A love story
Chapters with * next to the number may contain sensitive content.
WARNING: contains strong language, violence, sexuality, emotional trauma, drug use, and other content suited for mature audiences. Don't read if you're a pansy.
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I slowly crept into the dimly lit room, my mother's soft breaths pumping out into the stale air. My stomach twisted as I pressed my foot down against the creaking floorboards. I was sad, so, so sad. I knew mom was sick. I didn't know she was dying, but somehow in the back of my mind I did. I just never imagined it happening.
She was flat on her back, the bed swallowing her up. I gently rested down beside her. "Mom?" I whispered, touching her shoulder with my small fingers.
She murmured something, heavily intoxicated with prescription painkillers and sleep medication. I wondered what would kill her first: the cancer or the pills.
My mom had what seemed like constant chronic pain. She was injured in a nearly fatal car crash when she was sixteen and never was the same way again. I asked her to please reduce the meds, but she was in such agony. I knew it would never be done.
I remembered her when I was younger, before she was too ill to leave her bed. Her pain wasn't as intense, she could sit on the front porch and watch me run around the tall grass while the summer heat tanned our skin. She could pick flowers and sprinkle their petals over my face while we laid on the soft earth. I missed running into her arms and having her spin me. I missed long walks and long conversations. I missed hugs that seemed to last a lifetime, but still didn't satisfy. I missed her, the real her.
She wasn't the same now. Her voice was broken when she spoke, her eyes were wrinkled and heavy, her skin pale as the moon. She was asleep mostly. She barely ate, barely talked. Some days I was afraid she wouldn't even remember me.
Her cancer had stayed trapped in her lungs, but we feared its exploration into other zones of her body. She could barely stand up without running out of breath completely. She would cough up blood from the strain on her dry throat. Sometimes she couldn't even breathe. She couldn't attend physical therapy anymore, which magnified her chronic pain. Her life was torture. I wondered if she wanted to die.
I wanted to talk to her, one last time. I wanted to leave in peace. I had my bag packed, my mind set. I couldn't withstand my life here any longer. I couldn't handle Anthony's grimy fingers wrapping around my wrists and holding me down anymore. I never was with my mother anymore. I was his slave. I wanted to take control of my life.
"Mommy," I shook her shoulder tenderly.
Her eyelids finally began to break open, the soft green color dull. "Baby?" She breathed, peering up at me through a groggy trance.
"It's me." I returned softly, a small smile creeping onto my lips. I had so much love for her, so much love. She was so beautiful and funny, so unlike anyone I had ever known. At least that was how she used to be.
"What's...wro...ng." I could easily detect how exhausted she was. I felt guilty for waking her, but I would never, ever leave without saying goodbye.
