytales. Now she was slipping, piece by piece, lost in her own mind.
“They’re still coming for us,” she muttered. “But don’t worry, I’ll protect you, my little flower.”
“No one is coming for us, okay?”
Mum hummed, the bristles of the brush starting to drag against my scalp.
“They’re not real,” I continued, wincing as she pressed harder. “Mum…”
I flinched when she suddenly smashed the brush against the wood. “They are real, Violet!” she snapped. “Stop telling me it’s all in my head. It’s not.” She slapped her hand down, rattling what remained of the mirror. “Stop telling me that I’m crazy.”
“Mum, you’re not—”
“They’re real,” she interrupted. “And they’re going to try to take you from me and do terrible, terrible things.”
“Okay, okay.” I stood, wrapping my arms around her as she trembled. “I’m sorry, I’ll be extra cautious.”
Mum swallowed, finally resting her cheek against my head. Her height wasn’t something I’d inherited, nor her eyes or hair. “I just want you to be safe,” she whispered.
I held her for a moment, my chest tightening with every passing breath. Only for mum to release me abruptly and walk out of the bedroom.
“Have you eaten?” she asked as I followed, finding her opening the fridge and placing ingredients on the side. “I’m going to make your favourite.”
“Mum, it’s getting late and I think—”
“Nonsense, only the best for my birthday girl.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled, so real it made me wonder if her earlier incident had simply been a trick of my exhausted imagination.
“Mum, my birthday isn’t until—”
“You know I love you very much, right?”
“I know.” I tried to smile, ignoring how my chest clenched. “I love you more.”
Mum turned toward the counter. “I love you most.”