Seven

1

This chapter contains brief sensitive content depicting a suicide attempt. You can skip this chapter.

Someone once told me I reminded them of the night. They said I was dark and mysterious— but that they liked that about me. That person was my father.

The man who was supposed to raise me and stand by my mother's side, in sickness and in health, left as the sun rose after my mother was discharged from the hospital.

That was a horrible day. He was gone without a trace. The only thing left was a silver "7" necklace on my dresser with a note attached. I noticed it right when I woke up.

The note said:

"For Eve, you will be great. You will be greater than great. You will forget me, but I will never forget you. I love you, Sev. Every time you see that number, just know I am with you. I am always thinking of you and the universe knows it."

I will never forget the way I wept. For two minutes, there was nothing but tears. I was just sobbing. My mind was a blank slate, filled only with the sound of my anguish.

I went to wipe my tears when I heard a crash in the kitchen. I shoved the note under my pillow, never telling anyone about it, and ran to the kitchen to find my mother lying in a pool of blood.

"What happened, Mom?" I asked frantically, tears streaming down my face as I collapsed beside her. Her blood stained my knees.

"He's gone, Eve," she gasped, her eyes struggling to meet mine.

"What?" I cried, searching for the source of the blood.

"Your father. He left me." Her breaths came in labored gasps, her voice barely a whisper.

"Mom, what did you do?" I clutched her, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Don't call 911," she begged me, her voice weak.

"Mom, what did you do?" I shook her, desperate for an answer.

"Please, just go to your room," she begged. "I love you, honey. Everything is going to be okay. Don't let your brother see this."

I didn't realize she had passed out until it was too late. I thought she was dead. I stood up, clutching the phone with my bloody hands, and dialed 911. I was nine.

The operator's questions seemed absurd, but I answered them, barely coherent. I was convinced my mother was gone, but I had missed that she was still breathing, just weakly.

The paramedics arrived just in time. I lied and said my father would be back any minute, hoping they wouldn't separate me from Alex.

That was seven years ago. In that moment, it felt like my life was over. In a way, it was. My mother's condition hasn't gotten worse, but it hasn't improved either. She lives in her bedroom, and my brother and I take turns caring for her. That's what it's been like since Dad left— and no, we never found out where he went. We manage as best as we can.

It's time for my mother's medicine again. She resists every time, but it's necessary.

"Mom," I walk into her darkened room, the curtains drawn tight, the TV flickering in the corner. "It's time for your Furosemide."

"I don't want it," she mutters, her back to me.

"You need to take it," I say, sitting beside her on the bed. "Please, sit up."

"I don't want it!" She screams, throwing a pillow at me.

"I'm not going to argue with you. You'll end up in the hospital if you don't take this. You could die." I tried to scare her.

"Good," she replies.

"Mom, you have to take your medicine. You know this." I touch her arm as she snatches it away from me.

"Why do you care? It would be easier for you if I were gone, right? I'm just a burden."

"That's not true. I love you, and you're not a burden."

"Just get out!" She throws another pillow at me

"No, you're taking this pill."

"No. I don't want to, and you can't make me." She crosses her arms.

"Please, just do this for me." I beg.

"For you? You don't deserve anything. You're ungrateful. I wish you were never born."

Her words hurt worse than the mirror I stepped on when I was six, but I don't let it show. "You're taking this pill," I say firmly, forcing the medication into her mouth. She swallows it as I swallow my tears.

I leave the room and flee outside. The backyard leads to a forest. I follow the path to the old tree my dad used to take us to for picnics. He carved a "7" into it. That's how we remembered.

I collapse beside the tree, tears streaming down my face. Why do people always hurt those who are just trying to care for them? If someone wants to love you, why won't you let them?