HEADLINE ✓

TRACK 36

With (NO) love, Tyler-Jane Roberts

"Where's Carter?"

I tensed at her question. "He's not coming."

"Oh, he's not? That's a shame... I was so excited to meet him. Did something happen?"

"Carter, please," I begged. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" he scoffed. "Why don't you bend over then, baby. That's what you do best, right?" The venom in his words was paired with a twisted grin. "And to think you almost won... you almost broke me. This was your plan all along, right? Turning me back into him."

My back pressed against the wall. "I-I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Bullshit!" he yelled, stalking towards me with slow steps. "Using me for fame to build a little pathetic career for yourself. Was it worth it, darling? Was it worth taking all my fucking money?"

I averted my eyes from her pressing stare. It was fucking weird to see her with a motherly look of concern - it made my skin crawl. I was working through getting rid of whatever it was that triggered that type of response to anything she did that came close to an act of parenting. Doctor Khan said it was normal to feel this way and that each visit would slowly break down that feeling as I got more comfortable around her. Holy shit was I ever hoping that I would find some type of instant fix.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I would be running to my mommy with my problems. Unfortunately, it wasn't like I had any other options at the moment.

"Is everything alright, Jane?"

The energy to fight back at her calling me that name was gone. With one look in her direction, I was unable to keep it in any longer.

There I was, pathetically sobbing into my mother's arms. It was weird, to say the least, to cry in front of her. I couldn't remember ever doing so as a child. If I did, I was screamed at for how much of a headache I was causing and was threatened with punishment.

It was a constant battle to keep reminding myself that she was no longer that person. She wasn't going to cuss me out or burn me with a cigarette for letting a tear fall.

And, so, for the first time in my life, I told my mother about one of my own problems. I spared no detail recalling the past week - especially the last forty-eight hours - to her. My mother heard everything. Every hurtful thing Carter uttered to me once he stepped inside that house, most of which I was sure he couldn't even remember.

I told her about how he stumbled around, screaming and yelling, and how he could barely stand upright once he had finished. I mentioned that I took care of his wounds from the gym, ensuring they were cleaned up and wrapping them in a fresh bandage, and how pathetic that made me feel. Even after everything he had said, I still wanted to care for him. I couldn't see him go to bed with those marks and bruises not being looked after.

The pathetic feeling only worsened as I spent the rest of the night cleaning up the mess he caused after he had passed out, not wanting him to wake up to his destruction. The items he had thrown out of the drawer were folded neatly and put back, broken glass was swept up, and items from his dresser were put in their respective spots.

And as I told her, I wondered if she recalled her own actions from years back, when she used to do the same with me. It was in my nature to do everything I did last night because I had been doing the exact same thing since I was a kid.