Page 6 of Tempest Awakening
Tears blurred my vision, but I pressed on, the dam finally shattering. "But I'm done letting you make me feel worthless. I'm more than what you see, and I won't let you take that away from me anymore."
Silence hung in the air, thick with all the words left unspoken—years of resentment and pain and longing for her approval. For her love. My chest heaved, Whiskey's reassuring weight the only thing anchoring me.
At last, Kendall spoke, her tone laced with finality. "Then get out."
The world tilted on its axis, the bottom dropping out in one sickening lurch. Get out? As in, leave? She couldn't be serious.
My mind reeled, struggling to process the sudden turn of events. Just nine months ago, I'd given up everything—my apartment, my job at the library, my independence—to come take care of her after her "health scare." I'd put my life on hold, thinking I was doing the right thing, being the dutiful daughter.
And now, with a few cruel words, she was tossing me aside like yesterday's garbage.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Her health had miraculously improved as soon as I'd moved in, trapping me in this toxic environment. Now, when I finally stood up for myself, she was all too eager to show me the door.
A bitter laugh threatened to bubble up in my throat. Of course. Of course, this was how it would end. I'd been a fool to think it could ever be different.
In that suspended breath, a strange sort of clarity washed over me. No argument, no impassioned plea, would ever sway Mom's beliefs or behavior—not truly. The cycle was too deeply ingrained, her ability to manipulate and diminish woven into the fabric of our relationship.
"Fine," I heard myself say, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "I'll go."
I turned on my heel and strode purposefully towards my modest bedroom, Whiskey cradled against my chest. My entire life, everything I owned, could be contained in this cramped space no larger than a closet. How tragic was that realization?
With a renewed sense of determination, I grabbed an oversized duffel from the top shelf of my wardrobe and began tossing clothes and essentials inside. Whiskey meowed a soft protest as I set him on the rumpled bedspread, his concerned gaze tracking my frenzied movements.
I made several trips back and forth to my beat-up Toyota hatchback, stuffing the trunk and backseat with hastily packed boxes and bags. Each time I passed Kendall in the living room, she pointedly avoided my gaze, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
With each load, I felt a strange mix of emotions—fear of the unknown future, sadness at the final severing ofthis dysfunctional relationship, and an unexpected sense of liberation. As I packed away my life, I realized how little I actually owned, how much of myself I'd sacrificed trying to earn her approval.
Books, clothes, a few mementos—it was pathetic how quickly thirty years of existence could be condensed into a car load. But with each trip, I felt lighter, as if I was shedding the weight of expectations and disappointments that had burdened me for so long.
With one last glance around the room, I shouldered my bag and scooped up Whiskey's carrier. As I stepped out into the hallway, Kendall was waiting, her arms crossed over her chest.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she said, her voice laced with disapproval. "You'll never make it out there on your own."
That was it. No tearful apologies or pleas to stay, to work it out. Not that I expected any, but a tiny kernel of hope for a maternal embrace withered and crumbled to ash.
But then I thought of the dragon, of the impossible reality I'd glimpsed earlier that day, and something inside me hardened.
"Watch me," I said, holding her gaze steady.
And with that, I turned and walked out the door.
Chapter 3
Tess
I'd spent the night at a hotel, just a few miles from the house I'd called home for the past nine months. It felt surreal to be so close yet so far from my old life, as if I'd crossed an invisible boundary into a new reality.
Sacramento, the city I'd known all my life, suddenly felt foreign. The familiar skyline visible through the window was now a landscape of possibilities and uncertainties. I'd chosen to stay in the city for one more night, gathering my thoughts and steeling myself for what came next.
I sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the small orange pill bottle on the nightstand. My morning ritual—a tiny anchor in the chaos of my new reality. I shook out my ADHD medication, swallowing it with a gulp of water. The familiar act was oddly comforting.
Whiskey curled up beside me, his purrs a solace. My fingers traced the embossed cover of the leather-bound journal resting in my lap—a parting gift from my therapist after our last session before I'd moved.
"Write it all down, Tess," she had urged. "The anger, the pain, the triumphs... let the pages bear witness to your truth."
My truth. The words felt foreign, like a language I was still struggling to grasp. For so long, my reality had been shaped by Mom's manipulations, her emotional blackmail dictating what was true or false.
But not anymore.
