Miss Incomplete | ✓

53 | He Loves Me

"What do you mean, Tamika?" My father asks in reply, his brows string together as he reaches out for my mother, who pulls back. A hand on a suitcase as she looks to my father.

"I can't. The kids, this whole–this whole place. I can't do it anymore."

"What are you talking about? Is it because of the money? Sweetheart, I'm trying to pay them as fast as I can—"

"It's not that." My mother clarifies, her eyes found the floor, "I just don't think I can see myself with you anymore. I don't want to do this anymore. The kids, you, it's all too much."

My father doesn't reply, his eyes on his wife, "what are you saying?" His eyes in disbelief of the whole scene, he doesn't trust his words, his own theories, he wanted to be proven wrong. "Do you want to leave?"

My mother nods, "I want to leave, yes."

"But the children, they need their mother—"

"Kenji is barely a year old, and Francena is only four. They can have their father."

"Tamika..." My father draws, "don't do this. Don't do this to them, to me."

"Kyosuke," my mother draws, my father's name on the tip of her tongue as she tries to tame a last string of emotion, "I don't love you anymore. I don't want this anymore."

With that, a hand on the front door, she leaves.

What they didn't know, was their four year old daughter hanging at the staircase as she watches her mother leave her life. And never return.

My mother steps forward, her hand reaches forward as she attempts to take a strand of my hair and move it from my face. I dodge her hand like poison, gaining back consciousness in my body. I move to the side as I step from the door, my back hitting the couch as her dark eyes follow my every move.

"Francena," my mother chokes, her eyes crowding in tears as she grows a smile, "you've grown so much."

I almost wanted to laugh, but instead let out a humourless chuckle. "Yeah, mom, a lot can change in fourteen years, huh?" I stare down at her as I take in her appearance; the last time I saw her, she was sporting on grey baggy clothes, a small suitcase in hand as she was leaving the door, telling my father that she doesn't love him — us — anymore.

Now she's back. With clean cut clothes; a tan sweater and black dress pants stained her body. Her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her eyes, dark and mirrored my own, well they were the same. Drained, tired, and small bags darken under her olive skin. Despite her aging features, she still looked youthful. I couldn't lie; grey hair spotted to the top of her scalp, yet she looks as if she was in her thirties. Prime. "I wonder," I muse, my tone laced in venom as the current thought ran through my head—this woman left me. "If you're still the same. Are you're still gambling every life's bit away at the casinos? Or are you trying new things and moving onto drugs now?"

I knew I was reaching. She was still beautiful; my mirrored eyes staring back at me, my dark roots and her full lips similar to my own. If I hate her, I hate myself. But I wanted her to hurt, every jab I get to send in her direction spit with venom. I don't care if it was true or not, I just wanted her to feel what I felt.

"Reileen," my father caught in a warning tone and I took my eyes off my mother for a moment to see the shadow behind her — my father. He gives me a sharp look, probably hoping for me to stop my attitude and talk to her respectfully, but for what? For the woman that left me when I was barely four years old? The woman who ran down all our money for her gambling addiction and spend them nearly every night? The woman that broke my father. "Be nice."