When I awoke, it was in my own bed again.
My head was killing me, and everything was pitch black. I blinked blearily in the oppressing darkness, and groaned. The blinds in my room were still closed, and since I couldn't feel the wind washing over my sheets, I knew that my windows were closed as well.
What happened?
Slowly, but surely, my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I began to see again.
I lifted my arms slowly, and touched my bare skin.
I wasn't dead yet.
So, what happened?
Random thoughts swam around my head blearily as I blinked the sleep out of my eyes. I pushed myself up, and looked around. Everything was a blurry, unfocused mess.
What the hell happened?
Suddenly, I spotted something on my dresser.
I flicked on the nightlight I had since I was a little kid, and stared.
It was a bowl of stir fry.
I stretched out my arm, and touched the cool, cracked wood of the age-old dresser. I traced my finger along its rough edges until, finally, I touched the smooth porcelain bowl. It was cold to the touch, and sleek.
It was real.
It was there.
It was stir fry.
I laughed suddenly, a disbelieving cough that didn't seem to hurt.
It was stir fry.
A memory floated to the forefront of my mind, the whisperings of an echo from a time so seemingly long ago.
You lucky bastard.
Your mom's stir fry is freaking legendary.
Share?
Pretty, pretty please?
A lone tear slipped from my eye.
Mom...
She- after all this time- she-
I can't believe-
She-
She still loves me...
She still loves me.
She still loves me!
Momma's still got me!
Oh God.
I was so horrible to her, I was so, so horrible to her!
Everything I did- all the times I yelled at her, to the times I refused to eat, to the times I threw away my pills, slammed back into me with the force of a tsunami wave, and I crumped underneath its force. And I started crying.
As in, horrible, heart stopping crying.
I was such a bad son!
I was such a piece of shit!
YOU ARE READING
To Love the Rain
Conto"I'd write and sing every single day. I'd scream and dance and take all the crazy chances and shoot my shot with all the people who might never see me that way. I wouldn't plan it either; it would just be raw and real and aching with the desperation...