I'll Be Fine

Whirlwind Emotions

I don't know what to think.

Mason didn't kill her intentionally.

Of course, this doesn't lessen my hatred for him in the slightest.

Or does it?

NO, IT DOESN'T, I decide. High or not, Mason still did all those things. It's still all his fault.

HE'S the one who had enemies willing to take such measures as drugging him up.

HE'S the one who wasted away on that couch, hiding out from enemies I didn't even know existed.

HE'S the one who might have me triggered by guys I don't even know just because we're related by law.

I shudder at the thought of the word "related" being used to describe the relationship between Mason and I. Again, I shudder. We have no relationship. We never WILL have a relationship. I want nothing to do with that backstabbing, lazy, no-good, mooching, bastard!

All he ever does is take, take, take. He took away my mom's freedom. While they were married she was either working, asleep, eating, or paying bills. She didn't have time for having fun of any sort.

Except for the one time she light heartedly told me she enjoys sorting papers. Enjoyed,  I remind myself.

As in, no more.

As in, kicked the bucket.

As in, dead. Not coming back. Hasta la vista. See ya in heaven.

Or not. After all, I'm no angel.

Well no duh, Sophia, the voice in my head reasons, if you were an angel you wouldn't have to worry about going to hell!

Have you ever wanted to...oh, I don't know, strangle the voices in your head? Until you realized that they're IN YOUR HEAD?

I do that a lot. Which leads to me mentally  strangling the voices in my head.

Which doesn't help at all, but still. It's nice to know at least I have that kind of power up there.

I sit in the small chair, staring at the wall. I'm trying to keep my thoughts happy and joking, but it's impossible. Every happy thought is overcome with 50 million sad ones. It's never hit me until now. And it feels like a ton of bricks.

Mom won't walk me down the isle at my wedding.

She'll never meet her grandchildren.

Josephine Allen (she had such a beautiful name..) wouldn't retire from her stupid-busy job.

All those hours? They were for nothing. She was always saving up to renovate the house. Said it was her only passion in life. But that house is still a trainwreck. If anything, more so now than ever before.

Because now I know she won't be returning. She's checked out of this world and entered the next. I hope it's peaceful, at least...

But I know better. People like us, people like her,  don't get a break anywhere. We don't fit in anywhere. We have to work for everything we've got, and it's unfair. Why do working class women like my mother have to waste away their lives behind computer screens and constantly be on the phone with clients, while the rich people of the world relax in lounge chairs, being served hand and foot by butlers and maids?

I wish my mother would've taken my advice years ago. "Get a divorce, mom," I always told her, "Mason is no good for you!" But she'd always say, confidence in her tone, "I love Mason, and I know he loves me. He loves you, too. He does everything he can to provide for us. Isn't that enough for you?" She always knew how to use her words wisely. I'd always end up either A) feeling like a spoiled, privileged brat or B) feeling like a servant by the end of any of our conversations.