irrevocable

{One}

the 1 // Taylor Swift

Holly

Walking to and from the bus stop each day is the only bit of peace I have. Each morning before work I let my daydreams take over. What could be, what could have been, if things had been different.

Different neighborhood.

Different job.

Different name.

Any of it, all of it. Something different is the only wish I have. I'd take different food or hair or even a different uniform I have to wear to work each day. Being a hospice aid isn't glamorous, and nice clothes would be a waste. But little ducks covering knock off scrubs is as bad as it gets.

Walking home is a different story. My peace is tainted with the what nexts instead of what ifs. What's going to happen next? Who will yell next? What will I have to overcome next? Will it be the same as yesterday, or worse?

I hold my breath then blow it out slowly to calm my nerves. A person shouldn't feel sick to her stomach before entering her home. It should be a place of rest not a place of worry.

My walk is too brief, already at an end as I open the front door. It's nearly rotted out and needs replacing. A semi-decent kick would knock the thing down. But I don't make enough to deal with any extras, and replacing a front door falls into the extra category when electricity and food are on the line.

"I'm home," I say quietly to my mom who's resting on the couch. I'm surprised she made it out of her room today. Her fatigue has been really bad this week, causing her to spend most of her time in bed.

"Oh baby, I'm so glad. Can you fetch me a glass of water?" Her strained voice tells me everything I need to know.

"Have you had any water today?" I ask as I rush to the kitchen to fill up a water bottle. "I left a full water next to your bed."

"Forgot to grab it when I made my way out here then I was too tired to go back."

"When did you get up?" I hand mom the water and watch as she takes a few sips.

"Right after you left."

"I just got off of a six-hour shift. You've been here all day without food or water?" Shit. I always leave her with something to eat and her water. I guess I need to leave food in more than one place now.

"I'm okay, baby. How was your day?"

"I'll tell you after I grab your food. Hang on." I rush to the kitchen to heat up some soup. Going without eating makes her symptoms worse but honestly getting her to take care of herself is like wrangling a toddler. Impossible.

After carrying the soup to Mom and helping her sit up, I take the seat next to her.

"How was your day?" I ask her the same question every day.

"Quiet. Slept a lot. Didn't really have the energy to watch anything."

The same answer every day. I glance to the coffee table and notice the remote isn't there. It's across the room on top of the T.V. Dad must have left it there yesterday before he took off on his long haul. I shake my head and bite back the irritation. He's no help. He makes things worse.

I'm glad he'll be out of town for a few weeks.

"I'm going to take a shower, but I'll leave the remote next to you. Now that you've got some food in you, you might have more energy."

"Sure, baby. Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I give Mom a tight smile because I know exactly what she'd do without me. Die.