Bri woke up feeling like something had been sitting on her chest all night. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, head throbbing alongside it in a way she hadn’t felt since the day she stole one of mum’s drinks without realising it was alcoholic. Groaning, shef pushed herself upright and reached for the glass of water dad always left on her bedside, blinking when her hand closed around nothing. Huh – he must have been called to work and forgot. Blearily, she swung her legs off the bed, wincing as her feet touched something sharp and cold, the shock snapping her out of her groggy daze.
Had she knocked the glass over in her sleep? Damn it. Her hands shook slightly as she pulled a couple of shards from the sole of her feet, dizzy with the sight of the blood welling there. Did she have anything to wrap this with? Glancing around the room, she sighed as she realised she’d have to hobble her way downstairs to get the bandages.
Her feet stung as she made her way down the hall, the carpet catching and sticking to the sticky blood from time to time just to mock her further. Gods, why did glass cuts sting so much? Brienne was starting to regret throwing out her old slippers. A loose thread caught her foot and she swore as it tugged at the skin, shooting pain through the sole of her foot just as a painting fell from the wall and smashed. Great. This was how her day was going to go, was it?
Gingerly avoiding the new shards of glass, she hastened her way downstairs to the kitchen where her mother was cooking eggs for breakfast. The smell of the gently spiced food made her mouth water, tempting her almost to just ignore her feet and get some food, but she sighed and sat at the table instead; inspecting her now-fluffy cuts with another wince. “Hey mum, do we have any disinfectant?”
“Of course, why do you–” She paused as she turned to look, eyes wide as they trailed over the bloody footprints on the tile to Brienne. “What happened to you?”
“Knocked over my water in my sleep,” she sighed, picking at a few bits of fluff stuck to her feet, “Didn’t notice until I stepped on it. Oh, and uh… one of dad’s paintings fell down. Sorry.”
“Did you clean up the glass?” she wondered, rummaging through a cupboard until she found the first aid. Bri’s chest squeezed, her brow pinching.
“I’m bleeding, injured, and you’re worried about the mess?”
“It’s dangerous to leave glass and blood sitting everywhere, you know this.” Mum tutted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that she should have cleaned up before coming for help. “This is why you need footwraps. Keep everything safe indoors.”
“You’re kidding right?” Brienne didn’t know why she was so annoyed by this. Mum was always fretting about the wrong thing; it was just how she was. What mattered was that she was coming to help clean her up and wrap up her feet, so why did her heart pick up again the moment she saw the exasperated look in mum’s eyes? “What’s the worst that’ll happen if I leave it to stop myself getting infected cuts?”
“What if I had stepped on it too?”
“Uh, you won’t, because I told you about it,” Bri hissed, and mum’s eyes snapped up to look at her.
“Have you been taking your medicines?”
The pounding in her chest dropped to the pit of her stomach, “What?”
Mum nodded as if that confirmed her suspicions, “You are always so angry without it.”
“So I’m only worth talking to when I’m doped up, is that it?”
“You know that isn’t what I say, Brienne.”
“Well newsflash mum, they’re anxiety meds and estrogen, they don’t suddenly change who I am as a person, sorry to disappoint you.”
“Brienne-”
“Ow!” As if the sting of antiseptic on her feet was enough to snap whatever anger was sitting in her chest, Brienne yelled her protest – and the smell of burning immediately filled the room. Mum jumped up immediately, swearing as she batted out the fire that had grown on the stove, muttering something about distractions as Bri quietly made her way out, ears screaming with the shock of it all.
This, she thought as she passed the smashed picture frame, vowing to deal with it later, this was why she so rarely left her bedroom. She couldn’t stand the fussing and moaning, and it felt like whatever happened there was always some way she could mess it up. Biting back tears, she knelt to sweep up the shattered glass by her bedside, glad at least that it was only water and would dry on its own. At least there was something of her mess she didn’t have to clean up by herself.
She opted to skip breakfast, finishing the wrapping mum had started and instead turning to her books for some kind of distraction. It had been a couple of weeks since dad had time to teach her anything, but he trusted her to research and learn on her own – if he didn’t she’d probably be back in school, and that was the last thing she wanted. She’d had enough of being followed home and beaten up for a lifetime, thanks.