“I’m so proud of how you’ve grown up into a fine lady, Babydoll. Happy birthday.” She kisses my cheek and I nearly break then and there.
Papa and Helen did wish me a happy birthday this morning, but they seem to have forgotten all about me now. Not that I blame them, but still.
It’s the first time Mum is one step ahead of everyone.
“Your father is a selfish bastard for scheduling his wedding on your birthday.” Disgust is written all over her face. “He was out to ruin your special day.”
“Mum…” I trail off.
“What? I’m only stating facts.” She pulls out her phone and brings me to her side. “Let’s take a picture.”
My lips curve in an automatic smile as I stare at the camera. It comes too naturally to me now, I don’t even have to stop before I fake it.
Mum posts the shot on Twitter with the caption: Having the greatest fun on my only daughter’s eighteenth birthday. This girl right here is the future. #MotherandDaughter #ReplicaofMe
Almost immediately, the comments filter in about how she looks like my eldest sister, not my mother, or how I turned out stunning like her.
It’s the type of comments that Mum thrives on. The type she screenshots and sends me in our chat. She saves each and every one that says I’m taking after her, not Papa, then forwards it to the both of us.
I can’t help stealing a look at her wrist. It’s covered with a thick watch, but I can never forget what that watch is hiding. For the rest of my life, I’ll constantly worry that Mum’s black thoughts will one day take over and I’ll lose her.
Cole has always said I’m Mum’s puppet and that I’m turning like her, but that bastard didn’t see what I did. He didn’t walk in on a pool of blood and nearly faint.
If being her puppet will allow me to keep her, I don’t mind. That’s why I never, ever antagonise her. Since the divorce, I’ve learnt to bottle all my thoughts and feelings inside, put on a mask, and move along.
It’s been the safest choice for everyone.
Just not for me.
The same wave from earlier is about to hit me again, and I have no confidence that I’ll be able to hold it in when Mum is around.
As much as I want to protect her, sometimes I hate it. I hate that I can’t sleep at night, thinking about what she could be doing, or that I have to call her first thing in the morning and five times a day like a clingy boyfriend.
I’m not supposed to have had these bursts of anxiety on a daily basis since I was freaking eleven.
“I’m going to get the camera from Papa’s office,” I tell her.
She says we don’t need that since my pretentious father has paid a ton of photographers, but I deflect and leave the scene anyway.
I ignore all the chaos in the house and smile at Papa’s friends, accepting their congratulations. I slip out of their usual questions about who would I vote for if I was given the choice between Papa and Mum.
As soon as I’m inside Papa’s office, I close the door and lean my forehead on the cool surface.
My shoulders shake and my head is about to explode from the pent-up thoughts crowding inside it.
“Why can’t this day end already?” I mutter under my breath.
Then the voice that comes from behind me shuffles all my cards, “Bored already, Butterfly?”
13
Silver
You can run, but you can’t hide.
I didn’t believe in that saying until this moment.
Over the past weeks, I’ve done everything to run away from Cole, avoid him, not look at him. I even went as far as feigning exhaustion to not stay in the same room as him.