Innocent

Chapter 19: Guns and Roses

People always fall in love with the most perfect aspects of each other's personalities. Who wouldn't? Anybody can love the most wonderful parts of another person. But that's not the clever trick. The really clever trick is this: Can you accept the flaws? Can you look at your partner's faults honestly and say, 'I can work around that. I can make something out of it.'? Because the good stuff is always going to be there, and it's always going to pretty and sparkly, but the crap underneath can ruin you.

-Elizabeth Gilbert  

Izzy's Point of View

I had already encrypted the file on my laptop and put it away. My heart was still beating against my chest. I couldn't even think of what I just saw. I brushed my teeth and braided my hair. Don't think, just do. Tucking myself into bed, I tried to close my eyes and go to sleep. But I couldn't. The video was still etched into my mind. So much blood. I shook my head. Don't think.  After lying in bed for what felt like an eternity, I got up. Stumbling in the dark, I made my way to the fridge, because food solves everything. I glanced at the glow in the dark clock, we still had glued to the microwave. I remember making that with Joey when we were kids. I was surprised my parents still had it. Joey and I decided it would be fun to super glue the clock to the microwave. If I remember correctly, we later superglued our hands together, because we thought it would be fun, and we always wanted to stick together. I hadn't thought about that clock in a long time. After Joey went missing, I could stand to be in the kitchen when it was dark. That glowing clock face haunted me more than I'd like to admit. 

"Couldn't sleep?" A voice called out in the dark. 

I jumped back startled, my mouth filled with pretzels. 

My mother stood, an amused smile on her face. She use to catch me at night sneaking food into my room. She tsked at me, "Don't you know better? You're suppose to share." She gently grabbed the bag from my hands and started to munch on the pretzels. I stayed silent, unsure of how I should proceed. "Your father and brother went over to your uncle's for the big wrestling match. They said they were going to spend the night. I just rented a movie do you want to watch it with me?" My mother's voice was suddenly child-like and hopeful. This is the part where I should have reminded her of prison, of how she never visited me, or sent me a letter. This is the part where I scream and yell to her about how she called me a monster, and about what mother could abandon her child that easily. This is the part where I tell about everything I've had to go through without her. But I don't. I don't tell her about how she much she damaged me. About how her abandonment helped me turn into this thing. This empty shell of a thing where Isabelle Absher use to be. But I don't. I don't scream and yell at her like a feral animal locked in cage. I don't thrash around or snarl, or even cry. Maybe it's because underneath every monster, there's a tiny person living inside of them that just wants affection. Maybe underneath the claws, and scales, and grotesquely sharp teeth that particular monster who is whispered about around campfires, who lives under your bed, who is the reason you don't turn off your light at night, just maybe, that monster wants to be loved. That monster wants to grind down their teeth, rip off their claws, and tear down their scales, piece by piece just so you will be able to love them. They want to play fetch, and learn tricks, so that when you throw the ball and they retrieve it, like a good little monster, you'll pet them and give them treats, and whisper sweet nothings in their ear about how much you love them and how special they are. So why did I sit on the couch quietly, and watch a Nicholas Sparks movie with the Mother who left me to the wolves? Because I wanted to play fetch. 

The movie took longer to be over than I thought it to be. My Mother took a long glance at me, both of us hadn't spoken a word during the entire movie. It was two hours of silence, of secret glances back and forth, of not knowing what to say, but silence was better than screams and tears. "I should go to bed, it's getting late." My mom softly said. I nodded at her but stared intently at the tv, that had been turned off. She slowly got up, and gave me one last glance and started to walk to her room. She suddenly stopped, and paused as if deciding something. She came back to me. She gave me a kiss on the forehead. I flinched and moved away slightly, not on purpose but on instinct. She immediately noticed and sighed. She quietly said, "Goodnight Isabelle." She started to walk away once more. I couldn't help myself I called out to her. 

"Mother?" I called out formally. 

"Yes?" Her voice was a flutter in the wind, so soft and so full of hope. 

"Do you still think I'm a monster?" I saw her jaw clench, and the disappointment in her eyes. Monsters don't forgive. 

"No, I don't think you're a monster." Her eyes reflected the moonlight, as she gazed at me, or rather through me.

"Then why didn't you ever come visit me, or call, or even reply to a single one of my letters?" 

Her jaw unclenched, then clenched again, "I couldn't face you. The thought of my little girl in a orange jumpsuit eating lunch next to murderers and rapists. I couldn't bear to think of you like that. And in twenty years you would come out, and I knew I wouldn't recognize you, like I do now. And then all teh evidence pointed to you, a murderer. And I had to face that as a parent  I had failed you, and I became bitter and angry at myself and I took it out on you. The real truth is I don't know you Isabelle, I don't know you anymore. I don't know the little facts, your favorite color, or all the small trivial things I use to take for granted. All I know is that I live with this huge regret and it's killing me. I'm drowning in guilt. Isabelle do you think you could ever forgive me?" 

My breath hitched, I didn't know what to say so I simply said the truth, "I don't know." My response came out raw and full of emotion. It was true, I didn't know. All the anger and sadness had built up in me all these years, and I didn't know if I was strong enough to let go of everything and move past it. But that didn't mean I couldn't try.

I saw her turn around once more. I watched her walk to her bedroom. Then, I was left alone to sit in the dark, just my thoughts and I. 

"My favorite is blue." I whispered to the dark. 

Author's Note- 

I thought you all deserved a short chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think. 

XOXOXO

theoneandonly9240