obsession

twelve

* a little graphic towards the end, kinda :P love u!*

When I was younger, my mother and father used to take me to the same aquarium almost every weekend. I would beg and beg and beg and eventually, they'd give in, drive the hour to this magical place, buy me a chocolate ice cream cone, and take me to the section where the otters were. 

I would stand by the glass for hours, just giggling and pointing at the silly otters holding hands with each other as they slept, drifting off to nowhere in particular. My parents would just watch me, and smile, and when I turned around to exclaim something, they would always be holding hands. 

This was a long time ago, when I was still tripping over my own feet. When my parents were still smiling together- gentle smiles, I never saw a true, ecstatic happiness radiating between them. This was when my mother was still alive. 

We stopped going to the aquarium long before she died, but it was after she was gone when I started to yearn for the otter exhibit, where it was dark, and cold, and reeked of popcorn and dirt. I would wear her sweaters, and pretend that she was enveloping me into a warm hug. After awhile, when I would go to grab her sweaters, they were all gone. I saw them in the garbage can one afternoon. I took the blueberry one, the one she wore on special occasions.

My mother never wore short-sleeves. As a child, it didn't occur to me why.

I stood in front of the mirror, toying with my necklace, staring directly at the blue sweater hanging off of me. It didn't look good on me- it only looked good on my mother. I looked odd, and small, whereas she was long and beautiful. 

Jane tapped on the door with her knuckles gently. She walked in a moment after, and gave me a smile. 

"Hey, kiddo, how are you holding up?"

I turn back to the mirror and stare at myself, the bags underneath my eyes prominent. I shrug. "I don't know. Worried."

"I know, Tate," she sighs, and comes in, and holds me. We both look at each other in the reflection. "I wish I could tell you that everything will be okay. I can't promise you that. But I can promise that I will be here every step of the way."

"I know," I say softly. "You're making it sound like she's already dead."

She goes quiet. Her eyes narrow. "Is that a hickey?"

"What?"

She turns me around to face her and lowers the collar of my mother's sweater. Her lips part. "Tate, that is a hickey you have on your neck."

"I.... Yeah," is all I can manage to say. I apologize.

"Don't say sorry to me," she sighs. "Your dad will murder that boy if he sees this, and then he'll murder me for letting this relationship happen."

I frown. "No, he won't. I'm getting older anyway."

"You're still his little baby, Tate."

I scoff. "I hate when he calls me that. I hate being treated like a child."

"Hey, don't get frustrated with me. I'm trying to help you. I know you're going through a hard time right now, and I'm doing my best."

"I'm not mad at you!" I yank off the blue sweater and throw it in the corner, and am back to regular Tate, in a plain green t-shirt. "I'm mad at everything!"

"Look," she sighs. "You need to sleep. I know you're worried about Margot but you need to eat, and you need to rest. Maybe you shouldn't see Kieran for a few days until you're better."