Behind every mean girl...there's a tragedy

Et tu Brute

 I wake up on top of a pillow stained with dry tears and a completely dark room. I fetch my crutches then walk to the closed window. I throw the drapes open, expecting to find rays of sunshine sneak inside but instead complete darkness welcomes me. It's night already? How can it be? The sun was barely halfway in the sky when I woke up a few minutes ago. Unless it wasn't a few minutes ago. How long have I been sleeping for?

"Great you're awake!" I turn my head to find my mom at my door with a tray of food and the biggest smile I've seen on her face for a while. "The doctor said it will be best if we limit your movements so I brought you food so you won't have to go through all the hassle to come eat downstairs."

"Thanks," I say reluctantly as she approaches closer.

"Come on, lay down. It's not good for you to be up, you're going to undo all of the hard work the doctors put in that leg."

She places the tray on my bedside table and help me to go back under my covers. After she makes sure I was comfortable, she lays the tray carefully on me.

What is this, an alternate universe?

"Mom, are you feeling alright?" I question when she begins to cut the steak into small pieces.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be alright?" She laughs and for a second I capture the image of my old mom. The one who used to always be there for me, the one who walked me inside the classroom on my first day of school because I was scared to be left alone with a bunch of strangers.

"No reason." I shut off all conversation as I chew on a piece of meat which reminds me of something. "Why don't you ever make normal food anymore?" Her eyebrows bunch up in confusion. "I mean food that kids like, you know, since I'm a kid according to you."

"You are a kid, honey. Don't try to grow up too fast." She hands me a glass of cranberry juice.

"That didn't answer my question. You never make pasta anymore, I used to love it when you made macaroni and cheese."

"That's baby food and pasta makes you fat," she replies curtly.

"What about chicken? Everybody loves chicken yet you seem to be cooking every other type of meat except chicken," I insist.

"Steven doesn't. He said only poor people eat chicken," she mutters quietly.

Of course he would say that. That man is so infuriating. Hearing about him makes me lose my appetite and with my mom here I'm bound to hear more about him.

"I'm done." I push the tray away from me.

"What? Already?" My mom stands bewilder.

"Yep, I want to be alone now if you don't mind."

"Yes, I do mind. God, Rachel I'm trying here but you won't give me a chance. How are things between us supposed to get better if you keep pushing me away?" Something tugs at my heart when I detect the desperation in her voice. If only I could trust her not to ever throw me under the bus for Steven, things would get better. Unfortunately, I don't.

"Mom, you're kind of giving me a headache now so please let yourself out." I slide down till my head's under the covers.

I hear the clinking of plates, then her heels on the floor before the door closes with a loud thump. I uncover myself and stare at the ceiling.

I can't help but feel that God is punishing me. For what? I have no idea. Sure I have done some not so pretty things to other people but nothing none of them didn't deserved. Just watching someone smile turns my guts inside out. I can't take it.