Just a Dare

Chapter Thirteen

I hadn't been able to sleep. Another nightmare had plagued my unconsciousness, and I woke from my restless sleep drenched in sweat, my legs tangled up in the sheets. I tore the blankets off of my my body and trudged down the hallway to take a cold shower to cool off.

I tipped my head back, letting the rivulets of icy water trail down my back. My fingers deftly ran through my sticky hair, cleansing it of sweat, and after that I stood beneath the frigid stream of water coming through the showerhead until my whole body was numb to everything around me. Only then did I get out, firmly knotting my towel at my hip after tousling my damp hair with it to dry it a little.

I crept into the hallway, the little night light my mom had plugged into the hall outlet for Jade at night making the droplets of water that clung to my smooth chest and abdomen shine like they were liquid gold. I was about to go back into my room when I heard the soft sound of sniffling, and I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.

My mom was up in her room sobbing softly again.

A prickle of guilt struck me in the gut at the pitiful sound, so I went into my room to put on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt for her sake before I made my way to hers.

The door groaned quietly on its hinges when I pushed it open, and there she was, curled up on their king sized bed in the dark, alone. She sat up when she heard me enter, rubbing her swollen red eyes and roughly, quickly wiping away the tears that spilled over onto her porcelain cheeks as though it made any difference. "Trey, you should be in bed," she whispered hoarsely.

I shook my head, my eyes sad. This broken woman before me with the tangled blonde hair and the desolate, empty blue eyes was my mother now. "No, mom," I said, walking over to the bed in a few long, easy strides and sinking onto the mattress, collecting her small trembling form into my arms, "I'm not leaving you."

I stroked her hair as she broke down and cried into my chest, using my fingers to gently work out all of her tangles. "I'm so sorry, Trey," she kept saying, holding onto my shirt tightly, "I'm sorry."

I just held her, setting my chin on top of her head. "Don't apologize, mom. It wasn't your fault."

She pulled herself away then, shaking her head. "I'm not talking about your father, Trey."

My brows knitted together. "What are you talking about, then?" I asked her.

She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked herself forward and backward, closing her eyes. It was alarming to look at her, because even in the dim light I could see how tiny she was now, her clothes hanging loosely from her malnourished body. My heart clenched-how had I not noticed the skipped meals (blamed on being held up at work most of the time)? Or the way she really only ever picked at her food these days, never really seeming too interested in it?

As a matter of fact, ever since my dad had died, I had sort of had to take over the cooking. It wasn't a big deal other than the fact that Jade was as annoying as always, never letting me take a breath without being on my case. I never really paid attention to those things because I had been too blind by my own grief from the loss, and now I was suddenly ashamed of myself.

What kind of son was I, then, to not see how my own mother-who had carried me for nine months, who had taken care of me all this time, and who had been there for me unfailingly during my darkest moments-was neglecting herself?

But now was not the time or place to discuss that, I was smart enough to realize that much, so I filed away the information in my brain so that I would remember to keep a closer eye on her in the future at mealtimes and chastise her when she wasn't eating enough (or at all).