Page 10 of Swallow Your Sorries

Every reason and every excuse as to why Jarett’s life is a shit pit is because I exist. And yet, all of those things were true before I was even a foetus.

If only I hadn’t popped up like a wart or pus-filled boil between his ass cheeks. He could be this savvy businessman billionaire he always daydreams about. Like his ultra-wealthy and unimagined family members who never answer his calls or come to visit.

Ever.

I suppose Jarett blames their lack of existence in our lives and the world at large on me too.

My mother only whimpers and the pitiful sound combined with more of Jarett’s lies angers me enough to stop my childish rocking. Still, I flinch as another dish smashes against the breakfast nook, but I don’t cower.

It’s mum’s favourite teacup, a porcelain, hand-painted mug that came nestled inside of her bassinet when her parents abandoned her at the convent.

Shards bounce back, stopping at my knee and cutting into it. The image of the red-haired little girl wearing a bonnet smiles up at me sweetly. The writing’s broken now, but it had said, “To Jaime, our little princess.”

Mum thinks at least one of her parents must be an artist, given the incredible detailing of the painting. It’s a replica of Mum’s infant photo. She swears she’ll rejoin a ceramic class one day and track down the little branding on the bottom of the cup, a tree with a fish jumping over it. She thinks there may be some connection between the company and her parents, but the logo’s obliterated now.

That singular mug had held so many irreplaceable memories for us both.

Mum would tuck me in, the mug loaded with tea, and she’d tell me stories about the red-haired little girl every night. She’d go on all these adventures and get into all sorts of funny troubles, but in the end, her parents, the artists, always welcomed her home with open arms.

It wasn’t until I got a bit older that I realised the parents always changed. First, the mum had red hair, then the father, then both. They were Aaron then Amos, Carolina, then Charlotte. Finally, she’d settled on Dawson and Rosalie. Her mum would be a Rosalie, she’d thought.

Then I realised these were all just thoughts. No, fantasizations of parents she’d never known.

I’d been jealous of her dad Dawson, wondering why I’d been hand-selected for Jarett. Wondering what my little soul had done to be placed into this body, into this family. What had I done in another realm to be given and kept by someone who hated me?

Then I realised Dawson hadn’t kept the little red-haired girl at all.

I watch Mum pick up the remnants of the mug with shaking, bleeding fingers, and for the first time since I can ever remember Jarett’s tantrums, she finally lets out a wail.

Anger and heat bubble up inside me at Jarett’s deranged laughter that erupts around the kitchen, his face contorting with pure vitriol.

Then why don’t you just leave?!I want to scream as blood rushes through my ears and bile rises in my throat.If we make you so miserable and you can be free and happy away from us, why don’t you just leave? Leave us the hell alone!

Say it, Elle!

Say it!

Say it…

But the minutes drag on with mum’s heart-wrenching cries and my lips remain sealed. When the dishes are finally out, Jarett opens the beer-filled fridge and pulls out a six-pack before heading for the couch in the living room. Seconds later some car remodelling program blares through the speakers.

I gaze at Mum who’s still fixated on the broken logo. She looks like a little girl again, just like that painted little girl. Helpless, innocent, all alone.

A revelation washes over me at that moment. I would never be like Mum again, hunched and cowering and helpless. I’d fight back. I’d be strong enough for us both. I won’t have the same excuses she always does, like her spirituality that’s beautiful until it isn’t.

She always said she’d never leave Jarett unless there was proof of his infidelity.Thatwas her final straw.

Not the abuse.

Not him openly admitting that he wants me dead.

Just proof of him screwing another woman.

Fine, so be it.

I swallow my resentment as ten minutes tick by and Jarett starts in on his third beer. I sit frozen as Mum timidly comes out from the counter to pick up the ruined dinner she’d slaved over.

She doesn’t stop to console me as I sit there watching her. She doesn’t take my hand, or assure me in any way that none of this is my fault.

---