The Artist [h.s.]

eighteen

"How come you never talk about your parents?"

Carter exhaled through her nose and shifted slightly in the bed so that she was closer to Harry and so that she was far more comfortable than she had been before, "It's not exactly a cheery story."

Truthfully, she'd never brought it up because it was another reason that pushed her further away from opening her heart to the possibility of love. She hadn't thought that he would ask, but what did she expect when they were engaged? He had to know at some point.

Harry's arms pulled her even closer and tightened slightly, his lips pressing to her cheek swiftly, "I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

The only reason he'd asked was because he'd been talking to his mother earlier in the day and she'd asked him when they planned on getting married and when they would get to meet Carter's parents. He hadn't really noticed that she didn't ever mention them, but now he was curious because they were actually starting to plan their wedding after so long.

Carter sighed, she didn't like to talk about it, but there was really no point in keeping it from him any longer, "My father died when I was fifteen. He uh...he had cancer. Growing up, I was always a daddy's girl and everyone knew it, but my mother took it personally. She was never really...a mother to me after I'd reached a certain age because she just stopped trying for some reason. Maybe it was because of my father's cancer, they'd kept it from me for years, but I don't know.

Anyway, after he died, things got worse and she would always yell at me, telling me it was my fault and that I was a terrible child. I was old enough to understand that it wasn't my fault, but something about the way that she told me I was a horrible child had me working so over the top to prove to her that I wasn't.

I did everything that I was told and so much more. Nothing worked though and after a while I started to notice the empty liquor bottles. She was awful and it didn't matter what I did or how I tried to help, she just didn't want to get better and she didn't want me there.

Once I was old enough to be out on my own, she kicked me out and pretty much told me not to come back. It didn't matter how terrible she was to me or how much alcohol had influenced her, she was still my mother and it still hurt like hell.

I uh...I haven't seen her since, but I send her letters and texts sometimes with this stupid hope that she'll care or that she's better. She hasn't ever answered me, not even after the third time that I told her that I was engaged."

She hadn't noticed that she'd been crying until Harry removed one of his arms from her waist and gently swiped her cheek with his thumb.

"Hey, it's not your fault, sweetheart."

Carter's lips trembled when her eyes met his, she'd never talked about it before and, now that it was out in the open, she'd finally stopped repressing the truth.

"I know that it's not. I just-she's my mother and she hasn't loved me for as long as I can remember. How can a mother not love her child, Harry?"

Harry wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her into his chest and holding her tightly. He didn't know what to say, he was sure that her mother loved her in some way, she had to, but how do you explain that to your fiance who is clearly heartbroken and confused? He didn't want to upset her, so he didn't say anything and just held her.

She'd cried for nearly an hour before she'd calmed down enough to ask him to pull away slightly because he'd been holding her so tight for so long that it was starting to hurt.

Now that she was calm, Harry decided that it was safe enough to tell her the answer to her question, "She does love you, Carter. It's just hard for her kind of like it was hard for you to open your heart to me. I'm not saying it's the same or that it's an excuse, but she loves you on some level because she's your mother."