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51. Suffocating Memories

Six months earlier...

I'd lost count of the days of being surrounded by the pungent smell of acidic staleness. Normally, she would have passed out by now. This alcohol-fuelled session had lasted longer than usual.

I rarely make wishes but every day for the last week, I had wished to return to find her unconscious. She always improved after passing out, even if it was only for a few weeks.

My wish still hasn't been granted and I was exhausted. Her alcohol-induced stupor meant I had to take on her jobs and still complete my own. Washing, drying, collections, deliveries meant days of minimal sleep.

I couldn't let standards slip. I had customers to keep happy. So when my mother had poured bleach into the machine with dark sheets, vomited over freshly cleaned piles of laundry and messed with the orders, which meant I didn't know what belonged to who, my barely-held-together-self broke.

Retreating to my bed, familiar bleak thoughts washed over me. Except this time, I couldn't muster one single movement. For the hours I lay motionless, all I could think was this is it. This is my life and it will never get better. I'd finally hit rock bottom. I was completely and utterly destroyed.

It wasn't just specifically the incidents with the bleach or the vomit or the fact I would have to admit to my customers there'd be delays which triggered my epic meltdown. It was a build-up of years and years of running away, of being lonely, of a mother slowly drinking herself to death. My friendship with Jas served only as a reminder that I'd never had a true friend in my life and now I was resorting to spending time with an old man who I knew little about, who I lied to, who made money from renting rooms illegally to adulterers, prostitutes or lustful young couples yearning for intimacy. I'm not judging, I made money from his business but for once I wanted to be a normal, law-abiding citizen.

My whole life was a series of failures, screw-ups and I finally thought what is the point of life? More of this? No thank you.

Night had descended and my mother was heaving into the battered yellow-stained toilet for the sixth time in the last twelve hours. I layered on mounds of clothes and walked towards the river, stuffing bricks into my pocket on the way.

Looking back, I wonder if I'd planned my suicide, if subconsciously I anticipated it would come to this because even though everything felt distant and unreal, I seemed to know exactly what I was doing.

On the edge of the river, the warm wind licked my face, teasing me and encouraging me to jump. I tipped further forward, the bricks pulling me down towards my final destination except as I tilted closer to the water I halted. A noise had made me pause and before I registered what I was doing, I was running back to our shop and my mum was gone. She must have seen my partly empty drawers and assumed I'd ran away without her. She risked venturing outside to search for me in her intoxicated state.

Staring at her being beaten by the Official, I knew full well it was my fault, I was to blame. My rage was not solely directed at the Official, rather it was fuelled by hatred for myself, for my selfishness and weakness at not controlling my emotions and for being too pathetic to even go through with my death.

Author's note

It's a bit heavy this chapter :(