There's a Rebel in My Bed! [✓]

15. Someone To Watch Over Me

                                                 There’s a Rebel in My Bed!

                                        Chapter 15: Someone to watch Over Me  

           Song of the Chapter: Just Give Me a Reason by P!nk ft. Nate (of fun.) (2012)

 

 

 

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“It’s going to be storming for a while.” She said in a light, solemn voice by the edge of the door. I nodded stiffly from the couch in the dimed living room with just the muted television’s light keeping it from plunging into total darkness. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thanks.” I mumbled quietly.

There was a moment of silence before I could hear the tiny tapping sound that her work shoes made edge nearer and nearer to the couch. She rested an unwelcomed hand on my shoulder and on instinct, I flinched away. She sighed and sat on the couch’s arm, “I know this is traumatic-”

I snorted, cutting her off, “There’s the understatement of the year.”

“You’re angry.”

I snapped my head in her direction, ready to lash out at her voice that was way too calm and collected for a mother but a sharp streak of lightning and the accompanying loud burst of thunder scared it away. “I’m not angry.” I stated, a lot less pissed than I had originally planned, but, continued anyway, “I’m terrified, sad, a little sick but I’m not angry.” I swallowed, “That’s supposed to be your job.”

Her eyes softened immediately and a swirling glint covered in guilt swam in them. She slid onto the couch and wiggled her way over to my side; in a moment of thought, she raised her open palm and in my peripheral, I could tell she was debating if she should try and offer a hand again. She rested it back in her lap.

And so, without any more words passing between us, we just sat there with more than just a couple of inches between us. And though at times I wanted to apologize and it seemed she felt sorry, all the pain, new found resentment, lies, betrayal, secrets made it impossible for us to ever close that gap.

After well over ten minutes just sitting in the dark with slow heartbeats pounding, wind whistling, lightning flashing and thunder roaring, she finally spoke, “I remember when I gave birth.” She mumbled so inaudibly that it I wondered if it were me or her conscience she was talking to. “I and George debated for hours beforehand what to name you.” She paused, “Or well, your sister. We didn’t know we were having twins so you were a surprise to us all.” She laughed calmly and quietly, “George wanted to name you and your sister after his grandparents, Elda and Barry and after I convinced him that we were in the nineties and not the 1953, we settled on naming you Evelyn and Evan.”

She sighed but it came out shaky, even her hands shook when she exhaled. “That was, and still is the proudest moment of my life. I gave birth to two of the most wonderful children a parent could ask for. A girl, so beautiful, smart, and artistic and a boy, the spitting image of his father, tough, and witty and both with a promising future.” The sound of calm happiness fled her voice and the side of her face sank, “But, George and I couldn’t keep it together; the economy was just too much and we had to stay afloat. We weren’t thinking, we were stupid and our decision left him dead and his children forever scarred.”