There's Something About Nick

Sequel to the Happy Ending

"Baby..."
The room fell silent after that word, the only thing filling that gap being my heavy breathing as he wrapped his arms around me.
"Baby it's okay."
Hugging him back, I cried into his shirt. "Every other night, Nick. It happens every other night."
"I know, I know. Shhh."
My cries filled the room, making me think I could be heard from a mile away. I was wrong but the thought still made me cry. Harder.
"We're done. We're past that chapter in our life, Amy. You don't need to worry anymore," he reassured me.
"It's just a reminder that I might lose you. I almost did before. You almost lost me and this would have never happened. Us. We would have never happened."
The tears had yet to dry but I didn't have a care. I was used to this feeling.
"It was a seizure from pushing yourself too hard to run, Amy. You wouldn't have died and I didn't lose you."
"How do you know that?" I asked, pulling away from the hug and wiping the dry tears away, wishing I could get rid of the nightmare just as easily.
"Amy, you're parents were liars. Murders. You and I both know that they paid the doctor to tell you you have cancer. They put the thought in your head like they did with the rest of the children. And you're- we're lucky that they gave up on trying to kill you."
I nodded. He was right. My parents weren't my parents. They were murderers. They were liars. They stole children from when they were young and would feed them lies about them being sick. Just like what they had done to me. Eventually, they would take these children far away to what I discovered later on in life that those children would be murdered in a house my supposed parents had. I don't know why and I don't want to know why they gave up on me and let me run from that car in the middle of the road. Why? Because I refuse to lie to my child when she asks me about "grandma" and "grandpa." When she's old enough I'll tell her the truth, I know I will. It's a promise I won't break because I will never treat my daughter the way those murderers treated me. Dead. Garbage. Trash.

Just as the thought of my daughter crosses my mind our bedroom door is creaked open.
"Mommy? Are you crying?"
I stretch out my arms, welcoming her into the dark room. "Come here. Mommy needs a hug."
Leaving the door open to let the hallway light shine through, our child jumps on the bed and into my arms.

Jamie's POV:
I awoke to the sound of my mother crying and got out of bed, following the sound to her room.
"...I didn't lose you," I hear daddy say in a calm and soothing voice. That's always a good sign that mommy and daddy aren't arguing. They never have but once when he forgot to get groceries on the way back from work and mommy complained about her having to do everything. That included taking care of me.

I waited another second listening to mom cry before reaching up to the door and stepping inside, stumbling a bit. "Mommy? Are you crying?"
"Come here." The light from the hallway showed me her smile causing me to smile as I jumped in her arms. "Mommy needs a hug."
I look up at her but have yet to let go. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, baby," mom says. She's lying.
"You're lying!"
Mom quickly goes silent and looks down, refusing eye contact. I look at dad for support as to what to do next. His reaction though is quite odd as he picks me up and sets me in his lap, smiling.
"Something you'll get to know when you're older," he says.
"I'm older than I was a second ago! Tell me!"
"Not old enough yet, sweetie. Give your mom some peace and quiet. You have a busy day tomorrow, so let's get you to bed."
Then he gets out of bed and then helps me off. "Dad, put on a shirt."

11 years later...

I'm 15 now and my name is Jamie. Jamie Nelson. I like soccer, football, girls and I suck at painting. I always speak what I think. Some people hate me for it. Some love me though for who I am. I'm also very proud to be a lesbian. My father taught me that, being proud of who I am. And I will always carry my coming-out stories that will forever be my funniest moments. But that's a story for another time. Somewhere in the world their story is coming to an end but in this one- my story? It's only just beginning.

I skip down the stairs missing every other one. I've got a beanie on, some sweatpants and one of dad's shirts on as I run into the kitchen.
"The queen has arrived!" I scream.
"Good morning!" Mom says as she flips a pancake.
"Pancakes! Good call, but I'll stick with cereal." I grab a bowl and make some cereal for myself. The minute I sit down at the dining room table dad walks in straightening his tie.
"Hey kiddo," he jokes.
"Hey dad. Before I forget, good luck at the job interview."
"Thanks sweetie. What time is it? Are you ready for school?"
"Dad, it's summer."
"Right. My bad."
As my dad walks over to mom and kisses her on the cheek I look towards the corner of the room and my smiles quickly fades as I look at the empty food bowl and empty water dish on the ground.

Oreo died two months ago. He was our cat. And still no one has gotten rid of any of his belongings. I still miss him. I know everyone dies but I hate the feeling of having to remember someone longer than I've known them. It sucks. Life sometimes sucks.

During my breakfast and my thoughts of the meaning of dying something crosses my mind and I have the feeling I need to ask it out loud because like I said, I say everything on my mind to the point where my thoughts should just hang above my head for all to see.

My thought: I wonder whatever happened to grandma and grandpa...