Spooky

Chapter 36

{Author's Note: Huge trigger warning in this chapter for self-harm & suicidal ideation. Please skip this chapter if that upsets you!}

-Shadow's POV-

Tonight is not a good night. I can't sleep despite feeling so, so exhausted, and thus I'm sitting on the floor of my room in front of the window, staring at my crystals. Some odds-and-ends trinkets from my mother lurk behind them now, and I'm ever-aware of their presence scattered around my room. Little torn pieces of her thoughts of me, useless knickknacks from around the globe. A black Chinese Lucky Cat with red trim. A snow globe with a city inside. Pointless, purposeless tripe that once held value to me, once were beacons of hope—she didn't forget me. She saw this and thought of me. She wants to come home.

When I was younger, that felt real. It felt like, no matter how much she was gone, she would always rather be here. I dismissed her distracted behavior when she was here as stress. I pretended the lackluster impromptu birthdays days or weeks late were just part of her job's schedule. But I don't know anymore. When she's gone, she doesn't answer my texts; we only speak on her terms. I gave up texting a year ago, of course, but I still remember my last message. "i miss u mom..." Her read-receipts are off. I still don't know if she ever saw it. Does she bother to read them? Did she ever? All her letters are so bland. Our conversations feel more like a rehearsed play than genuine dialogue. This dance we've done has gone on for far too long, and my heart is heavy. Part of me wonders if she regrets adopting me, in hindsight—would she still have done it, knowing her wife would die? Knowing her job would consume her life? I'm not a naïve kid anymore. I know she flung herself into her work to grieve, and maybe she is still grieving. But fuck, so was—am!—I, yet what do I have for a distraction? Nothing. I have nothing and no one. Am I even alive? Should I even live? Who would know? Who would grieve for me?

I've been staring at the moon outside for so long my eyes burn and I can't see. I blink, lowering my head and rubbing at my eyes, grumbling quietly. I fix my eyes to the wall beneath the window, waiting for my vision to clear, and I spot something rectangular and glossed, laminated maybe, on the floor. Impulsively I reach for it, and when I have it in my hands I know what it is. My latest postcard. I haven't really examined it since it came in; I turn it over in my hands as my eyes finally recover.

"Wish You Were Here!" it proclaims, fancy fake cursive on a photo of some city I've never even heard of. My eyes suddenly burn with tears and I fling it across the room, trembling with upset. No, I don't! I shout internally. I don't wish I were there! I just want you to be here! All the pain I didn't feel when she called me is hitting me all at once, and I just can't take it anymore. The numbness has been replaced with pure agony, just as I was getting used to being so cold and dead. My breathing is ragged and I curl into a ball, shaking, clawing out my own hair in frustration. Gone again! Another Christmas alone, postage delayed because even the mailmen have a family they'd rather be with. And where is my one remaining parent? Halfway across the globe. My claws tear into my skin, drawing blood, and I shiver as pain lances through me. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be alive! A cold knife of self-hatred spears my heart, and I tear at myself again, leaving bloody claw-marks across my arms and chest. Tears start rolling down my cheeks, a mixture of pain and despair. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know this is a bad idea, I know I'm not alone, I know she's coming home eventually, but I can't stop myself. I feel like a man possessed, not in control of my own body, unable to force myself to even slow down. The pain will clear my mind, I convince myself, the pain will replace everything else. I dig my claws in deeper and deeper, grinding my teeth together as I try to keep my sobs from escaping, but it isn't working. Nothing's working. Shaking harder than before, I suck in a deep breath, lifting my hand to my throat, swallowing hard as I feel my claw graze the side of my neck. The only thing separating me from that vital vein is a mere half-inch of fur and flesh...