Ink Stains

Chapter 7

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When I woke up the next morning, my stomach doesn’t lightly flutter with the sudden realization that a boy had actually taken an interest in me. It hits me like a truck.

I lugged myself down my steps to find my mother and brother sitting in the living room too formally. Of course, Jasp was playing with his toy trains as always, but my mother had her lips pursed tightly and her fingers clinging to her car keys.

“I just got a call from Doctor Chan,” she said stiffly. “Is it true?”

I tensed, forgetting my previous troubles. The least thing I needed was a furious mother at that time. I enjoyed the majority of the time where she ignored my existence, but that small portion of time where she did pay attention to me I’d wish that I was never born. “What’s true?” I asked innocently.

“About your brother. Have been keeping such a serious condition a secret from me for months now?” Everything about her was intimidating. She was a Catholic school teacher, so I guess cruel and unusual punishments were her specialties.

Naturally, I tensed all of my muscles up upon coming within a dangerous vicinity. I’ve never trusted most people to begin with, so this was something of a regular occurrence for me. “Yes,” I answered. My voice somehow didn’t tremble with fear for her upcoming reaction.

She rose from her seat on our perfectly cleaned leather sofa and brushed nonexistent rubbish from her skirt. Within the past few days, there had been way too many surprises for me to handle. My mother just had to offer yet another one to me, didn’t she?

My mother proceeded to wrap her bony arms around me and pull me into a bone-crushing hug. “That’s so kind of you to protect your mother from the truth. Jesus is proud of you for being a brave sister,” she gushed. “I can handle it, honey. I’ll make sure Jasper gets as much help as he needs.”

“Okay?”

She kissed the top of my head as if I weren’t sixteen years old. To her, I suppose I was only a preteen awaiting adulthood with eagerness. My mother didn’t know that I was running away from everything. “Is that why you have those awful marks on your arms?” she inquired, glancing downwards towards my writings.

“Yes,” I lied. “Of course it is. Since I couldn’t talk to you, I guess I talked to myself here.”

So maybe it wasn’t entirely a lie. My stories do incorporate a mother reaching out for her daughter with open arms, something that has never made its way into my life.

My mother finally released me, and then checked her iPhone. “Your father is going to back from that mission trip soon!” she exclaimed. “We’ll prepare a dinner for him after you bring your brother to the hospital for therapy.”

“Sounds good,” I said quietly, my eyes practically gleaming with contentment. “That sounds good, mom.”

--

Asher and his multiple books lay strewn in front of my locker, his nose stuck between the pages of The Great Gatsby. He didn’t catch glimpse of me until I kicked over a Shakespeare collection book.

“Is it more, or is Gatsby an idiot?” he pondered, tapping his chin with on hand while holding his place with the other.

I pushed him over to the side in order to open my locker. “You’re the genius. You tell me,” I replied.

He got to his feet and pressed the book into my hands. “Gatsby strikes me as a desperate fool.”

“I guess he isn’t too different from yourself.”