Page 17 of The Depraved Prince
All I want is my mother. I want her to make me a warm bowl of chicken soup. I need her to listen to me talk about quitting my job and ask for her guidance. I want her to accompany me to a bookstore on Friday nights as we talk about the latest celebrity gossip.
But things are different.
My mother and father separated when I was under five years old. They had my older brother and me a few years into their marriage. I still remember when they shut their door, but the walls were still not thick enough to block out their shouts when they argued. Or when my dad left again and again. Even as a child, I understood and felt their resentment toward each other. It lingered, so potent it tainted my brother and me. We knew they didn’t love each other anymore, even when they did everything they could to hide it.
I felt it so hard.
My mother became a woman who always put herself first, no matter what. She had custody of us, but my brother and I chose to leave her when she morphed into someone we didn’t know anymore.
She met an abusive man named Santiago and decided that he was her one true love. She fell hard and decided that he was the only thing that mattered.
She wasn’t always bad. She tried when she wanted to and had some good days. But once Santiago came into the picture, he kept bringing out her worst qualities. Santiago doesn’t have kids.
He hated that he couldn’t have kids, so he didn’t want my mom to enjoy being a parent to her children.
Still, memories like when I had a throat infection stick with me like gum under my shoe. No matter how much I want to take it off or get rid of the evidence, the residue will linger in the soles of my heart. I was sick with fever and throat pain, and I begged her to take me to the doctor’s office. I wasn't getting better on Tylenol.
Santiago was so angry because she had to spend money on me for the co-pay her insurance didn’t cover. As we waited for the nurses to call me in the doctor’s office lobby, Santiago fidgeted, upset.
“I can’t wait until she goes away for college, so you don’t have to be taking her in whenever she gets a cough anymore,” he snarled under his smelly breath.
My heart sank at his cruel words and my mother’s tense silence. All I could do was stare at my feet. My worn-out green Converse tapped side to side as my anxiety crept in. Because if I tried to defend myself, I would get shut down, and she would get belittled if I tried.
Am I overreacting? Is it really just a cough? Self-doubt plagued me, and I felt bad for asking them to bring me here.
I turned my head in the other direction and focused on the television playing Rugrats. I silently hoped the doctor would help me the entire time I focused on the little TV in the corner. He had to tell them how sick I was, right?
Which he did after evaluating me. It felt good knowing the doctor justified my symptoms and suffering.
Well, Santiago got his wish. I was away at college now, out of their house. I’m away from him and her. I’m still in Texas, but now I live with my estranged father, and our relationship is going in a healthy direction. Nash left sooner than me, not being able to tolerate their toxic relationship and abuse.
Even though my relationship with my mother has always been troubled, I never want to give up on it.
I sit up and face the door to my room, where our phone is attached to the wall on the other side of it. I bite my lip as I swing my feet up and down pensively. Maybe I can trust her with this story. Maybe she can help me out of this mess, and if she can’t, all I want is for her to be the ears to listen to me.
I leave my room, my pajama pants dragging against the cold tile with each step. I dial my mom’s home phone number. I know it by memory. Four rings go by before she picks up, and a blip of hope twists in my heart. I haven’t spoken to her in years. So when her familiar motherly voice says, “Hello,” I stand up straight and twirl the white cord in my hand, in shock that she picked up.
“Mom.” I grip the phone tighter.
“Millie, how are you? It’s been years.”
I rub my nose and dry my cheeks with my palms. My back hits the wall as I get more comfortable to have the mostuncomfortableconversation with her.
“I’m not okay,” I say flatly, holding back the monsoon of tears that want to fall again as Hayden and the blonde man with blue eyes flash into my head like a horror movie.
“Oh…” There’s a slight pause in her impassive tone. It’s like she’s debating on hanging up.
But why?
“Mom…I?—”
I want to tell her about my broken wrist and word vomit about what happened to me. She lives farther away from my dad, so maybe there’s none of those creatures near.
I trust her still. I trust her to keep whatever I tell her to herself. I can’t open up to my father and brothers like this. I’ve never been able to. I can try again with my mother. I need her right now.
“Millie,” she starts just as Santiago’s cruel, unsettling voice booms in the background. My heart falls and shatters at his callous cadence.
“Get off the fucking phone! You have to make dinner!” He’s still as ruthless and uncaring as the last time I saw him. Familiar fury builds up within me again at the fearless disrespect he gives her. I will never be the type of person to stand by and watch my mother get disrespected.
