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I always want to do as many outstanding things as possible.
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Welcome to my crazy world!
Hello and welcome to a new Thursday Taster, the day when awesome writers all over the blogosphere come together to give you tasty bits of their last fiction. You can find the list here.
And here we go again, it's time for so mother-daughter time... or not. I'm really having a lot of fun with writing this relationship. On another note, I spend most of April working on finishing this draft and it more than double the word count but I finally did it. So I can keep you entertain with this story until I decide it's time to go into editing mode which won't happen soon as I have other things to enjoy editing first.
"Here she is," my mother said running to me and clinging on my arm as to make sure that I wasn't going to run away again. "Now, I know you're angry, just get in the car and we'll talk about you going to university again."
She smiled at me. There was not a single trace of worried on her face as if she was confident that I was going to obey straight away. For the outside world, it was exactly what a mother should look like, not even remotedly angry at her child for making a mistake of moving out, and shining out the confidence that she could fix it all. On the other hand, the pressure she was applying on my arm, her long nails digging in my skin through my shirt was saying a totally different story.
"I'm not going back," I said.
I looked at my dad who had joined us.
"I promised Jonas to pick him up after school, I will need you to write a letter to allow me to do so," I said.
"All right," my father answered.
"You can't be serious," my mother answered. "She is a danger for herself and for your son, what would happen to both of them if she blacks out in the middle of traffic?"
"There isn't much traffic on the way to school," my father answered.
"That's not the point, you know that's not the point, she needs proper monitoring," my mother said.
She was talking about me, like I wasn't there. She had always been talking about me like that, as far as I could remember, to teachers, to doctors, to other children and their parents, to everyone around. It was always, "but she is..." whatever from sick to fragile, to different. Frederique has a lot of special need, Frederique can't handle herself, Frederique can't do any sport it's too dangerous for her health, would you give Frederique more time to complete the exams if she faints during it?
It anyone was to ask me a direct question, then my mother would answer before I had time to do so. When I was little, I used to believe that I was invisible, like something she could erased just by talking about but I realised that people did see me, through her eyes and she didn't see me for myself, only for who she thought I was.
"I took him to school this morning," I said. "There was absolutely no problem."
"I'll write you the letter," my father answered.
"It's the same all over again, it was the same when we were married. I can't believe you are doing it again, you are such a terrible parent. If you keep on giving her what she wants how can she grow as a responsible person. She is not mature enough to make the right choices about her health, she has special needs, because you are in denial of her condition doesn't give you the right to go above my authority, I raised her, where have you been all these years?" My mother said one hand on her hips the other increasing pressure on my arm.