Page 27 of Loving Taylor
Chapter Eight
Mommy?
There was no answer. I opened the door to her bedroom. Fear of what I would find made me hesitate before I mustered the strength to keep going. Maybe she was hurt? She needed me, I convinced myself.
I peered into the room slowly as I spotted her on the floor.
"Mom!" I yelled, running to her. I touched her back with my small hand but she didn't move.
"Open your eyes," I told her but there was no response. I shoved her, hoping to wake her but there was no movement. Feeling my rising fear, I bent down and looked closer at her face pale. Her eyes were open.
"Mommy?" I whispered softly, not understanding why she wouldn't say something.
Then I realized she was dead.
Tears blurred my eyes as I lay down beside her and put my small arm around her, hugging her close.
"I love you," I pleaded like it was enough to bring her back, but it didn't.
I shot up in bed. Still feeling the rawness of my grief, I looked around and realized I was in my room.
My heart was still slamming in my chest at a rate that made it difficult to breathe. With one hand to my bare chest I threw my covers off, hating that the nightmares could spin up all the old feelings from my childhood of a boy who had been so scared.
It wasn't a memory. My mother was still alive and kicking.
It had been fear—my biggest fear when I had been growing up. Each time I had found my mother passed out in a drunken stupor, I had been so scared she would drink herself to death. It had stripped me over time, leaving an emptiness inside and eventually I couldn't care anymore.
In the dream I had been alone but in reality I'd had Slater by my side every step of the way. He'd been there when I'd had no one and I had stepped up to be there when he needed me.
He was my family.
I felt frustrated that I had no control over these dreams, and they seemed to be happening more often. I rubbed my chest as I paced my room. I knew exactly who had stirred this up. Whatever was going on with Taylor was affecting every aspect of my life even though I had kept my distance, even missing a couple of days of classes to ensure I didn't see her.
I had the urge to hit something so I strode downstairs without acknowledging anyone I passed, my sole focus to punch something until the pain stopped me.
Slamming the door of the garage behind me, I walked over to the punching bag with a determination to work the suffocating emotions out of me before I lost all control. Again and again I slammed my tightened fist into the bag. Pain jolted in me with every contact of my hand against the firm object.
Eventually I couldn't do it anymore. My muscles ached from the punishing movements. My fists were numb and when I looked down at them, with my chest rising and falling sharply, I realized they were bleeding.
But no matter how much I tried to chase the demons of my childhood away, I couldn't wipe the memory of the dream or how heartbroken and sad I had felt.
I walked backward and dropped down onto the step before the doorway into the house. I bent my head into my hands and focused my attention on the concrete floor below me.
No, I couldn't do this. But I had no idea how to stop it.
Taylor. An angelic image appeared of her looking at me with those big blue eyes and those lustrous lips of hers. But it was more than that. It was the way she looked at me and the way it made me feel.
I didn't want to feel anything. I wanted to be numb so I didn't care and so the invisible barrier that seemed to stop me from moving on to another girl would vanish and I could carry on with my life on my own terms.
The door behind me opened.
"You okay?" Slater asked.
I nodded, not wanting my voice to give my inner turmoil away. Before he had stood with me and shouldered my problems with me but this he couldn't help with. I had to get through this on my own.
The door closed softly.
Slowly the feeling returned to my hands as I flexed them, feeling the pain that I had inflicted.
