Never Seen Anything Quite Like You Too (A The Script Fan-fiction)

16) It IS My Fault

I sat there revelling in shock. She had sounded so cheerful on the phone around five days ago. What changed? Then of course there were my dreams. Fuck. What on earth were they about? The question was soon answered for me. The dreams were about my Mother dying and me being responsible for my mother dying, but what about the dream where I was alone? I don't get how these are linked together. Why would that dream have any relation to the others? Maybe it doesn't. Maybe it was an anomaly. A standalone. An outcast. Just like me.

I turned slowly to reach my Father's gaze. My eyes burned and the tears that trickled down my cheeks left a hot trail of regret. I tasted the tears in my mouth and almost choked on them. You know people say that tears are a little on the salty side? Well mine aren't. My tears hold everything I've done in my life. Every regret. Every sin. Every single piece of guilt. It's all combined together in one single tear. I don't like the taste of guilt. It's hard to swallow and leaves a nasty aftertaste in your mouth. One that you would do anything to get rid of. Drink anything to get rid of. I'd burn my throat with lava right now if all of this guilt would stop.

Why am I feeling guilty? As far as I know I have done nothing wrong. Then I ask myself the question. Why didn't she tell me she was feeling ill? That she was ill and could die at a minute's notice.

Then I asked myself why I wasn't there for her. I wasn't there for her when she needed me the most. How many times has she been there for me? Every time I had an episode. She would be there to rub my back and make me feel better. She would whisper soothing words in my ears whilst my father banged around saying what a waste of space I was. I wasn't a good daughter. Not to my father and not to my mother.

"You weren't there," father said sternly.

I looked up at him and my bottom lip wobbled slightly. I really cannot do this right now. I really can't.

"I know," I said.

"It's your fault,"

I glared at him before my temper got the better of me.

"How is it my fault! If anything it's gotta be your fault. You were the one she had to live with for sixteen years by herself. You were the one who slammed doors and shouted the roof off of the place then brought the place down with your nasty temper. You were the one who dominated the household. Everything had to be done your way and if it wasn't the God help anyone who stood in your way. Remember when I tried that? I still remember when your hand flew out and I can still feel the sting of your hand on my cheek!" I ranted.

Father's face turned slowly from pink to red to purple. I am not joking. You literally do not want to be in this room right now.

"How dare you say this was my fault. Yes she lived with me for forty years. Eight years before we had you she lived with me. We had you and you brought nothing but pain stress and horror into our lives. Then you made your final decision to abandon your parents and go down that self-centred road you have been travelling down since the moment you took your first sodding breath on this planet. The moment you left her health worsened. I believe you have some knowledge about Seyle's General Adaptation Syndrome?" Father asked.

I shook my head. I had never really paid that much attention in psychology; I was too busy thinking about what I could do next in art. I wasn't about to admit that though. Not when my Father would pick a fault and stretch it to get all he could out of it before letting it go to fly back towards me and hit me like a slap on the cheek. He sighed.

"Seyle's G.A.S said that there are three stages to stress and many chronic illnesses are caused by stress. The first stage is the alarm stage where the hypothalamus sends stressors out and this sets a chain reaction off. It leads to cortisols and adrenaline being produced and remaining in the body. Too much adrenaline raises your blood pressure which is what your poor mother had and this contributed to her heart attacks. When you decided to leave your mother jumped a little bit, that's the alarm stage. That tiny bit of stress which you can deal with in the next stage which is the resistance stage. In this stage your body tries to reach homeostasis. That means everything in your body is at an equilibrium, a balance. However cortisols are still being produced. Now what your mother had was long term stress because you left and never returned. This lead to the exhaustion stage of the General Adaptation Syndrome. In this stage your body's ability to resist is lost because its adaptation energy sully is low. This is often referred to as: overload, burnout, adrenal fatigue, maladaptation or dysfunction. Your mother was struggling so much because in this stage it is where stress goes up and stays up. The resistance stage is well and truly over and the exhaustion stage, the one your mother was in, is the most hazardous of them all. Especially to her health. Chronic stress can damage nerve cells in tissues and organs. She also had trouble remembering stuff. Short term stuff not long term stuff. The hippocampus, which is the part of the brain that deals with memory, was vulnerable," Father explained.

I bowed my head as I took this all in. My leaving made my mother stress herself to death basically. That's what my father is saying.

"I don't know what to say," I said honestly.

"Don't say sorry. You wouldn't mean it. Just acknowledge that this is entirely your fault and I can say one thing,"

I looked up to meet his eyes.

"You are not welcome at the funeral. You're a murderer," father growled.

He got up and headed for the door. I, too, got up to see him out.

"I can see my way out of this small shit hole thank you very much!" Father said.

I halted in my tracks and let him go out with his usual slam of the door.

I ran back into the living room with even more tears flooding my cheeks and vision. I reached for my phone and grabbed what I hoped was my phone. I really couldn't see much through my watery vision.

I think it's time that I made use of Glen's number. I need him with me. I need him to tell me it isn't my fault. Even though the facts stand against me, I want to hear it wasn't my fault. However deep down I can feel that it is my fault.

A/N: Another meh chapter. I'm not really feeling these chapters and these were the ones I actually was looking forward to writing. Anyway vote and comment do what you please.