Chapter Eight

And if the Millers came over again that night, they would have seen Ellie Williams wipe the floor with her daughter's newfound hope.

Gracie walked in the door, and as always, took off her shoes, putting them next to the door, out of the way, but convenient to get to. Like the usual morning greeting, the afternoon greeting from her mother was absent, the whole downstairs area of the house lacking totally of noise or occupants, Gracie's father at least keeping with his routine of not getting home until 5:00. Gracie took her socks off, walked into the kitchen, put them in the hamper and then made her way upstairs, all according to routine. As Gracie ascended the stairs, and got up far enough, she looked at her room and frowned upon seeing the light, and the door closed. She never closed her door, and her light was never on when she was outside the room. Gracie tentatively approached the door, pausing for just a second upon hearing a rustling sound, like that of someone putting rubbish into a bag.

Why was someone sorting through her stuff?

Gracie opened the door, and found her mother there, struggling to tie off a bin-bag, another full bag by her side. Just before her mother successfully tied the bag shut, Gracie caught a glimpse of what was inside, at the top of the pile. A red and picture frame.

Her red and white picture frame, the one with her favourite picture of Alex in it.

Gracie's mother must have heard her enter the room, because she turned, a sweet, resolve-melting smile on her face. Gracie knew what that meant. Her mother only wore that smile when she felt she'd won a battle. "Hi sweetie! I was thinking about what you said yesterday, and so I thought I'd help you out."

Gracie looked around the room, noticing with alarm how bare her shelves were. She thought she knew what her mother was talking about, but kept her mouth shut, willing it not to be true. "I know you're missing Alex, dear. And I know you don't want to feel sad forever. So I spent all of last night thinking, what can I do to help my precious little girl?" Gracie's mother gestured to the bare shelves, and to the bin-bags. "You need closure, Gracie. So that's why I've gotten rid of every reminder of Alex that you had, so you can start to move on. I know it's hard, believe me I do, but it's for the best."

In that moment, Gracie wished she could've done a repeat performance of the night before. She wished she could've been filled with the rage, the anger, the sense of injustice that had enabled her to outwit her mother. She wished she could've harnessed it, used it productively, but she couldn't. She couldn't do any of those things. Instead, Gracie stopped caring. Not about Alex, let me assure you. She stopped caring about her mother altogether.

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you, come here you bitch, come here!" Gracie lunged forward, arms grabbing for the bin bags and for her mother, who seemingly knew she was in trouble, as she, albeit it in a struggled manner, ran past Gracie, and down the stairs. Screaming in a broken voice, Gracie followed her mother down the stairs, with such speed that if she were to slip, Gracie might have had her wish and died then and there. Into the front room they went, daughter chasing mother, grief vs what her mother was passing off as concern and good wishes. Gracie caught up with her mother just as Ellie made it into the kitchen, clawing at one of the bin-bags, causing a few trinkets and photos to fall out. Ellie dropped that bag and kept running, now with a slight head start on Gracie, who had stopped to assess what she had salvaged.

Gracie's mother made it out to the back garden, attempting to shut the door behind her, not accounting for Gracie making up the ground she had lost. The next few moments, of Gracie and her mother running across the garden, towards the back fence, were some of the most nerve-inducing moments of Gracie's life, and later on, would be the source for much of Gracie's self-loathing. Her mother swung her arm backwards, launching the other bag other the garden fence, high up in the air, before landing on the concrete on the other side of the fence. Gracie had made it a second too late, tackling her mother to the ground just as her mother's hold on the bag had released, launching it into the air. Gracie and her mother hit the ground, and the contents of the bag, along with any hope Gracie had built up that day, plummeted to the floor and shattered.

Gracie didn't talk afterwards. Didn't even bother insulting her mother, didn't scream out of grief, nor did she ask for help getting off the ground. Gracie picked herself up, dusted herself off, and went inside. Only when she made it to her room, did Gracie let go. For the rest of the night, Gracie cried.

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wow if you made it this far through my emotional torture of a book, thank you! much more to come <3