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❝ ONLY IF YOU KNEW HOW MUCH I LIKED YOU! ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡︎♡︎♡︎ ONLY A SINGLE tear escaped from my eye as I watched my mother throw everything she could lay her hands on at me, not caring if it hit me or if it broke. I stared and stared, not knowing what to do or to say, but I wanted to be there for her even if she continued to hurt me.
She was my mother after all, I was bound to comfort her even when I was also grieving over my father's death.
Then, after throwing so many things at me, she stumbled to her feet, crawling to me at immense speed that I felt my heart race, unaware of what I felt in that moment but I was certain it wasn't good. She had such an evil and menacing look in her eyes, one that was so scorned that she was directing it at me.
Finally, she stood to her full height, then grabbed my hair and pulled at it with such strength. I didn't cry out in pain but I did gasp in shock. And before I knew it, her other hand struck me across my face. Then again. Then again. Then again. Until I was sure blood has drawn from where she kept slapping me. She only stopped once my caretaker came in, her tear-soaked face morphed in horror as she dashed to where I was, putting herself as a barrier between my mother and I.
But my caretaker didn't stop my mother from spitting venom at me, her words carving itself in my mind, leaving to rot in its remains.
"You should've been the one who died! Not your father! You're nothing but a spoiled brat! I should've aborted you!"
You certainly should've.
Then she left my room, opening and closing the door in a way that made it seem she wanted to break it. Her ever burning presence still lingered in my room, the smell of her perfume tickled my nose but it was far from giving me a good memory. Everytime I smell her, nothing good comes. She was a nasty woman, more so than any villain I've seen in cartoon history.
"[M.Name]-san, please don't listen to her," my caretaker desperately told me, making me face her as she took ahold of my arms, trying to smile but failing as more tears welled up in her eyes. I took it upon myself to brush the salty liquid from her cheeks with my hands, then hugging her like how any other child would.
"It's okay to cry, you can cry to me, I won't hurt you," she whispered while patting my head. Her caring words and sweet gestures merely made me sigh and let go of her, looking her in her eyes and grasping her slender yet calloused hands in mine.
"I. . . I don't know how to cry, Aya-chan," I said hesitantly, and for a moment, I noticed how her eyes softened significantly, her hands squeezing mine as she hugged me to her chest. "I'm sorry this happened on your eighth birthday."
