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CHAPTER SIX

"tell me,
is it my time
to breath?"
~midara

Salem

I hadn't planned on crying.

I have remembered the flashbacks of my life since the day they happened and yet, it seems so much more real when I sit down in front of my mother's grave.

Wasn't it ironic that just over a year after my five-star match with Adam Cole in Philadelphia, I was back in town for NXT TakeOver where I would join the Undisputed Era? Not only that, but I was at the cemetery honoring my mother's one-year death anniversary.

A lot had changed since that fateful night in Ring Of Honor.

"Hey, mom," I solemnly spoke, staring at the grass beneath my fingertips. Though it was January, no snow lay on the ground. Instead, cold winds and frost take its place as I shiver. After being in Florida, I forgot that cold weather like this existed.

If my mother would have been here, she would have ridiculed me for the tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. Crying was a foreign subject to me—it didn't happen often. They say it's because of muscle memory, as in I was trained to compartmentalize my emotions so that no one could see me falter. My mother taught me that.

"One year ago, I stood beside your bed as I watched you take your last breath," I continued, plucking at the grass to distract myself. "I gave up a lot for it."

I remembered sneaking out of Adam's apartment when I heard of my mother's quickening condition. I had almost skipped Ring Of Honor entirely that night due to my mother being on her deathbed. I kept my promises, and I promised to always be there for her.

I guess five year-olds make promises not expecting the other person to force them into years of torture and abuse.

I shook my head, chuckling at the facts in front of my face as I say it aloud. "I sacrificed anything I could have had with Adam for you," I admitted. "I was ashamed of needing to care for you because of what you did to me. How could I ever explain it to someone else when I didn't even understand it myself?"

Flashbacks of my stepfather ran through my head; the years of screaming, fighting, and so much more. I remember the tears I shed, and the distant stares I conjured when I needed to distract myself from what he would do to me. I learned to suffer through it without making a sound so that it would be over quicker. Eventually, I understood that showing my mother the events of the day would only make her hate me more, so I kept my mouth shut from that point forward.

"You knew that Jack was abusing me. You knew that he came home early to see me, to touch me," I winced at the memory. My voice began to crack and my teary eyes finally broke.

I had never fully come to terms with the fact that my mother was dead, nor any of the things she did to me while she was alive. Sitting at the cemetery gave me no other choice.

The wind began to blow, causing me to shudder at the freezing temperatures. I don't know what kept me at her grave, whether it was the thought of pneumonia or the promise I made to her, but I stayed beside her. My conversation with her continued, as if she was sitting right next to me. I had full passage to yell, scream, ridicule—she gave me reasons to hate her.