Hating Hades

C H A P T E R 3 - Dilara.

What had gotten into me?

That was the one, singular thought going through my mind as I drove onto the familiar driveway. I must have lost my mind, because there was no way that I would have done this if everything was going well inside my head. There was absolutely no way. And I could promise you now that there would have been no hopes of my mother manipulating me as easily as she did—which caused many questions to arise in my mind, questions that I had absolutely no idea on how to vocalise or to explain.

I just felt a lot of confusion and dread in this moment, feeling like I wasn’t really here, like this must be a dream and I was simply imagining it all—after all, there was no way that nothing could have changed, after all of these years. There was no way in hell. No matter how much or how little I tried to convince myself of all of this, I had a gut feeling that this was real, that this wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me.

I had packed my bags and closed up the café for the weekend—one of my biggest money-making weekends in the year, because it was so busy. Perhaps I was busy coming down with a flu, or something of the sort. It did feel like I had a mild fever… It would definitely do a lot in terms of explaining what was going on and why I had done what I had done.

I hadn’t even come to a complete halt and the front door was already opening, and I could see heads peeking out. I could see some curtains move on the upper level too, and I knew that everyone was curious to see who was pulling into the already full driveway, especially considering the fact that they weren’t expecting anyone else to arrive, since I had never once agreed to coming, since I had never once said that I would be attending.

Even after all of the convincing that my mother had been doing, this had been one of the most last-minute decisions that I had ever made in my life, and I hoped that I wouldn’t be making one as drastic as this one any time soon.

Once I was parked, once my vehicle was no longer moving and the people inside of the house knew that I wasn’t just making a turn in their driveway, the door opened to reveal my mother, a fact that was unsurprising. I should have known that it was her who was peeping through the door, should have known that she would be the one to make her spying obvious.

I didn’t rush to get out of the car, sitting still instead, because I knew myself, I knew myself well enough to know that I would be bound to have an angina attack if I didn’t try and prepare myself for what was coming, if I didn’t try and prepare for the meeting with my family after being gone for the majority of five years.

I took a deep breath, wondering if the people inside of the house had changed as little as the outside of the house had—the thought actually petrified me, made me want to start my car and drive away before they realised that it was me, that I was the one breeding in their driveway. My windscreen had been tinted dark enough for me to know that my mother would have to come much closer than she was at the moment to be able to see me, and there was no hopes of them recognising the car—after all, they had never seen it before in their life, and had never bothered to ask me something as miniscule as the make and model of my car.

I firmly believed that it was something that I needed to be thankful for during this time, because it was now providing me with the option of leaving, before I got myself deeper than I already was, before I dug a grave so deep that I wouldn’t be able to get out of it.

But what would the point of all of this been if I just turned around and went home? It would turn out to be a costly trip that I couldn’t afford in the first place, but somehow, I had made a plan and now here I was. Was I really going to waste all of that money and go back home? The perks of staying for this weekend, would be quite simple, but quite welcome, in my opinion, because it meant that I would be able to stay away for the next five years before having to come visit again.

Or perhaps by then I would be comfortable enough to have them come and visit me, perhaps by then I would have paid off the property that the café is on and paid off all of my medical bills completely. But these were very small possibilities, possibilities that I didn’t want to start counting on because I doubted that they would be happening any time soon.

Taking one last breath of what I assumed would have to act as courage, I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car. It came as no surprise when I saw my mothers hand fly to her heart, resulting in her coming towards me at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a woman of her age—but who was I to judge when I hadn’t yet reached her age of maturity, and therefore, I was in no position to know what she was and wasn’t capable of.

But even as she was practically running towards me, I was able to pick up on the tell-tale signs of shock from her body, such as the paleness of her face, and once she was much closer, the sweat that had started to collect on her temple. It was almost as if she was as scared of me leaving as I was scared of staying—I couldn’t blame her. And I had no doubt in my mind that now that I was here, there was no way that she would be allowing me to leave unless she was comfortable with me leaving.

And the chances of her ever being comfortable with me leaving, was as good as slim to none.

I had no idea how I was supposed to go about all of this, how I was supposed to simply just accept everything that was going on here, when in all honesty, there were likely to be more than a million other places that I would prefer being—but of course, I could never say such a thing to my mother. Especially not when she had such a high amount of joy projecting off of her face.

                “Dilara? Is that you?”

I could hear the uncertainty in my mothers’ voice, but I wouldn’t deny that I was slightly shocked that she had even recognised me in the first place. I was sure that my features had ages enough to make up for a decade, and perhaps there was a part of me that hoped that I had aged beyond recognition. It meant that there would have been less reason or me to stay, there would have been no reason for me to explain who I was if they hadn’t recognised me—but then again, as my earlier argument with myself had been, this would then have been no more than a waste of money.

And I hated wasting money, especially when I didn’t have the quantities to waste in the first place.

                “Yes, mum. It’s me.”

As if she hadn’t looked excited enough at the thought of it being me, without confirmation, there was no way for me to describe the level of joy and excitement that she was now projecting. The little space that had still been left open between the two of us didn’t remain that way for much longer, and when my mother wrapped her arms around me, it felt as though she was squeezing the literal life out of me.

                “I can’t believe it! You came!”

I couldn’t believe it either, mother. I couldn’t believe it either.

But whether or not I believed it didn’t matter, because I was here. The facts were literally staring me right in the face, because I was here. I was here, in my own body with a mind that I hoped was still stable, which meant that I had no reason to find it difficult to believe that I was actually here, that I had actually been stupid enough to come here and put myself through all of this again—and she was here, hugging me, touching me, which ultimately meant that she also shouldn’t be having any difficulty.

When it became apparent to my mother that I wouldn’t be saying anything of value at any point in time, she pulled away, her hands finding their way to my face, coming to a rest on my cheeks. I could see the tears that were busy gathering in her eyes, but no matter how much they welled up, no matter whether or not they fell down her cheeks or not, I had to stay strong, had to remind myself that I didn’t want to be here.

No matter how much peace and joy that it was bringing to my family to see me here, I needed to remind myself that there was a reason that I had left, a reason why I had stayed away for so long. The sooner I left, the sooner I would be able to return home, and essentially, run away from my problems. But they didn’t need to know that, because according to them, my problems had been dealt with.

According to them, I was supposed to have no problem with being here, other than not being able to find the time off from work.

And even if I told them that it was more to it than that, even if I shared my heartache and worries with all of them, it would be pointless, because nothing would change. They would tell me that I had seen doctors, and by all intents and purposes, I was supposed to be better.

And if the doctor said that I was better when I wasn’t, then so be it.

So be it…