Excavate

Found

His unconsciousness wasn't sleep, more of an inability to stay awake through the suffering. He certainly wasn't dreaming, his muddled mind attempting to absorb the physical pain that his body was too battered to comprehend. Even if he was lucid, Riley didn't believe he could move under his own power.

"Murph, stop it," Coughs racked his body painfully. Why was it so hard to talk? Murph's heavy panting and foul breath were hot on his face. He tried to lift his hand to swat the dog away as Murph's tongue lapped repeatedly at his face, but his arms were too heavy to respond. Riley couldn't bridge the disconnect that separated his mind from his body.

"No Murph," his words slurred. With how he felt, was he drunk? His head pounded like a jackhammer and his stomach turned like an Olympic diver.

Why won't Murph leave him alone? Who even let him in his room? He always shut his door at night...

With a sudden lurch, Riley cried out as his stomach heaved and tried to expel its contents. But nothing came. Each horrible retch ripped through him, and Murph's breathing dissolved into whines.

Murph pawed at his shoulder urgently, and Riley didn't even have the energy to push him away. He could only moan against the severe nausea and uncontrollable heaves that only produced sickly bile to coat his dry throat.

Dizzy and disoriented, Riley had no idea where he was. He couldn't even open his eyes, but the tears seeped out anyway, only to be quickly lapped up by the eager dog.

Distantly, he thought that, just maybe, he heard his mom's voice, but it sounded like she was on a completely different plane of existence. Was she coming to take Murph from his room? Maybe she would notice that he didn't feel good. Riley wanted his mom. Deeply. Desperately. Down into his bones. He wanted his Mom.

Between Murph's concerned whines and wet licks, Riley still couldn't tell which way was up, why he felt so awful, or why his mom sounded so far away. Adding to the confusion was a faint sensation of anguish when he thought of his mom. He didn't understand it and he couldn't access why it was intrusively embedded in his soul like a splinter. Reaching out to try and understand felt like swimming deeper and deeper after a treasure that kept sinking, his arm at full length, fingers straining as far as they could reach, chest aching as his lungs depleted of oxygen...

"Riley!"

His suffocated gasp coincided with his eyes blowing wide open. At first, all he saw was red and was hopelessly confused. Where was his bed? Was this his room? Why was he so cold?

And then, blended with the hysterical screams and sobs from his mother, Murph's barks, and the sick agony he felt in every molecule of his body, the memories rushed back with all the detritus of a tsunami wave.

Mom doesn't want you. Brad pushed you. You don't have a home. You have NOTHING. You're always cold. Always hungry and thirsty. Eating the snow only made you feel sicker. You looked through the GARBAGE for food. Hmm, ironic, because you are garbage like Dad always said.

Riley barely registered the pressure under his arms and the sensation of being pulled out of the tube. His blown pupils winced harshly against the afternoon light, even with the dreary, overcast sky.

And suddenly, he was being propped up, warm arms encircling him and pressing him against her own warmth. Riley was almost sick again from the vertigo, but he swallowed it back down when his mom's hand brought his head down against her chest. She rocked him. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her chest hitching from the obvious upset.

"My baby..." She cried, rocking him and holding him closely, like when he was young and didn't know how scarce her hugs would be. "My baby..."

Riley let himself be rocked. Sure, he lacked the physical strength to fight against it, but he couldn't deny how loved he felt in the moment. And even with the acute knowledge of what happened before... One of her nephews... Stop it Riley, you're acting just like your father... Of course I knew! Why do you think I left?...