((Since the football game started at 3pm I am going to go ahead and assume its like 6pm-7pm and just getting dark. I also assume the game is over.))
"Well, guys. I am going to head out. It's been real. Hope to see you later at my place, Ana." And with a small wave, she turned and walked away.
Upon arriving home Bella threw her bags down and closed the heavy front door. Usually she found great comfort in the expanse of white tile leading to the curving stair, the dark wood banister shining faintly from much polish, the prisms sparkling overhead in the chandelier. The hall table standing proud with a spread of sweet smelling flowers held the days mail, the entire area smelled of lemon Pledge and home. She should be able to find comfort there today, but as she looked down the long, dim hall toward the arching double french doors leading to the back patio she could see what appeared to be a trail of her mother's clothing leading outside.
Staring up at the vault ceiling, hands clinched into fists at her sides, “God, what did I ever do to deserve this? Honestly, could you maybe make some things convenient for me some of the time? Is it too much to ask to find my mother clothed when I get home? Is it??”
She stared at herself for a few moments in the mirror over the hall table. She looked much younger than she felt at that moment. She half expected to see a crone staring back at her instead of the pale face of a teenage girl with faintly pink cheeks from the chill of the early evening. She covered her face with her hands and scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers to keep from crying. She was ruining her make up but she didn't care at the moment. Make up could be fixed more easily than this situation. Sighing, she started down the hall, picking up her mother's clothes as she went.
Pushing the arched glass door open she found her mother half laying on a lounge beside the pool, wearing nothing but one black thigh high nylon, her black lacy panties and matching bra. Her hand was hanging down and covered in blood, clutching a crystal decanter of some amber colored liquid by the neck. Her mother's face was turned away.
The leaves were starting to fall from the large oak and maple trees canopying the backyard. There was a nip to the air as the evening was setting in. The flowers in the various containers around the patio were looking distinctly worse for wear. Autumn was upon them, and it was officially too chilly to be lying about nearly undressed in the back yard.
Bella stopped to stare for a moment, mother looked terribly pale. Taking several deep, calming breaths. “Please, don't let her be dead. Please, please don't let her be dead. I can't deal with this right now.” It was possibly the most selfish prayer she had ever uttered, concerned more for her personal discomfort than for the fact that her mother was lying catatonic.
As Bella approached she could make out a faint snoring sound coming from the lounge. So she wasn't dead after all. That was a relief. When Bella came near enough to make out her mother's face she realized it too was covered in blood. A needle and syringe protruded from a large welt on her mother's forehead, the blood now dried had apparently ran from that wound.
She took the bottle from her mother's hand and tucked it onto the lounge before dropping her clothing onto her in a heap.
“Mom. Wake up.” She said, shaking her shoulder gently. When she didn't budge to move, Bella grasped her shoulders and shook her much more roughly. “Wake up you fool woman!”
“Wh- wha- what did you say to me?” Her mother asked, groggily.
“I said, 'Mother, please wake up.' Are you doing heroin again?” Bella asked, hands on hips.
“Of course not. Don't be silly, whatever gave you that impression? Now, be a dear and run along to let mummy sleep.” Her voice was clipped, and a slight British accent still clung to the syllables.
Bella grasped the syringe and pulled the needle from her mother's forehead.
“This gave me that idea. Now get dressed. You are going to Aunt Joyce's for the weekend, remember?” She said, tossing the syringe aside and placing her hands on her hips. “There is no use lying. If you hurry and get dressed I won't tell daddy.”
Which was a lie of course, she would have to tell her father. Her mother needed another trip to the Betty Ford clinic in Arizona, it seemed.
“I'm calling a cab. You better be dressed when I get back. Do you hear me?” She didn't wait for a response, she just marched back into the house to call first Aunt Joyce and then the Spielburg cab company.
((also if anyone is uncomfortable with the drug references let me know and I will edit it out and make her mother only an alcoholic))