No-Clipped

Chapter 1: Before

"I hate you."

     Those were the last three words I said before my mothers accident..three words that just repeat over and over on loop in my brain every time her name comes up. Three words I will never forget.

     Four weeks ago from today I had gotten into a huge fight with my mother. My parents had announced their divorce to me a week before and fought nonstop almost every night.

     "You're taking things way too fast—Mary!" Dad said one night, his voice raised. "Don't ya think this is a bit much? We haven't even split up yet and you're already moving in with another man?"

     "So what?! You say that as if love is a choice!" She snapped back.

"Of course love is not a choice, but this is! Thirty six years just tossed down the drain, Mary! Thirty six years!"

"H-he's loved me more in the past few months than you have all of those Thiry six years!"

     "THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE. NO ONE IS CAPABLE OF LOVING YOU MORE THAN I HAVE!" Both parents were choking back tears at that point. I had never seen my dad so broken and pained in my entire life, and it hurt so much seeing him in that state. All I wanted was for mother to be out of my life completely...

     That night she stormed out of the house, as my dad fell to his knees sobbing into his hands. I rubbed his back, cooked him dinner, did everything I could think of to try and lighten his mood, but nothing I could say or do could help him. I walked off to my room and lay down on my bed, squeezing my stuffed panda and burying my face into it. It had been a gift from my grandmother when I was four, and never let go of my attachment to it. I was aware of how pathetic I was, being a seventeen year old boy bawling into my stuffed animal, but I did not care.

   "H-how could you do this to us...mother?" I said quietly under my breath.

     "I hate you..."

At around 5:25 that morning I woke up to voices coming from dads bedroom. I quickly ran down the hall and opened the door to see dad holding his cell phone up to his ear, his eyes widened and bottom lip quivering in a shocked expression.

   "...Dad?" I said as he quickly turned towards me and dropped his cell phone.

   "Dad—what's going on..." I was interrupted by my dad grabbing onto my forearm and pulling me down stairs, rushing me to the car. He was at a loss for words. I looked at the GPS on the screen in the front of the car. Then looking out the window, I recognized the street we were on.

     "Dad—why are we going to the hospital?! Is it mother-?" I covered my mouth with an idea of what his answer was going to be.

     He nodded his head.

     "Yes...she was driving recklessly and got into an accident." He said quietly, his voice filled with pain.

     I stayed silent the rest of the ride.

I wanted her gone, but not like this...and the last words I had said regarding her were words of hatred.

After mothers death, dad developed a huge drinking addiction. Almost every night he left me at the apartment by myself for several hours while he was at bars getting wasted. He often yelled at me for small mistakes. I don't blame him...I believed there was still the good man he once was deep down. I believed that how broken he had become would fade after a little while. Boy, was I wrong.

     Three weeks later, we were kicked out of our apartment in NYC due to dad's constant disturbance.

     After about a seven hour bus ride we finally arrived in a very barren, rural area in Virginia known as Condorspoint.