But He Loves Me~~{Tyrus} COMPLETED

24

•Cyrus•
JJ breathed in deeply, his eyes dropping slightly while his tiny legs dangled on either side of my left thigh. My hand was placed on his stomach and his chubby hands were on top of mine, one holding onto my pointer finger. His dirty blonde hair was messed up from him playing with it. My mom was sitting next to me on the sofa, watching Frozen with us in the den. She typed on her laptop, smiling over at us occasionally.

My mom has started greeting us as "my boys." It's kind of strange hearing that come from her mouth considering the fact that it was me for sixteen years. It was never strange when I was introduced to James or when my dad stopped talking to me. None of that at a weird taste in my mouth. The only thing that does, is having a brother. Don't get me wrong, I love Jagger more than I've loved anything in my entire life. But it's just weird to see him every morning and think "wow that's my baby brother" when he feels more like my son.

For a year I practically raised Jagger. My mother suffered from postpartum depression for nine months, which is exactly what happened with me. For me it was worse, they say it's because I was her first child, but she couldn't get out of bed for a year and a half. She was crying on my first birthday. With Jagger, I spent my seventeenth birthday changing diapers and playing with a baby. James has to work and I don't trust babysitters with all that stuff happening in the news. So, I raised my baby brother.

When he was nine months old, my mother changed him for the first time. She rocked him for the first time. She played with him and fed him for the first time. She was his mom for the first time. And it terrified me. It was strange watching my mom call him her baby boy and act as though she had been taking care of him. She pretends his first word was "mama" and not "dada" to James and she will say things like "oh look at my boys." I love my mom, but Jagger is practically my child.

Jagger barely trusts my mother. Sure, he calls her Mama and lets her change and feed him, but immediately after she lets him go he runs to either me or James. In a baby's mind, their parents are who they are used to. At least that's how Jagger works. When our mom tried to hold him for the first time since he was born, he cried and screamed and reached out for me. He's okay with her now, but would much rather be with me or James. It makes our mom slightly upset, but she knows it'll fade as he gets older.

"I'll take him to bed, hun." My mom said, getting up and reaching for the sleeping baby on my chest.
"No, he's already on me. I'll do it." I stood and carefully flipped Jagger around on my body.
"Just make sure you-"
"I know what to do. I did this for nine months and you've only been doing it for three." I whispered and walked away.

I know it sounds harsh, but in all honesty she deserves to hear it. I entered Jagger's room, noticing Lola's chair. I smiled at it, laughing a little at the stickers she put on it. Moving past the chair, I placed Jagger into his crib. He didn't wake or stir, just lay there in a still position. One hand on his belly and the other beside his head. I pulled a yellow knitted blanket up to right below his chest, smiling. I kissed the tips of my fingers, softly placing them on his head.

             When I shut the door and went back downstairs I was instantly greeted by my mother. Watery eyes, red face, frown that dropped in an angry way not a sad way. I seem like the worst child, huh? Don't I? Well, I'm finally strong enough to stand up for myself. There's no more demons in my brain to tell me I'm too small. No voice saying, no Cyrus it's your fault that your mom wasn't there for you. It's your fault that Jonah hurt you. It's your fault that you have to spend your Junior and Senior year taking care of a baby. Because it isn't my fault. For once, it's not me but it's the people around me. I know that now.

"I can take care of my own son, Cyrus." Her arms were crossed.
"He's more like my son. You aren't around enough." I mumbled, turning off the movie and starting to put toys back into their bin.
"I had postpartum. I can't control that." She whispered, trying not to wake my brother.
"He's a year old, mom. You haven't been around the past three months either. I mean, sure, you've changed a couple diapers and fed him a couple times but you always pass him to me." I stood again, crossing my arms and staring at my mother.
"Are you trying to tell me I don't know how to be a mother?" She asked, her voice getting a bit louder.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. You did okay with me, keeping me alive and such but you were never there for me. You never talked to me. You just shoved me off to therapy and left James to raise me when dad left. Now, you're giving you new and sparkly kid to me and James because you don't want to raise him. You want to keep him alive." I angrily stared at her, watching her get red.

         My mother has always done this thing when she knows I'm right. Her face with get red and she'll start yelling at me why I'm wrong, usually having no argument. Then I cry and she realizes how much it's hurting me. There's just so many things going on with me right now and she doesn't see any of them. Sure, I'm happier, but I want to relapse every single day. TJ notices, Buffy notices, James notices, for Christ sake even Porter notices. Everyone except my mother because she wants to believe everything is perfectly fine. She wants to look at me and say "oh my perfect boy." But she can't do that, and that's what makes her not care. I can't be her perfect boy. Her perfect son.

       "I know how to raise a baby, Cyrus. I raised you, didn't I?" I shook my head, stepping closer to her.
"No. You kept me alive. Until I was ten I was raised by dad, then you married James a year later and I was raised by him. I was brought up and morphed into who I am by my friends and my step-father. Anyone who I crossed paths with raised me. Except for you. If you had raised me and cared for me like a mother, you would've noticed when I stopped smiling in pictures. You would've noticed something was wrong way before it got out of hand. You would've noticed the bruises and the blood. You would have known I was going to attempt suicide for a seventh time, but you stopped caring after the second time. You stopped being a mom when you didn't want to be a mom."
"I took care of you! I made sure you were okay!" She screamed, instantly gaining a cry from upstairs.
"Great, now he's awake and won't go down for another three hours." I moved past her to go up the stairs.
"He's fine. He'll fall asleep if we leave him." I scoffed at my mother.
"That couldn't be more incorrect. See, you don't even know you're own son."

           I turned, practically running up the steps. I opened the door to the room, noticing how everything in here would make people assume he's my son. Every single thing in here was purchased by family at the baby shower or by TJ and I. I decorated it and ordered all the furniture. Everything is me, not my mom.

      "Hi sweet boy." I whispered as I lifted my brother out of his crib. I sat down in my rocking chair, holding him to my chest. His breath was quick as his tears slowed down and his tiny fists held my shirt. Jagger reached for my hand and held it at his head. He's been doing that since he was born, holding me hand. It's calming.

        "You're good with him, Cy. Really good with him." I flipped him so his head was resting against my shoulder as I rocked the chair back and forth. My mother stood in the doorway, smiling at us. Her boys. Her fucking perfect and beautiful boys that she gave up on. One faster than the other.
"Kind of have to be." She walked over, about to sit in TJ's chair until I shot her a look. She placed herself on the floor in front of me, her hands on my knees.
"Listen, you have every right to be angry with me. I put on a show that I cared and knew everything about you when I didn't. I acted like I was some perfect mom when in reality I gave up on trying to parent and got too caught up in my own mind. And you were right, I should've known. I did know. The whole time I knew something was wrong but I was just hoping so hard that it wasn't. Which just justify it, but it's true. And I understand you being territorial with JC. You were like his father for the first nine months and pretty much these last three months too. You don't have to forgive me and you don't have to trust me or love me, but please let me have another chance. Let me raise my son." Tears left her eyes, wet lines forming on her face.
"Rus swee-y!" Jagger cried out, gripping me tightly. He says that when he's tired. Because of how small he is, he doesn't know how to say my name or use the letter p.
"I know baby, I know." I stroked his little curls, looking at my mom.
"Please." She begged.
"Okay." I mumbled, my mom standing. She placed a kiss on my head.
"I love you, Cyrus."
"I love you too, mom."

Word Count: 1,750