Page 14 of Give Me Perfect Love

“Answer me,” I demand, holding on to the door for strength.

She looks back to me and lifts her chin slightly. “What does it matter where I went?”

I step out onto the porch, aware it could fall any moment. “What do you mean,what does it matter?” I ask disbelievingly, feeling the cold drizzle of light rain on my face. I make it to the rail of the steps and descend. “I was eight years old. I was your only child and you left me here.”

She turns her body toward the road and hits her smoke again. “I’m aware of how old you were.”

I’m staggered at her indifference.

My eyes are wild, dancing around the snow-covered ground. I try to wrap my head around this situation.

I’m back at my childhood home.

My stepdad who abused me is dead.

My mother who abandoned me when I was a child is standing right in front of me acting as ifIshould be the one apologizing.

I’m truly baffled.

How did I come from this person?

My anger is so alive I can feel it buzzing through my nervous system.

I could kill her.

I could pick up a shovel and smack her in the back of the head and no one would find her for days. But I’m not a murderer. I’m not coldblooded like she appears to be. Closed-off and cruel.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

She looks back to me, startled at my proximity. Her eyes go to the house behind me. She sniffs and brings the cigarette to her mouth. Cold air mixes with gray toxins and I step back to keep it from going in my face.

“Closure?” she says in a question.

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

I shake my head and look to the ground. Anger fades and hurt takes over. I like anger better, because hurt is too heavy.

“He raped me. Did you know that? That your husband raped me?”

Her eyes jerk to mine, and for the first time I see a person inside of the heartless shell. “I wish you wouldn’t call me Bethany. I am your mom.”

I laugh coldly. “Mom? You didn’t earn that title.”

I turn back to the house. “He hit me and made sure to tell me every day that I was worthless and undeserving of anyone’s love.” Laying my sight back on her, I see the shake in her fingers as she breathes in nicotine.

I point at her. “You left me with that.”

She closes her eyes and brings her closed fist to her mouth as she stumbles back, the car catching her fall. Her hand hits the side of her door as she tries to get a grip. The smoke falls from her fingers and her whole body starts to shake, but she keeps upright. I guess the truth is too heavy for her to hold.

Her body physically tries to go to the ground.

I take a step closer. Surprisingly, I don’t yell. My voice is eerily calm, as if I’m making sure she’s hearing every single syllable. “You are the reason I’m so fucked up. Why I have issues with trust and love. Why I can’t open up to people who care about me.” I point to the house. “You are the reason for everything that happened to me in there.” I take a deep breath. “And you ask why it matters?” I laugh, but there’s zero humor. I can’t believe this whole goddamn situation. Tears cloud my vision and I wipe my face with the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice brittle.

She’s sorry. My heart freezes like the cold rain kissing my cheeks.

“God made the world in six days,” she says.

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