I didn't want to be here. I wanted to end it, but she wouldn't let me. So now, I follow her to find a way out of this prison.
I didn't want to be here. I didn't know why we were there in the first place, so why would ending it be bad? I tried, but she wouldn't let me. I couldn't leave her, for she had no intentions of going without me. Now, I follow her, to find a way back home.
No editor, so I appriciate feedback. Rated Teen for swearing and depressing/suicidal themes. Inspired by one of the best fics I've read in a while, Grow Me a Garden of Roses.
I laughed. I laughed so softly, no one could hear me. They never heard me when I spoke, so why should laugher be different? Or any emotion, for that matter? After all, words are based on emotion. I wanted to leave them. I wanted to show them how much they'd miss my soft laughter, but I knew no one would notice. I gave up, or so I thought. I saw them, crouched over me. Had they heard my laugh? Probably. I was never the best at being soft-voiced when I wanted to. They all looked worried, but I had no idea why. I'd been depressed for the longest time, and they should know that. Was it my laughter? Was it even laughing? I don't think so. I think I had cried. I had cried aloud for the first time in years.
She walked up to me, and laid a hand on my shoulder. She whispered to me, "you don't have to to this." Her voice shook with the rest of her body. She struggled just to keep her hand on my shoulder. I stared back at her, fighting back the tears in my eyes. I was such a coward...I couldn't even choke a response out. I should've. It was selfish of me to keep it in. Yet, there I was, letting out the pent-up tears. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push her to the ground and tell her this was her fault. It wasn't though, it was my fault. It always had been, I just didn't realize it. I forced my eyes shut. I thought if I closed them hard enough, the tears would stop streaming from my eyes.
I couldn't have been more wrong. How childish of me. Had it really been that long since I'd cried that I couldn't even remember that closing your eyes only makes the tears flow faster? I couldn't do it. I couldn't sit there any longer, just holding the knife. My arm screamed to do something, but my heart kept fighting it. Even though I hated her, I loved her. I couldn't leave her like this... It'd be selfish. I needed to tell her, but my lips refused to open. I leaned forward, or at least I tried to. I then looked down to realize my torso had been tied to the chair. I didn't care. I forced my body against the ropes. It hurt. They were rougher than is anticipated, but it still didn't stop me. I saw her there, laying on the floor. She looked as though her own tears may flow at the drop of a hat. Shock surged throughout my body. Had I really shoved her down? I didn't think so. I didn't have the courage to.
"Why are you doing this, sweetie? D-Do you even know how much momma loves you?" her words sliced through me, sharper than my knife could ever be. I forced myself in front of her, the chair clinging to my back as I feel to my knees. I cringed as the ropes seemingly got tighter. I looked around, trying to find a face that had tied these chains tighter. I was slapped with the reality that it was just her and me in this cramped room. I could've sworn there were more people, but I suppose they'd left. Either that, or I really had become insane from being trapped here. I looked back at her. "Do you...?" she whispered.
"O-Of course I know you love me!" I yelled at her without thinking. My tears finally stopped flowing. I let go of a deep breath. She hoisted herself up with her arms, laying awkwardly beneath me. She sighed, grabbing my cheek. She coughed, trying to speak. Her voice was raspy and hoarse, almost as though she'd been crying much before talking to me.
"Then...why...? Why, Trissy? Tell me why!" I felt a sting on my cheek as she slapped me. I couldn't move, the chair had been heavier than I'd anticipated. We sat in silence for a moment, before she screamed at me again, followed by another slap. "Tell me, dammit!" Tears began to stream down her face, so she turned her eyes toward the wooden floor. "Tell me!"
"I-I...!" I couldn't bear seeing her like this. Her golden hair tussled, frizzy, dirty, unmanaged... Her big blue eyes bloodshot, filed with tears, and bearing large dark circles. Her young, tanned skin suddenly looked wrinkled and pale. I could see her once toned muscles sagging. Her ankles had scars all around them. "I did this to you! You're upset because of me...If I left...you'd... You'd heal! M-Mom..."
"You'd think that losing my only son would make me heal? Is that it? Tristan, no! I've been up thinking about you every night..." she sobbed. Her voice cracked as she spoke. Her tears hit the old floor, so she stopped trying to hide it. She looked me straight in the eyes. I felt powerless against her gaze.
"Exactly! So if I left...you'd heal! You'd never have to worry about me again..." I cried. How could I hate her, how could I say she'd done this to me? She'd done nothing. I loved her, more than humanly possible. How could I leave her here...alone? She'd have no one left. Did I really love her? Did I...?
"Mommy, why are there scars on your ankles?"
"Don't worry about them, Trissy."
I jolted back as the memory haunted me. The first time I'd seen her scars. I didn't know what they meant, and she wouldn't tell me. Now I know. How could I leave her, knowing my death would only cause her more scars? I...I was acting like a child once more. "I-I can't leave you, not like this," I mumbled. She tried to smile, I could tell. That look in her eyes returned. That look she had when Dad had come home. That look when I finally told her I'd given up the pills. The look of...healing.
"B-But we'll never be home again. We're stuck here...forever." I sighed as my reason for holding the knife resurfaced. At least, one of the reasons. "D-Dad...he came home for nothing."
"N-No," she told me. "We will find a way home, if it's the last thing we do. N-now...come, we have to get you untied." She slid out from underneath me. I tried to follow her with my eyes, but she walked right into a blind spot. She moved slowly. It hurt to see her like this, but those thoughts kept lingering in my head somewhere that she'd be better off without me. I tried to ignore them. After a few minutes, I felt a weak tug at the bands keeping me to the chair. She grunted, and I felt another frivolous tug.
"I-I can't..." she coughed. "They're so tight..." I sighed, trying to look at her. My neck cracked a couple of times, but what did I care? All I was focused on was helping her help me. I glanced down to my hand. I still clutched the blade that I'd threatened my own life with mere moments ago. Wordlessly, I dropped the knife and pushed it back to her. It left a nasty cut on my hand as I pushed it, but I had no other way to move it. I heard a stifled gasp escape from her that made me cringe again.
"S-Sorry," I mumbled. She didn't respond. I could hear the metal clink against the floor as she picked it up. I could feel the dull blade forced against the ropes. I could feel the frail hand behind the blade, too. I sighed. I could only lay there, helpless until the ropes fell victim to the blade.
After about five or so minutes, the ropes fell without warning. The sudden release had me crash to the floor, leaving nice bruises on my forearms and forehead. She didn't say much, she simply walked to my side and offered her hand. I rolled the chair off my back and accepted her offer. We were both weak, that was no lie. I glanced down at her ankle to see another cut, much like the one on my hand. Another scar, and this time it was certainly my fault.
"We should go see her," she told me. I couldn't understand why, but that burned me up. It felt like someone had lit a match and set it to burn in my soul. I wanted to leave. What good would seeing that...that thing do to help?
"It's a damned talking horse. What good would talking to it do?" I spat. She looked at me sternly, then at herself. She reminded me of the cuts and bruises that covered my body, as well as some of her own. She didn't even need to say anything, because of that look in her eyes that changed them from blue to a red fire.
"She's a nurse. Before we try and get out of this fantasy land, maybe we should at least be in good enough physical condition to travel," she chided. Time to go see Ponyville's only nurse, though what good would that do? That thing wouldn't know anything about human anatomy. Nevertheless, we still went for reasons only she could come up with. I dreaded the thought of seeing those horrific pastel-colored talking ponies. We were desperate, though. I had no choice. I followed her, my knees buckling a few times as we walked. How long had I been sitting in that chair, anyway? No matter. I cringed again as the door squeaked open and I saw a dim light in the next room. I had to duck under the low frame. It felt humiliating, like I was a mere pet.
As we walked into the light, I saw her and gasped. I knew she was dirty, but I didn't know to what extent. Her clothes had tears from top to bottom, and you could barely tell they had been colored in the past. Her shirt had permanent swear stains and clung to her ribs. Her legs had more scars than I knew, because of the rips in her pants. I gritted my teeth, walking forward as I ducked and swerved through the awkwardly made house. She looked back at me when we had finally made it to the front the house. "Are you ready?" I nodded and followed her out.
I fell to the floor as she pushed the door open. My pupils screamed in agony, even though the sun had almost set on this accursed land. "It's not that bad..." she whispered to me. Not that bad? Sure, if I was seven. A grown man didn't belong in some fantasy land of this. One of the creatures walked up to us. We must've looked almost as messed up as they did. Unfit humans hissing at the light of day, hair and body unkempt. I didn't even know what I looked like; I hadn't seen a single mirror in months. The creature smiled at me, thrusting a hoof in my direction.
"Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie. You look funny, but can we be friends?" her voice squeaked. I ignored it, going back following my mother. The pony-mutant followed us. "I've seen your blondie friend before, but not you! That must mean you don't have friends...aren't you lonely, mister?"
"I'm sorry, 'Pinkie', but in case you haven't noticed..." I growled hoarsely, staring her straight in the eye, "I'm not a damn seven-year-old, so stop treating me like one." Pinkie whimpered, tears forming in her eyes. She stuttered a bit, but what did I care? I wanted as little interaction with these things as possible. Though, this...pony, I suppose, was relentless.
"Where ya goin', buddy? We are buddies, right? I mean, I don't know your name...oh, and you're mad. Am I bothering you? You used those meanie words that Twilight would use when she messes up spells. Do you know Twilight? Hah! Who am I kidding? Who didn't even know me, let alone Twi! Use your noggin, Pinkie!" she tapped her head then giggled. I could swear I heard a snort or two tossed in there, too. I shook my head. Just follow the one human. That's my one goal, and then what?
We walked all the way to the clinic with the pony 'Pinkie' following us. Doesn't she have anything better to do with her time? I squatted down, my knees sticking out as I squished in the chairs. It felt like kindergarten. I pondered if standing would be better, but the my head would hit the ceiling. Either way, I wanted out. Pinkie sat down next to me. "I love love love doctor's visits! I don't really care for the shots, but she gives me sparkly stickers afterward!"
I had to sit through an eternity of Pinkie jabbering about whatever before my mother walked out with a white pony, supposably the nurse. Pinkie waved to me, yelling, "the shots might hurt, but remember the stickers! Go get 'em, new buddy!"
"You're in no condition to travel any time soon, I'm afraid," she told me. She went on, her surprising knowledge of humans astounding me. I'd only wished her examination room wasn't so...cramped. With me, my mom, and her all standing in there; we barely had enough to breathe. "For starters, you haven't been properly eating or sleeping, your body is bruised and weak, and you suffer from anorexia and depression. It might be months before we can at least get you in enough rehab to even begin traveling."
My spine bent over as I gritted my teeth. I wanted to scream again, but my throat ached too much. Mom laid a hand on my shoulder. She could almost see the smoke rising. Best put out the fire now, instead of later. I couldn't lash out against the pony, obviously. She didn't look the part; but Mom, despite her fragility even now, had a skill for mediating chaos...whether by kind suggestions, passive-aggression, or flat-out violence. Yet, as I looked into her eyes, I knew she couldn't say a thing. The will to fight had left her eyes. A sharp pain struck me in the jaw, one I remember. I could feel it in her touch, my tense shoulders, and the pony shifting from side-to-side in front of me. It had been there since my father had first left, choosing to strike when the wrath of hell boiled deep in my soul. A daunting silence hung in the air, threatening anyone- or, pony, I suppose -who dare break it. Finally, the nurse spoke. The silence broke, leaving an echo to remind us that it would make its return.
"I-I don't have any medication I could prescribe; I'm not quite sure how your body would react to it." Her teeth chattered as she spoke, a lump in her throat almost audiblely noticeable in her words. The fingers laid on my shoulder tightened. The fire had left Mom's body altogether. Tears fell from her eyes, soon after her body followed the salty rivulets' lead. I couldn't move, I couldn't reach down and help her. There wouldn't be a point, not to this, not to anything. She'd only fall again, and again. Nothing I could do would stop it. My body lacked any sort of strength, and my mind was even weaker. Of course, the nurse rushed over, instantly forcing all of her efforts into a pointless pursuit.
I used to think dying was the worst possible fate anyone could ever come across. But now, sitting in this clinic, I know it isn't. This reality fought its way into my eyes the second I saw her collapsed on the floor. Weak, in pain, and completely worthless as I sit here, pondering whether to help the only thing I have left in the world. The worst possible fate is the painful reality of living in a world where everything you do could never help anything. Yet, you still try, forcing yourself through the pain and adversity. It never does anything. Still, leaving the only person in the world alone is something you could never do. This...this is my kismet, to live in a world where I am powerless to do anything, yet I am still held back here by the only one I care for. As I sat there, wallowing in cruel fates, my childish tears trickled down my face once more.
Though the nurse had tried, she'd failed. Mom twitched as she lay curled up into a ball, tears staining her eyes. He forced her eyes shut. I could tell she'd felt it, the same thing as me. The feeling of your stomach curling up and nearly killing you. She gripped the shriveled skin covering her stomach, then tightened her ball-like form. Her lips sealed themselves, yet I could see the words behind them. Her posture, her tears, her body language, they all screamed at me. They told me she wanted to die, more than even wanting to go home. I knew that feeling, much more than she did.
"Stephanie, stop crying."
"H-How...how can I...? You left us...to die!"
"No, no! I tried to save you..."
"Who the hell are you trying to fool?! If you really wanted to save us, you shouldn't have run away...you...bastard! Look at what...what they did, you coward!"
"I-I can see..."
"So how can you say you tried to save us!?"
"I-I...I don't know..."
My tears halted, as voices and screams lingered in my mind. I knew Mom had seen harder times than me. My heart refused to believe this, the pain in my jaw nearly numbing my body. Nothing new, though, I often had traumatic moments come back to haunt me when I feel like dying the most. As these memories drifted through my mind, I could feel something. Almost as if...Mom...she had the same memory as me. I cried out to her, "I know what it feels like, Mom. B-But...you need to get up!" She gazed up at me, her eyelids shuddering. "I want to be better for you than Dad. I won't be a cowardly bastard like him," I swore to her. She let her hand slide off of her stomach and lay on the floor. I could see her try and push up on it. My body slid off the examination table, collapsing on top of her once more.
"Y-You...remember?" she whispered, her raspy voice just barely reaching my ears. I nodded, thrusting my hand out in front of her. "Oh, Tristan, I'd prayed night after night for you to forget..." she clasped my hand weakly. I could feel every bone in her small hand. She struggled to bring herself up, and once she did, she fell into my chest. "But now, I couldn't be happier you didn't."
I hugged her tightly, my jaw finally starting to relax. "You pushed me as far as I could go, so now it's my turn to return the favor," I told her. I meant every word I said, yet, I still wanted to die. I wanted to shrivel up alone...but I couldn't, not with me being her only hope. I buried my head into hers. "I'm...sorry I couldn't do better for you."
She finally smiled. I could feel her lips curl themselves against my neck. "Your best will always be enough for me," she whispered. Her words felt so forced; I wondered if it hurt her to speak. "You're my reason to keep living, Tristan. I hope...my best will be enough for you to keep living with me, no matter how depressed we get."
I gripped her tighter. Her special little ability had taken me off guard once more, even when I had expected her to. "I'll do anything in the world for you, Mom, no matter how painful it gets to keep living." She squeaked at my words, lowering her head deeper into my chest. She brought her arms off my back and laid them on my chest. The longer we stood there, the more she started to grab my shirt, soon enough, tears rolled down her cheeks as she clung to my chest. I glanced over at the nurse. Her eyes were misty as well, her lips trembling. She galloped at us. She stood on her hind hooves, and wrapped her fore hooves around us.
"I-I'll go with you!" she yelled. "I may not be able to give you medicine...but I'll do my best to help you two get home. If you can't get home...I'll...I'll..."
Mom let go of my shirt. She rubbed the white pony's mane, smiling at her as well. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'd hate to drag you into this, though."
"N-No! Don't worry about that. I hope I can help you, so long as you accept my offer," she replied. Mom smiled, patting her head. She squatted down, staring the pony straight in her eyes. She nodded earnestly. "Really? Thank you, erm... What would you like to refer to as?"
"Well, that's that. Where's the rehab center, again?"
To be honest, it was nice to see the sun again. It took a while, but the beams shining down on my pale skin always seemed to wake me up. Not just my mind, but my whole body... My skin, my bones.... I could feel warmth everywhere. Hope rekindled itself in me, in my mother, and now in this nurse who vowed to help us. Though, even with the sun, I could feel a darkness shrouding my soul. It felt like a demon had chained my very being, my reason for living... I'd forgotten what it meant to live. Even though my life back home wasn't perfect, it still felt better than this. I couldn't tell if the warmth I felt was false, like the overwhelming fake happiness met. I had to keep it in, or the farce would cloud my better judgement. The world isn't all sunshine and rainbows, despite what these residents may think. Reality is cruel, yet I see these...creatures, totally ignorant. Ignorance is truly bliss, as they say.
"In Canterlot, I'm afraid. It'll be hard to catch a train this time of day, so it'd be best to wait until tomorrow morning." I glanced over at Redheart. Pink strands of her mane started tumbling out of her nurse's cap as she turned and faced the slight breeze. I glanced around, squinting due to the sunlight. I saw a few stores, though none of them had names on their signs. How odd. Then again, being trapped in a world of magical talking ponies is odd on several more levels than stores without names.
"Hmph. Where can we go to eat, again?" I asked. Mom looked nearly as weary as I, and soon enough she toppled over and had to use me as a support to walk. We grunted in unison, as I nearly fell over myself. If it weren't for Redheart jumping in to support us both when she did, we both would've collapsed. "Th-Thanks," I choked, "but we really need to eat something. Fast."
"Ah...um... What even do you humans eat, anyway?" Redheart asked in response. I gritted my teeth again. My fist may have collided with her face, had I not been so weak.
"I don't care right now! We'll eat anything!" I barked. Redheart nodded quickly, clearly startled by my throaty growl. No doubt those anger-management classes back on earth weren't doing me any good. I still felt confused and depressed, with a boiling rage like a volcano settling within me. Still, the outburst didn't stop her from leading us to the nearest restaurant. I never could understand how she knew which was a flower shop and which was an eatery; the signs looked identical to me. We stumbled together, me and mom, slowly making our way through a crowd of...ponies. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple and every color in between flashed by me in form of a pony. Each sported a different tramp stamp- or, cutie mark, as told by Redheart -supposedly showing off what made them 'special'. The saccharinity of the world wanted to make me vomit, but sadly only bile would come up. Although, vomiting wouldn't be the best idea in my condition. I held in my inner disgust as we weaved through the mostly female-dominant crowd. I tried to shield my eyes from them, but I still could catch a few gawking at me. A few apparent mothers had the gall to tug their children out of sight, while some males ignored me or snickered with their friends.
"I'm sorry, I know it must be awkward," Redheart called back to me as she continued to push through thr crowd. I bent over a bit, trying to concentrate. My thoughts and real noise had intermingled themselves.
'How the hell would you know? You don't know me, or my mother, and you're a...a pony. How could you possibly know how it feels to be stared down wherever you go, because you're some lanky giant lumbering through a child's fantasy book? I can answer that: you wouldn't. You're just saying that. I get that you don't know what to say. Just, next time, don't say anything at all. Because, while I understand where you're coming from, you haven't spent the past few years starved, alone, and in a damp, cramped room with no hope of anything. No hope. I didn't know it was possible for me to even be here, and I'm betting vice versa. So, since this hasn't happened before I'm pretty damn sure I won't be going home. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. You don't know what it's like to live in complete and utter hopelessness. You, only out of pity and not true understanding, decided to tag along on a pointless pursuit.'
I wanted to yell. I wanted to push all the miniature horses out of my way. I wanted to cry my youthful tears whilst I shriveled up and died. No, no, I'd tell myself. Death is not the worst possible fate, again, and again. I wanted... I wanted punishment, I suppose. It was my fault this had happened, it was always my fault. Don't kill yourself, not just yet, I'd think. Live a little longer, just a little, I'd tell myself. It's worse here. You wanted punishment? You got punishment. Can you not deal with it, you weak coward? Can you not keep your promise?
The relentless sun I began to despise as we walked further and further. Surely, the nearest restaurant wasn't this far away. No, but it was, it was indeed. Such is my luck, that I'd be locked in that cage furthest away from food. Though, at this point, I still wonder if food is the most of my worries. While I drown myself in my own pitiful sorrows, my mother never says a word. She walks, her head held high as she can keep it. She doesn't complain, she doesn't give up. How, how.... How does she keep going when there's absolutely no hope left? Does she truly believe we can get home...?
No, she doesn't. I can see it in her eyes, the wavering again. True, her façade is convincing, but I know her well enough to say she doesn't think there's any way we can return. I don't know why she'd even want to return. Nothing was left for her in the old world, and nothing is left for her in this world. Same goes for me, yet, we still walk to the restaurant. Soon, we'll go to the rehab center and try to make our way back home. But why? What is the point of it all, when nothing is left? How...how does she do it?
"You are my hope."
"I can't even be my own hope. How can I be yours?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Try me."
"Somewhere along the road, when I thought all hope was lost, something occurred to me. Though my own life might not matter to me, it matters to others. So, I decided to fight myself. It's...the only way I could stand. I'd wake up every day, battling my own selfish desires to die and keep living, because I knew there were people out there who would die without me. People whom I loved, whom I'd hate to see kill themselves because of me. I couldn't leave them...not just yet. One more day, I'd say. Just one more. So I lived like that."
I stopped in the middle of the road. How could I have forgotten her words? How could I have forgotten that I was her reason to live? When, when had I heard this? When...
It...it was t-then...
The day after...
"D-Damn it..."
I could hear gasping, almost choking, and stifled short breaths. I could smell it again, the intermingling of blood and tears. I knew the feeling myself, the salt pouring into your exposed shame. I gripped my wrist as my ear leaned against the wall. Something's...off. Different, I suppose, about this time. Something, what is it? I'd known for the longest time she'd...
My grip on my wrist tightened. She wouldn't...? No, she's...she is. I could feel it. I could feel the presence of...a...of a gun.
"C-Calm down, Stephanie...It'll be over soon..."
No...
"M-Mom! Stop!"
I had rushed in without even thinking about it. There she stood, hands and arms shaking as she gripped the pistol. Her wrists had slits over them, throbbing and red from the salt of her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, hiding herself from me. She dropped the gun almost instantaneously and then, following the gun's lead, dropped herself at my feet.
"D-Don't look, please, Trissy," she gasped. "I'm...I'm so-"
"-ashamed I found you like this."
I pulled her up, much rougher than I'd intended. She shuttered under my grasp, then brought one of her hands to cover her mouth. Rivulets streamed down her cheeks. She hung her head, coughing and sputtering. I took my index finger and lifted her head up. I took my thumbs and wiped her eyes. And then...then I did something I wouldn't do for another three or so years.
I cried. I gripped her closer than I ever had. I sputtered a bit myself in her ear. I loved her, no doubt. I... I just had never realized how much. I knew she was depressed and maybe even suicidal, but it hadn't bothered me. What a heartless, soulless fool I'd been. I didn't know what I had until I saw it break down in front of me, and nearly have it slip through my fingers.
"Don't go, please."
"I...I won't make promises I can't keep, Trissy."
"Then make one you can keep."
Mom tugged at my ratted shirt. "Trissy..." she rasped, "you look worried." I turned to her. Genuine concern. She looked up at me with almost pure innocence. "Tell me, what's bothering you?"
"Nothing...nothing of your concern," I grumbled. Mom turned her eyes away from mine, as she wiped her hand down my shirt. She let out a low whistle.
"Oh." Damn, I'd hurt her feelings.
"I-I see." Tristan, you idiot. She's all you have left. I'm all she has left.
"I mean, thanks for noticing... But, really, you shouldn't care about me," I muttered. Her pale blue eyes smiled at me, followed by her dry lips. They cracked a bit as the grin inched across her face. Redheart spun around, presenting the restaurant rather loudly. She almost immediately silenced herself, biting her lip as she saw us clinging from one another.
"U-Um...ahem..." Redheart coughed. "We're here."
I nodded, then propped up Mom with my right arm. We staggered to the front of the building together, following closely behind the nurse. Mom looked up at me, her eyes not smiling anymore.
"You remembered, didn't you?"
I gulped. "Yes," I hesitated. I knew what would come next, she would break down and yell at me for all those things I did to her. No, my thoughts were shattered when she turned to me, with a look in here eyes I had remembered all too well. She stared at me for a while before completely collapsing on top of me.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears beginning to stream down her face. "I've put you through so much." She gripped my shirt, with her head buried in my chest. She put me through so much? How could she even think that? I stood there, my mouth agape from sheer shock. She...apologized. When was the last time I'd apologized? I couldn't remember. I'd put her through more than anyone should, and she was apologizing to me...?
"N-No," I said. She looked up at me, her pale blue eyes swollen and bloodshot. "M-Mom, you...shouldn't... I'm sorry."
"For...what?" She choked, then released her grip on my clothing. I sighed as I closed my eyes. Images flashed through my head as I though of everything that had happened to her, everything I'd done to her. My shoulders tensed.
It was a long time ago, longer than I realized today. I'd always been less optimistic than all the other kids, and Mom realized that. It wasn't normal for a ten-year-old to get depressed, but I suppose there's an exception to every rule. Perhaps it's simply in my nature. Perhaps it's because I took after my mom, and she always seemed depressed at any given time. No matter how hard she smiled, or how hard she maintained her posture, she always had this far-off look silently lingering in her eyes. I wanted to know why she felt upset. I wanted to make her better. That's why I wanted to be a doctor or a therapist, but I never made it out of high school.
I remembered coming home one day, only to see my beloved mother slumped over on the table. Her skin had lost its golden glow, and her passionately yellow hair looked almost faded, despite it being perfectly normal this morning. Her eyes weren't deep blue, they were shallow and almost lifeless. A knife lay inches from her hand, and her wrists had three or four slits on them. She heard me walk up, her she did nothing to move. When she finally managed to speak, her voice gave out. I could hear it crack under pressure. She simply gave up and stopped trying to communicate. I stood there frozen, eyes getting wider and wider the more of the situation I took in.
"I'm sorry, Tristan. You shouldn't have had to find out like this," she whispered. Her cheeks burned red, as always. No matter her mood, sitation, or otherwise, her cheeks would light themselves up a rosy red. A tear soon cascaded down her cheek again, glistening in the kitchen's light as it fell. I didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act. I tried to say something, I tried to move. It didn't work. A squeak left my lips, but other than that I remained inaudible. I had so many questions jumping at the same rate of my heart. One in particular kept coming back to me.
Why.
Why.
Why.
She couldn't move at all either, though I couldn't blame her. I stood still there, propping myself up with one arm leaned against our counter, watching her slowly break more and more. All youthfulness drained, all tears cried, and both wrists slit, she finally spoke once more.
"He left us," said she. "He left us, Trissy. He's gone, gone forever. The only one I ever loved, gone forever. Left for some, some slut who claimed she loved him more." I knew. I finally knew.
"He found her at a bar, no less. I told him the liquor would kill him, but I guess I was wrong. It stole him instead. Ten years, wasted away with some coward who runs away from a fight and leaves his wife defenseless, runs to a whore. Runs away as she gets abused and tormented right in front of his eyes, and he ignored it. I lost him, and though I hated him, I loved him. He gave me you, Trissy, my sunshine in a world of rain. In a world of hate, despair, cruelty, and lies, you are my only sunshine."
I puked. I don't know why, but I puked. Perhaps it was the shock. Perhaps it was the overwhelming fact that I was my mother's only source of sunshine. Perhaps it was my father had left my mother for what she described as a 'slut' and a 'whore'. Though this wasn't the first time my no longer innocent ears had heard these words, it still warrented a bit of surprise.
Sunshine, she said. Sunshine, when I only ignored her. Sunshine, when I yelled at her for things that weren't her fault. Sunshine, when I said I hated her. Sunshine, when I cursed her very existence. Sunshine, she called me. Sunshine, she whispered as she looked at me. And at the same time, I loved her. I blessed her existence, silently. I whispered her name when I couldn't carry on. I thought of her, day and day again. It wondered me, it amazed me, it mystified me. Even though I knew she was depressed, she still smiled, laughed, cared, and carried on.
My fists clenched. My own tears trickled slowly down my own rosy cheeks. I squeezed my lips and eyes shut, murmuring and whimpering to myself. My chin tilted up.
You did this. You did this. You did this. You. You. You.
"I swear," I began slowly, "this day, I will never leave you. I will be your hero. I will stay by your side. I will catch the man who beat you. I will find Dad. I will protect you. I will kill whoever hurts you ever again. I will do this, I give my word."
She touched my arm lightly. I blinked rapidly for a bit, then shook my head again.
"I'm sorry I reminded you," she said. I shook my head. I looked down, to see a bowl of flowers, carrots, apples, and- is that grass? -in front of me. I didn't care, not now. I glanced over at my mom and Redheart, who had both already begun eating. Still, even still, my mind drifted to more and more memories.
"I love you," I whispered as she walked by and a tear rolled down my cheek. She couldn't couldn't hear me, not over the busyness of the halls. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of students crammed into one hall. I could still see her, though. The girl who had stolen my heart and subsequently smashed it to pieces without even knowing it.
I doubt she'd even care, though, even if she did hear it. I was just another admirer to her, of course. To her, I was just another person in the world. To me, she was the entire world. My entire world, and she didn't know it. She brushed me off quietly and unknowingly, leaving me to wither away. For once, I had looked up from depression. For once, I hadn't cared about my vow. For once, I let someone inside my heart besides my mother.
Skylar Nimbers, fourth year: the definition of beauty. Sharp, dark eyes, long, brunette hair, and scattered freckles. She was tall and slender, but in no way sickly skinny. She had a pair of thick, black glasses she'd always wear over contacts. Her darkish skin glowed flawlessly, yet she never wore makeup to cover it up. Her best accessory was a smile she always wore, right next to her knitted white beanie. She seemed perfect. I thought I had a chance with her, I said. We have so much in common, I said.
I was dead wrong.
I had my candle in a dark cave, and I lost it one day. I thought I found it, but it turned out it belonged to someone else. I was lost the day I realized this. I needed that candle, and I had that candle with me every day of my life. The darkness slowly closed in on me when I saw him take my candle away. So I cried. I cried my bitter, childish tears alone in my cave.
"You thought she loved you? She barely knew you."
"Look at her, and look at yourself. It's disgusting you thought you had a chance."
"You're an idiot, you can't call it love if she didn't speak to you."
These voices haunted me every night when I lost her. I lost Skylar, I lost my candle. She kept me going. She gave me a reason to live, a reason not to mark myself, a reason to smile. She was my reason, and she slipped through my fingers. I wanted to die, I wanted to kill, I wanted to sleep, I wanted to cry, I wanted to vomit, I wanted scream, I wanted to chase her, I wanted her chase me, I wanted her back, I wanted a chance.
I missed her smile, I missed her laugh, I missed her. I never forgot her, not once. I couldn't smile, I couldn't laugh, not without her. All I could do was sit, crying in the cave without my candle as I watch everyone else with their candles know exactly where they're going with their candles. She meant so much to me. I actually tried to kill myself when I lost her, but a candle rolled up to me again. "Tristan," my candle told me, "don't give up, not yet."
I hadn't realized it, but tears streamed down my face again. I sputtered at myself in disgust. How could I cry, how could I complain? My mother had been through so much more than I could ever handle, more than I could ever imagine. Yet, there I sat, choking over my childishness.
"Tristan," my candle told me once more as she laid a hand on my shoulder, "don't give up, not yet."
I couldn't give up, not if it meant leaving her. I couldn't, I simply couldn't. I couldn't blow out my candle's flame, nor could I drop the candle. Even if this cave I wandered in had no point, no reason, no end, still I would walk. The longer I walked, the closer and tighter I would hold that candle.