In The End

8: Who Died?

   I finally clock out of work, completely exhausted. I manage to drag myself to Sephora, grabbing four more tubes of concealer and foundation, knowing I'll probably finish them off in about half a year or less, also grabbing a new amber shade blush, along with a new set of eyeshadow brushes. Grabbing two tubes of lipstick, one red, another maroon, I pay and head out to my car. Being on my leg all day has been bad, and my knee is killing me, most likely from Daddy Dearest taking a crowbar to it yesterday.
   As I slide into my 1967 Chevy Impala (it is mine no matter what that devil says,) my phone starts to go off. When I see who it is, I roll my eyes, but answer the phone anyways.
  "What do you want, mother," I snarl, recalling her leaving me in hell to fend for my own. I can hear her sobbing, and it makes my chest ache. I won't feel sorry for her! Not after what she did!
  "Blade, honey, you need to come get me, your father kidnapped me!" Her voice whispers fearfully into the phone. My eyebrows furrow in confusion.
  "What're you going on about?"
  "Blade, I'm here in his house! He must've taken me from the hotel room while I was asleep!"
  I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "Mom, I'm not in the mood for your tricks. I'm not going to tell you everything is fine and dandy between us--"
   "BLADE! P-p-please! Help me! I'm scared! W-we can flee the state! But I n-need to get away f-from him! He's taken me, and I'm scared he's going to beat me for leaving!"
   "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I took the beating for both of us," I spit at her, and her hiccups calm down enough for her to speak again.
  "W-what?"
   "Don't act all innocent! You left me there!" She's silent for a moment.
   "What're you talking about? W-who is this? Y-you better leave me alone! My husband is a lawyer!"  Wait, excuse my French, but what the fluff?
  Now I'm just confused. "Mom? What do you mean 'who is this?' It's Blade."
The line is quiet once more. "Of course it is, honey, I'm not stupid. Hurry up and get home. Your father isn't going to be pleased if you're late for family diner." With that she hangs up.
I stare at my phone, confused. Family dinner?
We haven't had one of those in over five years.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

  I pull up to the mansion, grabbing my bags from the mall and walking to the front. I quickly open he door and flee to my room. Shutting the door and locking it, I start to pack my bags. I can't do anything if Mom doesn't want to come, but I'm sure as hell not staying here. She must've been drunk earlier.
As I'm packing my bag, Mom barges into my room, looking around frantically.
I approach her warily. "Are you okay, Mo--"
She rushes to me, digging her nails into my shoulders, making me cry out. "Please, you have to help me! I don't know where I am! I think I've been kidnapped!"
I try to pry her off of me. "Get--off--me! What's going on with you?!" I exclaim, finally able to throw her arms away from me. Her face is tear streaked, scaring me. She wraps her arms around herself, crying.
As I'm going to comfort her after a minute of staring, she looks at me.
"Who're you? Why are you in my room! Jeff!" She screeches, trying to back away from me.
"Mom, stop! Your scaring me!" I shout honestly.
"Look, I've never seen you in my life! Get away from me!" She exclaims, and scratches me across the face as I try to comfort her. I hiss in pain, placing my hand on my cheek. When I pull back, there's blood.
"Damn! Mom, stop!"
"No! Jeff!"
"Mom, Dad's at work! And he is the last person you want to see when you're like this!"
"Where's Mason?"
"Oh, so you know who that is?!"
   "Blade, honey, what's gotten into you? And what happened to your face? Why are on earth are you wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer in California?"
I throw my hands up in frustration. My mother's a nutter! She belongs in a madhouse! I grab my mother's hand, my now packed bag, and I grab her to the car, taking her to the nearest hospital.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
  "Mrs. Anders?" A nurse calls, and I spring up, telling Mom to stay in the chair before rushing to talk to the nurse.
   She sighs and says, "how long has her memory been failing?" I shake my head, trying to find a way to be vague.
  "I don't know, I've never really noticed. Not until today, when she couldn't recognize me and tried to take my face off. It's nothing serious, right? She's in her thirties, isn't that way too young to have anything serious?" I ask, a hopeful look in my eyes.
   "There are some cases where your mother's disease develops while people are in there early ages, sadly."
   "Wait, my mom has a disease?" I feel the tears start to fill up my eyes. The nurse smiles at me in a pitying way, and placed her hand on my shoulder.
   "With treatment, your mother's Dementia won't progress as quickly."
  I let out a sob. "M-my mother has D-Dementia?" The nurse sighs, and nods. I feel as if my world has stopped. I want things to just be better. Why does everything suck?
   The nurse leaves me to help the other nurses, and I stand here, watching my Mom look around, her feet gently swinging as she surveys the hospital. She catches my eye and smiles brightly at me, probably forgetting that bad things are in our life. I start to cry more.
   "Who died?"
  I turn to look at who spoke, to see a girl in a hospital gown, wheeling an IV around. She has light brown hair, the prettiest freckles ever, and her bright green eyes are assessing me, like I'm the most interesting puzzle. Her lips are pale and chapped, but I can tell they'd once looked healthy, and her pallid skin still has the sun kissed tone underneath the sickness. I snap out of it.
  "Huh?" She gives me a small, closed mouth smile, almost like a greeting, before wheeling her IV over to the chair next to the one I'm standing in front of, and plopping herself down into it.
  "Who died?" She asks again. I sink down into the chair behind me.
  "N-No one."
  "Then why're you cryin'? Most folks only cry in this ward when people die. My roommate, Maggie, died Tuesday. Stage three lung cancer. She was sixty, and still refused to quit smokin'. Awful lot of people showed up, started cryin'. So why're you cryin', if nobody croaked?" I'm surprised at her forwardness, and try to respond.
   "M-my mom have Dementia. Found out today." The girl makes an acknowledging sound, nodding her head.
  "Sucks." I simply nod. She bumps my shoulder with hers, before holding her hand out to me, you know, the one without the IV. "I'm Kaylee, nice to meet ya!"
  I smile, and shake her hand. "I'm Blade."
  "Oh, I like that, it's gotta creepy yet cool vibe," she says, and I can tell that this girl is just a ray of sunshine. She's super sweet, too.
   "Thanks," I say, smiling. "So, if you don't mind me asking-"
  "Why am I here?" She asks nicely, and I nod. She sighs with a smile, and turns to look at my Mom. I follow her gaze.
  "I'm here 'cause I got cancer, the nasty sucker. I've been fightin' it for three years now. Stage four, lymphoma." I sigh, and place my hand on hers.
   "Do me a favor?" I say, and she hums in response. "Keep fighting."
   Kaylee looks at me, and smiles. She leans her head on my shoulder. Something tells me that this girl and I are gonna be friends.