Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 12

This chapter is short but I have my reasons! Seriously, it's barely over a thousand words. 

You'll understand at the end.

Unedited so I can't guarantee there will be no mistakes.

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Finally, the day comes. A part of me is glad that after today the whole stupid issue will be over, but another part of me doesn’t want it to happen at all. I know for sure that mum will lose it. Since the phone call she hasn’t let go of any of her anger—if anything it’s like she’s storing it until the meeting.

After the past few days, I’ve decided that I rather her sad than angry. At least then she’s not silent spewing, ready to snap at any moment.

“Your dad’s picking up Rick soon,” mum says, walking into the lounge room, gripping the phone in her hand too tightly. I don’t know if she realises how close she is to breaking it to pieces.

“Okay,” I say, moving my machine to the side so I can lay down. Using the arm of the lounge as a headrest, I can’t help but stare outside the window, wishing I’m not on house arrest.  I haven’t brought it up in the last few days so I don’t even know if they realise they’ve been keeping me inside.

“Can you breathe fine?” mum asks, moving my feet out of the way and placing them over her lap. Her smile is tight and I know it’s forced.

I roll my eyes, pointing at the breathing machine right next to my head. Then I point to the plugs in my noise. “What do you think?”

“Attitude, missy.”

“Sorry,” I say, meaning it. She doesn’t need to deal with me; we’ve been cooped up in the same house for days together and I know it’s getting to me. Feeling trapped is a feeling I avoid at all costs. That’s what cancer is—a contract you don’t sign condemning you to eventual death. It’s a death trap—literally.

She sighs, rubbing one of my feet. I try to take it out of her grip but she doesn’t let go.

“Mum. Stop. That’s gross.”

Staring at me like I’m the crazy one—when I’m clearly not because she’s the one touching feet—, she tells me, “I’m not hurting you. They’re just feet.”

“Exactly. They’re feet. They might as well have a sign saying ‘Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting’ on them.”

The genuine smile that cracks on her lips distracts me from the grip she has on my foot. I don’t care anymore anyway. I’d been trying to get her smiling for days and now that she is she can do what she wants. “You’re like you’re father. He acts like they’re the plague.”