Page 66 of Secrets

Love.

I only hope that I can survive this, and perhaps see her smile again, even though it won’t be for me.

The television screenshatters into a thousand glittering pieces, the glass spraying out with a force that threatens to rip through my protective clothing. But it doesn’t stop me; it doesn’t even slow me down.

Instead, it fuels the adrenaline already coursing through my veins, the rage that’s been brewing inside of me igniting to life.

I twirl the bat in my hand and walk to the car so heavily coated in spray paint, I can’t tell what the original color of it was. My eyes center on the hood, where someone painted a cloud.

Stupid fucking clouds.

Lifting the bat above my head, I use every ounce of strength I have to slam it down, caving the metal in so deep, a pleasure seeps into my bones.

I find my next object within seconds, smashing it to smithereens before moving on. Again and again, I break one thing, then another. Rage, pity, frustration, hurt, betrayal, and confusion flood my system. One emotion after the next, they make their appearance, allowing me to feel the full force of them controlling my every movement before morphing into the next.

My body shakes with the tears I hide from the world. It aches from the pain I try to pretend I don’t feel.

I shout obscenities into the void, asking what I did to deserve nothing but round after round in a fight against an opponent I clearly can’t beat. But when my questions are met with the echo of my own voice, I simply crumble, fragments of my heart—a muscle that’s barely being held together anymore—chip away. It won’t be long until there’s nothing left.

Still. I wonder.

How was she able to fake it so well?I hit a glass that careens across the rage room, smashing into the wall.

Why didn’t she kill me? She has so many opportunities. A bust of Michelangelo explodes into shards of nothing.

Where is she? Why hasn’t she reached out?A row of chess pieces blasts away like little bullets.

Why do I still fucking care?I slam the bat against a small nightstand until its wood splinters in my hand, breaking in half when I slam it down again.

My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, to calm my racing heart. But it doesn’t work. It only makes everything worse.

The one emotion I’ve been trying my hardest to evade appears, now free from being muddled behind all the others, now purged from my system.

Grief reaches up from the bowels of hell and swallows me whole.

“Honey,I need you to wake up.”

A voice I haven’t heard for over two decades fills my mind, waking me from my dreamless sleep.

My eyes peel open, and as though not a day has passed since the last time I saw her, my mother kneels in front of the dirty cot, her red hair laying in long waves that cradle her delicate heart-shaped face. Her smooth skin is free from the bruises my father consistently gave her, void of any scars. The daisy print dress she has on is intact, not a rip or thread out of place.

“Mother.” I fail in my attempt to sit up, the pain radiating over my body too much to overcome. I’m weak, and I hate that she has to see me like this. So frail and broken.

A burn similar to the one I felt when Jessica left returns, spreading over my tired eyes. “I’ve missed you…so much.”

My voice breaks at the end, the confession another tell of how far I’ve fallen. How feeble I’ve become.

Her smile is soft. Knowing. She lifts a tender hand to tuck a straw hair behind my head. “I have missed you.”

My eyes close against her touch, warm tears spilling faster than I can possibly wipe them away. “Is that why you’re here? To take me with you?”

The human body can only survive on a cup of water and three crackers for so long. I could tell long ago that death was waiting patiently in the wings. I’m familiar with the smell of her.

But my mother shakes her head, her grassy eyes glimmering with a sheen I’ve missed terribly. It’s one that can only come from a mother. One who’s staring at her future. At her hopes and dreams in a bodily form. The type of look that made me believe I would be okay without her.

That was a lie. I wasn’t, and clearly still aren’t.

“You will survive, my love.” She garners my attention through the haze of my tears. “Promise me you will hold on. That you will make me wait many years before I come to you again.”

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