Sad, Beautiful, Tragic

Chapter 4 - Everything You Need

After spending what feels like another hour in the elevator crying, I decide it's time that I go back to the apartment. Even in her distraught state, I'm sure my mother is worried sick. I shouldn't have left after everything she's been through with Luke, I know that it was selfish. But I couldn't handle it. I couldn't deal with the reminder that I was the one who killed my brother. I'm the reason he's dead.

The elevator dinged when it reached the top floor and I sucked in a breath as I stepped through the doors.

My mother was nowhere in sight, but the destroyed living room was what caught my eyes immediately.

The glass coffee table was smashed into a million pieces and scattered throughout the room. Flowers were against the base of the wall, as if their vases were thrown against the walls themselves. Couch cushions and pillows were thrown everywhere, some with their stuffing flowing out. How did she manage to rip the pillows open? I got angry the more I looked at the room. Why did she do this?

"Mom!" I screamed. I felt my cheeks flush with anger as I stormed to her room. I didn't even bother knocking, I just shoved the door open. Her small, frail body was spread out across her bed. She was hugging her pillow so tightly, even in her sleep. As angry as I am, I don't have the heart to wake her. Hopefully she'll sleep off this version of herself. Everything in her room seemed to be normal. I slowly walked over to her bed to pull the cover over her, but something on the night stand caught my eye. A medicine bottle.

Prozac.

The bottle was filled out under her name, but she doesn't have any health issues. Does she?

I quickly walked to the door with the bottle in my hand, not even bothering to put it down. My feet carried me to my room and over to my laptop. I'm sure it's nothing bad, but I want to know what it is my mother is taking and what it's supposed to be helping.

I typed the words on the label into google and waited for the results before clicking the first link.

What is Fluoxetine (Prozac)?

Fluoxetine is a common antidepressant. It is used to treat people with major depressive disorder, bulimia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, panic disorder, and premenstrual dysphoric disorder.

I read over the first sentence for what felt like a million times. My mother is depressed? I continued reading only to be further annoyed. If she was depressed or anxious or panicked, she would tell me, wouldn't she?

Of course she wouldn't. She wouldn't want me to feel like I'm responsible for it, even though I am. Some days she goes out of her way to tell me that none of what happened to Luke is my fault, but I know that's a lie. When she's angry, she's not trying to protect my feelings. She's honest. Brutally honest, but still honest nonetheless. Everything she's feeling comes out when she's in that state and I know that she blames me for it all. If it would have been me instead of Luke, she wouldn't be like this. I put her through hell nearly every day while Luke was there to pick up the pieces. Who's going to do that now that he's gone? I will keep messing up and my mother will sink further into depression. But Luke isn't here to save either of us from drowning in the sea of despair I've created.

**

Sunlight poured through my window and seeped through my covers. I flung them off of me, desperate for cool air. A rattling noise coming from my blanket caught my attention. I felt around until my hand clasped around a bottle of pills. My mother's pills.

"Shit," I mutter before sitting up. I know she'll be looking for them and I don't feel like getting yelled at, but if anyone should be pissed off, it's me.

She destroys the living room, has a medical problem that she never told me about and God only knows how long she's been taking medicine for it.

I know she blames me for what happened with Luke, but does she hate me that much that she can't tell me when she's sick and needs help? I could do something. Anything, really, to prove that I'm here for her.

"Carson!" My mother's voice booms through the hallway.

"Shit, shit, shit." I stumble out of bed and fix my hair the best I can before she throws the bedroom door open. Her eyes immediately search the room and land on the bottle of pills in my hand.

"I knew it!" She marched over to me and snatched the bottle from my hand. I winced at the harsh contact and backed up a few steps.

"I didn't mean to take them," I stutter. "I just wanted to know what they were for, so I typed the name in on google and I guess I forgot to put them back."

"You weren't supposed to know about them," she sighed.

"Why not?" I nearly demand. "Mom, you're sick."

"I'm not sick!" She defends. "I just.. I just need a little help sometimes." She ran her fingers through her hair before resting on the edge of my bed. "I'm your mother. I'm supposed to set an example. If I show that I'm weak and sick, what kind of person will that teach you to be? You're something I never could be. Strong. And you've further proven that with the way you've handled everything in the last five months. I know I give you so much grief about Luke, and maybe that's the way I learned to cope with it.. But it's not right. I don't want you to feel responsible for what happened, even if I say something to contradict that."

"Mom.."

"Shh, baby girl. Let me finish." She gently pulled my arms so that I was sitting next to her. "I love you so very much. My actions don't always prove it, but I do. If you take anything away from this, let it be that. You're all I have left now."

Those words don't comfort me as much as they should. I know that I'm all she has left, and she's the same for me. She's all I have left in the world. But I can't be everything she expects and everything she needs. I mess up, I make mistakes. More often than not, we're fighting. I've been everything for her these past five months because I know she can't be alone, but I'm being smothered. But it's my fault things are this way. I did this to our family.

"Needing help doesn't make you weak, mom. You suffered a tragedy, something no parent should ever have to go through." I shake my head. How could she possibly think this makes her weak? "I can't be locked up like you. All I think about is Luke when I'm here. Every single thing in this place is a reminder that I lost my brother, that our home will never be a home again because he's not here." I grab her hand as I continue, telling her words I've never dared to before. "I'm not stronger because I leave the house. If anything, I'm the weak one. I can't deal with being surrounded by his things without breaking down. At least in the real world, there are distractions. I never thought I'd ever say I'd be happy to go to school, but most days I am. It's stressful and it's draining, but it's a distraction."

We sit in silence for what feels like hours. My mind is still reeling from the fact that my mother felt the need to hide something so important from me. Her hand is still in mine and we're both staring off in the distance. At what, I don't know.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks.

"You're right," she says in a shaky voice. "I shouldn't live my life cooped up here. I shouldn't be afraid to go on without Luke. He wouldn't have wanted this."

I nod my head slowly, waiting for the right words to come along. Luke was so happy-go-lucky. The complete opposite of me. He wouldn't have wanted this for either of us.

"Mom.." I barely whisper. "You can't keep punishing me. I'm trying to deal with this just like you. You can't keep blaming me when I say something you don't like."

Now she nods. A single tear falling down her cheek. "I know."

We sit like that for a while longer before she forces herself up. She lets go of my hand with one hand and tightens her grip on the medicine bottle in the other. "I'm going to go clean up the mess I made," she says as she turns towards the door.

My head hurts. My heart hurts. Everything hurts. I'm beginning to give up hope that I'll ever truly be happy again.

Then a thought strikes me. Have I ever really been happy?