Saylor came home, numb and feeling nothing like herself. She threw down her bag beside the front door and tossed her keys on the kitchen counter. She went into the kitchen, opened the cabinet, pulled out a glass. She then stuck her hand in the light fixture hanging from the ceiling, standing on her tip toes, sweeping her hand around, until she found the cold bottle. She pulled the vodka down and poured it. Her mother was terrible at hiding things.
Bringing the glass to her lips, her nose cringed. It smelled awful, but she took a big gulp of it anyways. The liquid burned her throat, and she shook her head, her tongue hanging from her mouth. Of course the taste didn't stop her from taking another drink, then another, until she finished the entire glass, plus another.
When she heard her mom pulling into the driveway, she quickly put the lid back on the forbidden vodka and tossed it into the light fixture. She put the glass in the sink and rinsed it out as best as she could. When her mother walked through the door with an armful of groceries, she urged Saylor to help her.
Saylor sighed and grabbed a bag from her mom, putting it on the counter. "How was your day?" her mother asked, putting her bag beside the one Saylor had sat down. She didn't understand why her mother was acting so nice.
"It was fine."
"Your first day back at school went okay?"
"No. People kept trying to hug me, and talk to me about him. I skipped the rest of the day after 3rd period." Saylor felt no need to lie to her. She hardly lied anyways, but the vodka had given her a buzz, and made her completely careless.
"Oh. I understand-"
"No. You don't. You understand that he's dead. But you don't know what it feels like to lose your best friend. He was all that I had, since we were little. You're not the one who found him in the floor, with his brains blown across the wall. You have no idea about anything. Don't act like you care now, when you never cared that Dad was beating him. Thats why he did it. He had no way out of here. He was my twin brother. He had one more year, until it was legal for him to move out..and you two were such HORRIBLE parents, that he killed himself because he couldn't wait that long. How does that make you feel? Hm?" Saylor screamed, smacking the groceries in the floor. A loaf of bread hit her mother across the chest, and Saylor couldn't help but wish the bread had been something heavier, something more dangerous.
"Dont you ever speak to me like that!" Her mother came at her with her hand raised, ready to hit her, but Saylor smacked her hand away and slapped her mother in the face. She stumbled backwards, holding her face. "I...I.."
"Don't start hitting me just because your punching bag is dead." Saylor snapped. Her mother had tears running down her cheeks, and blood coming from her busted lip.
"I don't know who you are anymore! What happened to my sweet little Saylor? With the bright eyes and innocence?"
"Innocence is another word for ignorance. I'm done sitting around and pretending like I don't see right through you. You are worthless."
"Who are you? I don't know you, where is my baby?" Her mother sobbed, smacking her hand against the counter top she was leaning on.
"I was never your baby. I'm through pretending to give a damn about you. Sammie was the only one I cared about, and you took him from me! Do you honestly expect me to remain like I was?"
"This isn't you.."
"That wasn't me. This, this person you see right now? This is me. This has always been me." Saylor knew she had a slight buzz, but she knew that the vodka hadn't made her act like this. It just gave her the guts and courage to say and do everything she'd ever wanted to.
Her father walked in the front door, taking in the scene before him. Saylor smelling of Vodka and her mother sobbing, with her lip bleeding. "Jack! Do something about her! I can't talk any sense into her! Take care of her!" her mother pleaded. Her father walked into the kitchen, and looked everyone up and down, including the mess of groceries.
"Yeah, Jack. Take care of me like you took care of Samuel for years. Beat me. Break my ribs and my nose. Force me to kill myself just like Sammie. Except this time, you would have a reason to beat someone. Hit me." Saylor challenged, shoving her 6'11, 200 pound father, back against the refrigerator. Her father looked stunned.
"Are you drunk, Saylor?"
"No." She wasn't, it took a lot more than two glasses of vodka to get her drunk. "I'm not drunk. But I am finally seeing things clearly." She turned around and walked to the front door, jerking it open.
"Where do you think you're going?" her mother yelled.
"Hell." Saylor smirked, "But for now, I'm staying at a friends house. The sight of you two sicken me." With that, she left the house, walking into the brisk night air.