Wilona's P.O.V
I close my eyes. Focusing on breathing in the clean, peaceful air in the shop I'd grown to love and breathing out the bullshit, tainted air that my mother's voice produced. I let my body be swayed into a state of numbness coaxed by the music playing softly from the store's speakers.
"No," I say simply when I reopen my eyes. The blurred image I find awaiting me only solidifying my decision.
"Wilona Evans, I am your mother a-"
"Then try acting like one," I say crisply to cut her off. "I am not coming to the dinner. Goodbye, mother."
I hang up before she can say anything further. My lungs contract and expand with every staggered breath, anger boiling its way up my veins as I shove my phone back into my pocket. I look around to smash something only to find nothing expendable. My eyes squeeze shut as I lean against one of the shelves, trying with all my strength to expel the misery which was creeping in behind the quickly building anger.
