Blame It on Me
Her eyes were heavy with large, dark bags underneath them.
"Oh, sweetheart. You know we were just horrified when you told us what happened. I cannot believe the nerve of that man. Throwing you out like that...It should be a damn crime, that's what it should be..."
Alicia was only half paying attention to the angry words that were spewing out of her mother's mouth as the older woman drove the old 1969 Ford truck back to the family farm from Denver much later that night. She was too tired to pay attention to her mother's ramble, both physically and mentally. And then there was the fact that she didn't want to think about what had happened earlier on in the day, either.
Her eyes were heavy with large, dark bags underneath of them. Her mouth was turned down at the corners; not exactly a frown, per say, but certainly not a smile. And her hair was an absolute wreck. But none of it mattered to Alicia because if she was being quite frank with herself, nothing mattered to Alicia right now. Nothing except George and their relationship and the fact that he had thrown it out along with her.
Was that really what he wanted? Was that why he'd tossed her out of their apartment like she meant little to nothing to him?
Was that why he hadn't so much as texted her to make sure she hadn't been mugged, raped, shot, kidnapped, or otherwise harmed on the streets of Hollywood without him there to keep her safe like he always had been?
A heavy breath fell from her lips as she looked up to see her mother still ranting and raving angrily about George. She didn't even hear half the words coming out of the woman's mouth, and she certainly didn't agree with any of it. After all, it wasn't just George who had fought today, though it would definitely be easier to admit that he was the one at fault, not herself.
"So how long do you think you'll be home for, dear?" Her mother asked, suddenly breaking out of her tirade long enough to look at Alicia, concern etched in her fifty-nine year old face. "Are you cold? I suppose you are. You haven't been back to Colorado in so long. No doubt the doing of that hideous boyfriend of yours..."
And once again, her mother was on a roll, not even stopping long enough for Alicia to answer her question. She sighed and pressed her forehead against the cool glass, just wishing that everything would stop already. She just wanted some silence; some time to herself to think. Was that so hard to get? It shouldn't be in a place as desolate as Lost Hills, Colorado.
But then again, she'd forgotten what a talker her mother was.
"Mom, stop," she finally whispered when she heard her mother say something along the lines of how George deserved to have his you know what chopped off and stuck up his you know where.
"What?" Her mother blinked as she turned to face Alicia, letting the old blue truck roll to a stop outside the farmhouse.
Finally, Alicia thought to herself. She could go up to her old bedroom and finally get some peace and quiet and maybe be able to actually think about everything that had happened today; maybe get a straight head on her shoulders.
Maybe get the courage to text George and ask him if he wasn't mad anymore.
"Just...Stop, okay? I don't want to talk about George," she frowned before she opened the door to her side of the truck, reaching into the tailgate to get her duffel bag before she started making her way towards the house, her feet leaving small indents in the snow as she did so. She didn't wait for her mother; didn't want to hear the onslaught of questions she knew were coming.
Once she was inside the house, she stomped the snow off her boots the same way she'd done as a child before she slipped them off her feet, turning directly to her right so that she could maybe slip up the staircase without catching the attention of any of her various siblings or her father. God only knew they'd subject her to more questions, more ranting, more anger that she just didn't need right now.
She managed to successfully get upstairs without attention, save for the black and orange tabby cat who looked at her curiously as she made her way into her old bedroom before it scampered off, no doubt catching on to the fact that she wasn't in a cuddling mood.
It wasn't until she was inside of her bedroom that she truly allowed herself to break down. At first, the tears didn't come. She sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them and face buried in between her knees as she tried to calm herself down. Crying wouldn't fix matters. Crying wouldn't bring George back, so why was she allowing herself the momentary lapse?
She cried for what seemed like hours, her eyes leaking more tears than she thought humanly possible before slowly but surely, exhaustion began to take over her body. She didn't know when it was that she finally laid down on her old mattress, blankets just barely covering her body as her eyes slipped shut. She was still holding her phone in her hand as she fell into sleep.
She was too out of it to feel her phone vibrate in her hand shortly after she had fallen asleep.
Alicia was only half paying attention to the angry words that were spewing out of her mother's mouth as the older woman drove the old 1969 Ford truck back to the family farm from Denver much later that night. She was too tired to pay attention to her mother's ramble, both physically and mentally. And then there was the fact that she didn't want to think about what had happened earlier on in the day, either.
Her eyes were heavy with large, dark bags underneath of them. Her mouth was turned down at the corners; not exactly a frown, per say, but certainly not a smile. And her hair was an absolute wreck. But none of it mattered to Alicia because if she was being quite frank with herself, nothing mattered to Alicia right now. Nothing except George and their relationship and the fact that he had thrown it out along with her.
Was that really what he wanted? Was that why he'd tossed her out of their apartment like she meant little to nothing to him?
Was that why he hadn't so much as texted her to make sure she hadn't been mugged, raped, shot, kidnapped, or otherwise harmed on the streets of Hollywood without him there to keep her safe like he always had been?
A heavy breath fell from her lips as she looked up to see her mother still ranting and raving angrily about George. She didn't even hear half the words coming out of the woman's mouth, and she certainly didn't agree with any of it. After all, it wasn't just George who had fought today, though it would definitely be easier to admit that he was the one at fault, not herself.
"So how long do you think you'll be home for, dear?" Her mother asked, suddenly breaking out of her tirade long enough to look at Alicia, concern etched in her fifty-nine year old face. "Are you cold? I suppose you are. You haven't been back to Colorado in so long. No doubt the doing of that hideous boyfriend of yours..."
And once again, her mother was on a roll, not even stopping long enough for Alicia to answer her question. She sighed and pressed her forehead against the cool glass, just wishing that everything would stop already. She just wanted some silence; some time to herself to think. Was that so hard to get? It shouldn't be in a place as desolate as Lost Hills, Colorado.
But then again, she'd forgotten what a talker her mother was.
"Mom, stop," she finally whispered when she heard her mother say something along the lines of how George deserved to have his you know what chopped off and stuck up his you know where.
"What?" Her mother blinked as she turned to face Alicia, letting the old blue truck roll to a stop outside the farmhouse.
Finally, Alicia thought to herself. She could go up to her old bedroom and finally get some peace and quiet and maybe be able to actually think about everything that had happened today; maybe get a straight head on her shoulders.
Maybe get the courage to text George and ask him if he wasn't mad anymore.
"Just...Stop, okay? I don't want to talk about George," she frowned before she opened the door to her side of the truck, reaching into the tailgate to get her duffel bag before she started making her way towards the house, her feet leaving small indents in the snow as she did so. She didn't wait for her mother; didn't want to hear the onslaught of questions she knew were coming.
Once she was inside the house, she stomped the snow off her boots the same way she'd done as a child before she slipped them off her feet, turning directly to her right so that she could maybe slip up the staircase without catching the attention of any of her various siblings or her father. God only knew they'd subject her to more questions, more ranting, more anger that she just didn't need right now.
She managed to successfully get upstairs without attention, save for the black and orange tabby cat who looked at her curiously as she made her way into her old bedroom before it scampered off, no doubt catching on to the fact that she wasn't in a cuddling mood.
It wasn't until she was inside of her bedroom that she truly allowed herself to break down. At first, the tears didn't come. She sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them and face buried in between her knees as she tried to calm herself down. Crying wouldn't fix matters. Crying wouldn't bring George back, so why was she allowing herself the momentary lapse?
She cried for what seemed like hours, her eyes leaking more tears than she thought humanly possible before slowly but surely, exhaustion began to take over her body. She didn't know when it was that she finally laid down on her old mattress, blankets just barely covering her body as her eyes slipped shut. She was still holding her phone in her hand as she fell into sleep.
She was too out of it to feel her phone vibrate in her hand shortly after she had fallen asleep.