Chapter 6 // Street-saint mother
‘I’m home!’ I yelled, beating the soot of my clothes.
‘Where have you been?’ my mother stormed into the living room, her blond hair in a tight bun in the back of her neck. I looked at her in amazement and pointed at my bags.
‘Diagon Alley,’ I replied, ‘you told me to go, right?’
‘And shopping at Diagon Alley has to take hours?’ she snapped, ‘our guests are arriving within half an hour and look at you! You look like a bum. How am I supposed to make you look somewhat respectable when you don’t even bother to be home on time?’
She brought her hand up to my hair and looked down on me with a disgusting look. I stared down at my shoes and pressed my teeth together to keep myself from talking. If I were to stand up to her, I would definitely be punished.
‘What am I supposed to do with you?’ she muttered, shaking her head, ‘take a shower and wash your hair. And do a goddamned attempt to get it in shape!’
She turned on her heels, leaving me alone with my anger. I knew the way my mother talked to me wasn’t the way other mothers talked to their daughters. When I was younger the constant criticism and putting me down made me feel terrible about myself and made me double my efforts to please her. I wanted her to be happy with me.
When my little sister was born, I was scared that she would be treated just like me, but it didn’t take long for me to notice that Sophia Macmillan was like a little princess to my mother.
That’s the moment when I started to realize there was nothing normal about how she talked to me. Up until a few months ago, that realization changed nothing. I still tried to be like Sophia, trying to please my mother in any way possible.
But not anymore. A few months ago, things became heated. I was going to a friend’s house, so my shoes were lying around, until it was time to go. She asked me to clean up.
She always was an unkind woman. There were lots of times when she said she wasn’t proud of me or that I was disappointing, but never in my whole life had she hit me or hurt me in any other physical way. So, when I said that I would be leaving soon, and I would put my shoes on in a minute, I didn’t expect her to throw me down the stairs. I broke my arm that day.
The fact that she hit me was proof that she hated me, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst thing was that my father and sister pretended nothing happened.
Since that day, I lived on edge when I was home. So, I tried to escape as much as possible. If I had to be near my mother, I behaved extremely bad, just to give her something to talk about.
I sighed and shook my head. Another week and then I didn’t have to be belittled for an entire year.
After I showered I stared at myself in the mirror. There were days when I felt pretty good about my appearance. Today wasn’t one of those days, so I turned away from the mirror and put on my dress.
I rolled my eyes when I heard the knock on the door.
‘Yeah, I’m coming!’ I screamed.
The door opened. Sophia stood in the doorway and smiled broadly. Her long blond hair was braided like a crown around her head. Her blue eyes were beaming with anticipation. She was the image to my mother, but in the good, beautiful way.
‘Nice dress!’ she came to me and helped me close the zipper on my back, ‘do you want me to do your hair?’
As much as it pained me to know that my mother loved my sister and didn’t love me, I couldn’t hate Sophia. She was always cheerful and sweet. She had such a beautiful, innocent face that everyone wanted to take care of her, like a puppy left on the street.
‘How about a waterfall braid?’ she asked as she pushed me down in front of the mirror and started combing my hair. I stared at her blankly. I didn’t know anything about hairstyles, but she didn’t bother explaining as she continued talking to herself. ‘Maybe a French roll? No, that would look way to formal. Let’s try something a bit messy. Maybe something to the side?’
She started fiddling with my hair, pulling it to the side and pinning it down. I loved watching her work. She treated my hair so softly that I almost fell asleep.
When she finished, my wavy, black bob haircut had sex appeal written all over it. Sophia had twisted my hair into a messy bun. Some wispy bangs were framing my face and emphasizing my cheekbones.
‘Thank you, Sophia,’ I smiled at her through the mirror.
‘So, Kath, I need to ask you something,’ she said as she went to sit on the edge of the bath. I turned at her seriousness. It wasn’t like her to be this formal. ‘I need to know, like, right now. Is Draco Malfoy coming?’
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