Sunny and Alex

Mother

I wake sweating like crazy. My sheets are soaked along with my clothes. They cling to my skin like an extra small t-shirt on me. I sit up in bed panting trying to clear my head. I push my hair out of my face, but it sticks to my hot body. I get up to cool off a bit and shower off all of the sweat. I stick to the sheets and I have to pull them off of my thighs. I grab my phone checking the time. It's 2:30 am, only 13 hours and 30 minutes till I come home to find her there. I pull the curtains back looking out into the street. It's pitch black outside and the only light is coming from the street lamp down the road. I stand there for a while picturing the day of her death. What it was like before I knew. What it was like when I was walking home from school. I was wearing my new clothes that my mother had picked out the day before. She said I should wear this to look pretty, and maybe get a boyfriend. I chuckle a little at that memory, but it fades quickly. I picture my smiling face when I skipped up the stairs to the bathroom. Earlier that day I had gotten a compliment from one of the big populars. I was going to tell my mother once she got back from her part-time job down at the pet clinic. I remember when I turned the doorknob...my face still smiling till she hit my chest. All of my happy thoughts had disappeared even the one about the flirtatious jock. I sat down right on the bloody floor tiles. My floral skirt was soaked through with blood along with my low cut blue shirt. I was too shocked to cry or even talk. My mother's face was torn at the mouth. Pieces of her cheeks were left hanging, flapping around as I moved her. Her eyes were still opened, looking right into mine. I thought for a second that she was faking it, that she was playing some sick joke. Maybe she was still alive because the way her eyes looked at me. Those thoughts vanished quickly as I realized that this wasn't a prank and that she was dead. My mother age 36 shot herself upstairs, fifteen minutes before I would get home. Two weeks before my birthday, two weeks till I would turn 15, and two weeks till my dad would first rape me. That was three years ago, well in 13 hours and 10 minutes.

My mother never seemed unhappy around me, she never fought with my father, and she always helped people. Maybe helping others was a way to escape reality. Like maybe if she made other people happy it would make her believe she was actually happy. I never thought for one second that she didn't want to be alive. She would always give hugs and kisses every day. She read books to me, played dress up when no one else wanted to, and she was loving. My mother was perfect to me, but clearly, she didn't feel that way. I don't really know what lead her to the decision to kill herself. I don't think my father had anything to cause her death. He never hit her, he was always home on time, he didn't drink till after seven o'clock at night, and he always loved her. She was the glue that held us all together, but after she died we ran out of glue. My father left his married life and turned evil. I think my father never really liked me because he would never pay attention to me. Maybe when my mother died it was perfect timing to show his real opinions about me. He blamed me for her death because he thought I was the wrench that was pulling us apart. When I was born my mother was the only one to look after me. He would have an excuse to why he couldn't care for me. So really I was the reason my mother killed herself, I'm the poison and I need to be stopped...

I finally get to the bathroom to take a shower. I fall back when I open the door because I can see my mother. Blood pours out of her, but the image fades as quick as I hit the ground. I sit there with my legs twisted underneath me looking at the stained tile flooring. We couldn't get out all of the blood, we had bought around five bottles of bleach, so a part of her is still here. The memory disappears as I turn on the hot water. Steam starts to rise as the temperature gets hotter. I wipe off the mirror from all the steam, looking at my swollen face. The tears had left my eyes swollen red and made my cheeks bright pink. I step into the bathtub letting the boiling hot water hit my face like lava. I watch the water pour down the drain as I put my head under the water. The water burns my skin the more I try to was up. My skin goes from a warm beige color to red. I want to turn the water down, but my body stops me from moving. Instead, I stand there letting the water wash over me. I shut my eyes tight when my mother's memories take over my body. I can still her get ready for her last. Drinking a glass of wine in the tub, eating leftover turkey sandwiches, and watching our favorite romance movie one last time. As the memories pour into my head I crouch down in the tub. I crouch in a fetal position as everything my mother had ever done flashed before me. I don't hear a knock on the door as I cry, I don't hear my father walk in, and I don't hear him turn off the water grabbing my arm. His grip tightens when I realize he was there. I get enough courage to look at him in the eyes. His face is angry and probably drunk. I try to stand my ground as he pulls harder for me to get out of the bathroom. I need my punishment, I need to be taught a lesson, and I need to die.