Page 31 of You Had Me At Thirteen

‘Yeah, right? Just like you were sick and tired of dad cheating on you? I’ll never be like that. Ever.’ The words fly right out of my mouth, my brain unable to keep up. What the fuck is happening to me right now? I can’t seem to keep my words inside my head.

Mum stops at the doorway, and turns back around as she blinks back tears. ‘Wow, real nice Matilda. Thanks for that. Just remember I was the one who picked up the pieces every time he broke your heart.’

‘And look how that turned out. I’m a magnet for douchebags who think they can do and say whatever they want to me without repercussions. Sound familiar?’

The tears fall now, her cheeks wet as she stares at me with her mouth open. She’s visibly shaking, and I know I’ve stepped over the line, but the word vomit just keeps coming. It’s just like real vomit, getting lodged in your throat, a vile taste left in your mouth. You feel better for five minutes until your stomach churns again and you’re racing to the toilet for round two.

I blow out a breath, and drop my head into my good hand as Mum sags onto the couch next to me.

She twists her hands in her lap. ‘Is that really how you feel about me?’ she says, her voice getting caught in her throat.

I shake my head. ‘No.’

‘Well, talk to me, baby,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from him, and I don’t have an excuse other than I was weak.’

‘You aren’t weak, Mum. You’re the strongest woman I know. I’m so sorry I lashed out at you. I didn’t mean any of it. Everything is caving in on me at the moment.’

It feels a little like suffocating, a plastic bag over your head while someone sits on your chest.

Mum wraps me in her arms. ‘You were being honest, and that’s all I can ask for. I’m proud of you. I always have been, and not because of what you do for me, but because you’re you.’ She strokes my hair. ‘I’m sorry your dad never told you that. I am. He was a shitty husband and an even shittier father, but I guess I had you to get me through. I only ever thought of you.’

As I wipe my nose with her shirt and sniff back the moisture, I’m overcome with a thought I never thought I’d ever have. ‘Will you still love me if I don’t want to race anymore?’

Mum pulls back and searches my face as she tucks a hair behind my ear. ‘It’s always your choice, honey. I’ll support you no matter what. But what’s this all about?’ She cradles my chin in her hand when I try to put my head down.

I shrug, unable to look her in the eye. ‘I don’t know, just getting the jitters, I guess. I’m sorry for making you worry.’

‘Sweet girl, that’s what daughters are for, making their mothers worry.’

A sob escapes me, and Mum laughs through her tears. We’re laughing and crying, our sobs mingling together as I press my face into the space between her neck and shoulder, my tears soaking her uniform.

It’s safe here in her arms, having her hold me just like she used to when I was little. Being like this with her always made me feel better no matter what was wrong, and now isn’t any different.

After we finish crying, I tell her about what happened at school. She nods as she listens to how much of a dick Derek is, even telling me she’s proud I punched him in the face because he’s a little shit, anyway.

‘You should have seen him carrying on as we checked him over,’ Mum says, shaking her head as she rolls her eyes.

I smile. Having her back on my side makes me feel a little less lost.

FOURTEEN

Matilda

* * *

Running has always been my go-to when things in my life spiral. Like right now. Suspended for punching a dickhead in the face. Derek deserves everything he got, plus more.

After spending over an hour fixating on my suspension from training as well, I need to clear my head. My coach had called me earlier to tell me he has to suspend me for a week because of my behaviour. It was that, or I don’t get to race.

And after my little meltdown yesterday when I started to question my entire future, I need this run like I need the air to breathe. I’m tying my laces as I call Mum to check that a run won’t kill me. Call it a dream, or blind disobedience. Even if she says no, I’ve already decided.

Besides, she’s going to be late this morning, so there’s no point hanging around home feeling sorry for myself.

While we’re at it, let’s addMatilda sucks at keeping gorgeous boys out of mindto the growing list of Things-To-Be-Pissed-About. So much for remaining focused on school and racing.

The air sticks to my skin when I step outside the front door. Even though it’s only early morning, the humidity is a reminder that summer is just around the corner. There are already squealing kids running through sprinklers and someone mowing their lawn. I’m usually at school by now, so it feels strange seeing what other people get up to during the day. I thought they reserved Saturday mornings for bonding over who can trim the straightest edge around their footpaths. Mum hires out our lawn needs – not that we have a lot, but she works, and I’m not about to join the mowing club.

It’s calming to watch Wren mow his lawn though, especially in this weather when he takes his shirt off, his golden skin dripping with sweat. I’m not immune to his good looks, but I’m not as obvious as the women on their morning group walks, slowing almost to a stop as they pretend they aren’t cheating on their husbands with a little eye-fucking. What would they do if I pulled the hose out and started spraying them like the vultures they are?

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