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chapter fifty-five nothing cuts like a mother
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There were parts of herself Rue didn't understand. She didn't know how her brain worked or why her body reacted in certain ways. She didn't understand why her thoughts shifted so quickly, or why she'd feel hopeless one second and fine the next.
Rue was sick and twisted in more than one way. She knew she was a freak, and she knew she had a mental problem. She had suspected that she had not been born in the same way as many other babies, or that she had been dropped as a baby too many times to count. Rue knew she had many things wrong with her and if she started counting them off, it would be a never-ending list.
Her mother's behaviour, while she was a child, didn't help the alienating feeling. Rue's mother had always treated Rue as if she were glass, a ticking time bomb ready to explode within any second. She handled her daughter as if she were an unknown species. As if she were a science project to study.
There were times when she was younger when Rue believed her condition was the reason her dad left when she was six.
It was a relief to realize that his leaving hadn't had anything to do with his daughter, but rather the woman he'd once called his wife.
Emilia Davis.
But he never loved her, not really. Whatever love there was, it wasn't real. None of it was. The love he had harboured was created by the woman, who placed the idea of love into his mind to keep him wrapped around her finger. Bob never loved Emilia, not truly. But he did love Rue, and he also loved Joyce Byers and her sons, and that was real love.
