¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
ILLUMINATE Shawn Mendes Chapter-3
After about a few hours of laying in bed, I finally decide to come out of my room because my internal guilt was getting to me. I wander to what used to be my parent's room and sit on the edge of my mother's bed, admiring the chipped paint on the wall.
"Mum...we need to talk." I shake her lightly, not wanting to startle her, for she is barely waking. Her body shifts, and the bed creaks as she sits up and rubs her tired, weary eyes.
"what?" She groans, her eyes barely opening to catch a glimpse of me. Once her eyes adjust to the minimal light in the bedroom, she straightens up and smiles softly.
"Does dad ever cross your mind?" I ask with my hands in my lap, staring at the gigantic holes that were in the wall, then to her mattress that had stayed with tear stains and no coverings.
"You're asking of your father?" She fiddles with the loose thread on her mattress. I figure she wasn't ready, after twelve years, to talk about my father. Talking about him with her was like talking about moving out. It was extremely hard.
"Yeah." I nod, sweat droplets forming along my hairline. I wipe them away, growing confident by the look on my mother's face as it read that she was indeed ready to talk.
"No." She says as if she's been saying it for the longest of time. Liar. I know she's lying. She cries about it each and every night. Through these paper thin walls, I can hear everything; the sound of her breathing, her small laughs at the awkward telenovelas, slight groans of aggression when she gets called off of work, the creaking of the floorboard as she leaves bed to make herself a cup of tea. Everything.
I know she thinks about him. I just know. That's like never thinking about food. Food is the only thing in the world that could keep a person stable because it's always existing, and it's comforting. I know she thinks about him because that's like not thinking about me. I'm him, but a much younger version.
"Not even the slightest bit?" I just couldn't believe when she said no. It's not natural to not think of someone you used to love every once in a while.
"No." she repeats, making me feel like it was wrong of me to think of him even though it was my first time wondering.
"Well, Whenever I go off anywhere, do I ever cross your mind?" I bite my lip, already dreading to hear her response. Her blue eyes stare at me incredulously.
"All the time. You're my only son, of course I think about you." She presses her soft hands onto mine, clutching them tightly.
"Okay." I sigh in relief. "So I guess this is a good time to say that I'm going away, with dad, for my birthday."
"What, no. You can't leave me." Her voice was almost as shaky as a seventy year old's hand when pouring orange juice.
"I have to. It's the only way for me to be happy. I need, I need to see dad and Aaliyah. Everything was ruined when they left." Her lips quiver and her eyes beg for me to to slip up and say this was a joke. But no. This was no joke.
"I'll do better. I'll do it for you." She grabs both my hands into hers, giving them a slight squeeze and looking into my eyes with her blue teared up ones. "Please. I'll try my best to be a better mum."
"Really? the last time you said that, dad left, and you brought another man here." My lips press together to keep the tears back, but I couldn't, I let them spill and I walk out with balled fist.
"You'll see. I'll get better. I bet you your happiness I will." She bet. And betting is what she'll continue to do.
