MY WORST FEARS (Completed)

CHAPTER 17

A/N: Hello friends... This chapter isn't written to provoke any ill feelings. Enjoy your time but don't do anything I've penned down in the last few paragraphs. Your life is precious no matter what you might be going through.

There is always light at the end of the tunnel. Take care. Love you guys.

LAILA'S POV

I opened the front door, heading to my sister's room. I heard something move in the kitchen, so I went to investigate. When I took a closer look, I realized that it was none other than my mum.

"Where were you Laila?" she questioned me, anger tinting her voice.

I didn't look at her. I just waited for her to finish with her lectures.

"Do you know what time it is? Don has been waiting for you the whole day." There I was, back in my world. I let my hands fall by my sides before walking into the kitchen.

"Mum? Why did you bring Jackie back home when the doctor clearly said she needed to be admitted?" I couldn't even begin to comprehend my mother's reckless decisions. When my sister texted me and told me that she was already home, I panicked a little. But, when she said that the doctor had made an error in the collected information, I kind of felt better. I wanted to rush home and figure out exactly what had happened, but I couldn't leave Vicky stranded.

"The doctor gave us the wrong information. Jackie is perfectly fine. It was just the flu and she will be going back to school tomorrow."

I'm not buying this. Since when did the flu make someone have a seizure? Plus, why does Jackie have to go back to school so soon?

"Mum..." I began, but my mother quickly shushed me and continued with her speech.

"Jackie is healthy. You have nothing to worry about. What you should be thinking about right now is how you'll ever get Don to forgive you for acting so foolishly."

I rake my hands through my hair and sigh deeply. What will it take for her to understand? It's not that hard!

"Mum, I am not getting back with Don. We broke up already, I told you. By the way, why is Jackie going back to school tomorrow? She needs enough bed rest, or did you forget already?"

My mother baffled me sometimes. If she just needed a reminder, I'd gladly give her one. As for Don, I was already through with him. I couldn't allow him to treat me as he wished.

My sister was right.

"I told you already, Jackie is doing okay. She has an exam soon and I can't risk her failing her courses. And you, you need to get your life back on track. If you don't get back with Don, forget you even had a mother. I'm sick and tired of you, Laila. Give Don what he wants and stop acting like you're the only one who matters in this house!" My mother was now yelling at me, spittle projectiles flying out of her mouth. She had a crazy, delusional look in her icy brown eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands raised, and she was panting uncontrollably.

Mum was the picture definition of crazy.

I stared up at my mother, paralyzed by her words. My own mother who birthed me was now saying that she was "sick and tired" of me. Those were words that I had never, in a million years expected my mom to utter to me. And straight to my face, no less.

This feeling inside of me, this strange, dark sensation, was growing. It ate all of the previous emotions I had felt around Vicky, Jackie, and everyone else I had ever cared for. My memories were slowly contaminated, one by one, by this sorrowful, depressing ooze flowing through my veins. I felt myself floating out of my body and moving as if to observe the scene from above. I saw the look on my own face, and that was when a realization suddenly hit me.

I would never be the same again.

The lady who used to be my mother walked out of the kitchen. As soon as she had left, I returned to my body and fell to the ground, pulling my legs in so I was lying in a fetal position. My chest heaved with the burden of the words the lady had said, and I began to cry.

It is different when everyone else is against you, but when your mother joins the team, how else are you supposed to feel?

I cried out for almost ten minutes, but my pain still wasn't subsiding. I stood up from my spot and headed for the fridge, looking for coldest ice cream to shove down my throat.

I picked my sister's favourite creamy chocolate marshmallow, hoping it'd quench my rage. She always made them every evening, before having supper. Although it wasn't my favourite one, I still eat it anyways.

Maybe the cold feeling on my chest would numb my pain. It was hard to understand why my mum would treat me that way. Why she wasn't sensitive to any of my feelings. It was like Don was her real son, and I was only a daughter in law.

It hurt. A lot. And I didn't know what to do. How can I save myself from pain that can't go away?

Since that wasn't enough, I decided to try a different method of coping. I took a fork from the counter and started to gently press down on my thighs, drawing intricate designs. My hand was shaking uncontrollable, and I felt myself pushing harder and harder. Eventually, I was tearing my jeans piece by pieces, crying enough water to fill the oceans. I wiped away my tears with the back of hand and sniffled loudly.

I was tired of living. My life was a mess. I searched for ways to numb my pain but it still wasn't enough.

Maybe death was the only way to treat my pain. Dead people don't feel anything. I should die, but how could I do that?

What was the easiest, slowest way to die, without leaving any evidence that I had killed myself?

Wrist cutting? Suffocation? Drowning? I probably wouldn't want to die crying. No going to hell crying, those evil people would think am weak and take advantage of me.

I headed to my room, thinking of the best way to end everything.