On Purpose

~Before~

I can say one thing.
I hated the dentist.
I hated everything about it. The smell. The sight and taste of metal. Especially when the dentist would wear a mask and smile and I'd see the cornrs of their eyes wrinkle up. I hated it all.
When I was five, my mom took me to the dentist because all I did was eat sugar and never let a toothbrush touch my mouth.
I would complain about the pain in my mouth and she'd say, "Maybe you should put down the candy and pick up the brush that can come in handy." I stomped away and didn't come back out until dinner.
When I went to the dentist, I had three cavities. My dad laughed and I cried, of course. As I look back, my mom was dead in the face, like nothing mattered anymore.
I haven't touched another candy bar without brushing my teeth after, again.
I don't know why I was so stubborn back then, why I stomped away from my mom when she scolded me when I was clearly in the wrong.
I asked myself, if I would've hugged my mom and thanked her for her valid help, would she still be here? Would I still be her little boy?
But I didn't. I stomped away whenever she tried to help me, all I had to do was hug her and say thank you so she felt loved, appreciated, but it was too late. My mom left before I could fix my mistake. it was my fault my mom left.