Finding Jaime

Chapter 8

Jaime POV

Pete's house was huge. And in Beverley Hills. Which just pissed me off even more. Because he clearly could have helped Mom and I out at some point.

Mom and I weren't poor, she worked really hard. She was a paralegal and had made pretty good money. We were comfortable anyway. But Pete was rich. And just left us to fend for ourselves.

I looked around the room they'd given me. It was painted blue with a blue comforter on the bed. In the bathroom the tiles were black and white. It had a shower and a separate room for the toilet.

I dumped my bags on the floor and lay down on the bed.

I didn't want to be here. The asshole clearly didn't want me.  His girlfriend seemed nice and the kid was cute. But I'm not her big brother. Because there is no way Pete is my father. A father takes care of his kids. He doesn't ignore them for 15 years and then only show up because he had to.

I pulled out my phone and put on some music. My Chemical Romance. Perfect music for my mood. I put on "The Black Parade" and stared at the ceiling.

Tears were threatening to come again, and I just let them. I lay there, crying like a baby. Well, a silent baby.

All I can think about is Mom. How horribly I treated her after she told me the cancer had spread and she wasn't doing anymore treatments. I was so mad that she was giving up. I remembered yelling at her. Asking her if she'd even thought about me when she made the decision to die.

"Jaime," she'd said. "Of course I thought about you. I stopped the treatments because you don't need to watch me suffer more. The treatments aren't working anymore. The cancer has spread. I don't want you to watch me suffer through treatments that aren't working. This way we can have more quality time together."

"Bullshit!" I'd yelled at her. "You're only thinking about yourself! What happens to me when you die?"

"I've taken care of that, Jaime," she'd said. "You'll be well taken care of. I promise."

"You promised you'd never leave me. Now you're breaking that promise! So I'm supposed to believe that you took care of me being taken care of!?" I'd yelled back at her.

"Jaime, I have something to tell you," she'd said.

"I don't want to hear it!" I said, and had run out of the apartment and met up with Justin and Frank.

I shook my head at the memory. I hadn't gotten much better towards Mom as she'd gotten weaker and sicker. As she'd stopped being able to work, and as she'd slept more.

"Jaime, I really need to talk to you," she'd said, just a week before she'd died.

"I'm busy, Mom," I'd said. "I have a paper due tomorrow."

"Please, Jaime," she'd pleaded with me.

"Later, Mom."

But later was never going to come. Because I had hoped by keeping her from telling me whatever it was she wanted to tell me, I could keep her alive. She couldn't die if she couldn't tell me what it was.

But she had. And she'd finally told me her secret in a letter. A fucking letter.

"Jaime," I heard her voice. "I'm so sorry."

"Mom?" I asked the empty room.

"I'm here, darling boy. I'm here."

"Why did you have to die?"

"Oh, Jaime. I didn't want to. You have to know that."

"But you did. And now I'm forced to live with strangers."

"Pete's not a stranger. He's your dad."

"He's not my dad. He never once helped us out. He never visited. He never cared."

"Give him a chance, Jaime. Please. For me."

"Why? You promised you'd never leave me, and you did. You lied to me."

"I never lied to you Jaime. I wanted to tell you over and over. But I didn't think you'd believe me. It was a long time ago, Jaime. He wasn't ready to be a father."

"You had 15 years to tell me."

"I wanted to tell you. I waited for the right time. But the right time came too late."

"You had 15 years to find the right time."

"I tried, Jaime. I tried so hard to tell you in the last couple of months. You didn't want to hear it."

"I was so mad at you. I am so mad at you," I said. "You died. You left me. You stopped taking the treatments! You chose death!"

"Jaime, I chose to live my last couple of months without the pain of chemotherapy, without the mind-numbing medications that made me sick. With a clear mind, so I could really be with you. But you didn't want to be with me."

"I wanted you to be alive. To be with me forever. Or, well, until you grew old. And died when you were supposed to. As an old lady, with me and maybe even grandkids around you."

"I love that you're thinking about having kids. Maybe you'll name one of them after me?"

"What? You're thinking about that now?"

"Jaime, I tried so hard. I don't know when I lost you, but I always loved you. I always tried to do the best for you."

"And then you stuck me with some stranger who doesn't give a shit about me."

I rolled over and stopped listening. I listened only to the music in my ears.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped up. Meagan was sitting on the edge of my bed. I took out my earbud.

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry if I startled you. I came up to see if you wanted to come down for lunch. I see you haven't started unpacking."

She rubbed her thumb under my eye.

"Were you crying?"

I wiped my eyes with my hand and glared at her.

"Come on, come downstairs and have some lunch. I made macaroni and cheese. I find it comforting when I'm upset. And you can come meet Marvel and Saint."

I stared at her. I didn't want to come downstairs. I didn't want to eat macaroni and cheese. I didn't want to meet Marvel and Saint. I wanted my mom, and I wanted to go back to my apartment.

"I'm not hungry," I grumbled.

"Come on, Jaime. Pete says you didn't have breakfast, I doubt you ate much yesterday. I know you're hurting, but you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," I reiterated.

Meagan looked at me and put her hand on my shoulder again. I shrugged it off.

"Jaime, you need to come down and eat."

"You're not my mother. You can't tell me what to do! Get out!" I yelled at her. "Get out!"

Meagan gave me a look of pity, that just made me angrier, got up and walked out of the room. She closed the door quietly behind her. I wished she had slammed it.