Tribulation [h.s]

38

"When you're all alone
I'll reach for you
When you're feelin' low
I'll be there too."

-

When I was around ten, my mother overdosed in her sleep.

I heard gurgling from the room over. I was scared. I thought it was a monster and cried for her in broken whispers that echoed down dark hallways. When I gained the courage to wander out of my room, my feet padded against the cold floors, creaking under my weight. When I pushed open the door to her room, she lay on her back, drowning in her own throw-up. I was only a child, and I was horrified. I wanted my father more than anything at that moment, but he had passed about a month before. It wouldn't be until years later that I pieced it all together.

My mother wasn't mine anymore — not after this night. She got addicted to poison that nearly killed her numerous times. It was always me picking her up from the bathroom floor. It was always me hiding her needles before the social workers came for inspection. It was always me taking care of her. She dated multiple men who eyed me far too often and for far too long — men with greedy and sneaky hands. And what's worse is she always put them before me.

My mother died a long time before her actual death.

Fuck. I hate thinking about this because when I think about it, all of those memories come flooding forward in a tidal wave that robs me of breath. My brain isn't wired to forget, remember? Every touch, every feeling – I remember everything as if I'm experiencing it for the very first time.

This is why I stay away from people. This is why I always run.

Attachment is a dangerous thing for me.

However, if there's no attachment, there's no hurt. There's no crippling fear of being abandoned, forgotten, or discarded. There's one less thing to keep me up at night.

But last night, I was terrified of losing Harry.

For months, I was plagued with nightmares after the night my mother nearly choked to death. Every night that I would wake up from that specific nightmare, I'd sneak into her room to feel her pulse. When I got a little older, I learned to roll her on her side whenever she fell asleep. That way, if she threw up, she wouldn't choke and die. I lost count of how many times that one simple action saved her life.

So, I did the same thing with Harry last night.

I made sure he was comfortable, and I laid him on his side. But, I was restless. I couldn't lay down, and I couldn't close my eyes. So, I got up and started cleaning. I'd sneak back into his room every so often and press on the skin below his jaw bone. Then, I'd sit there for a long while, looking at him, and feeling his faint heartbeat. It was the only thing that calmed me down, feeling the rhythmic thud of his pulse against my fingertips.

It was the only thing that assured me he wasn't leaving.

He didn't deserve to wake up and find his house totally trashed, not after the horrible night he had. So, yeah, I cleaned everything.

It's nine in the morning when I finish cleaning Harry's house. My bones are aching, and my muscles are beyond exhausted. Initially, I only intended on cleaning up the water that had gotten everywhere. Water damage is a pain to deal with. I know Harry has more money than he knows what to do with, and paying for repairs would have been easy, but I wanted to do this for him.