I Know Your Truth

Chapter 18 - My Eyes Fill With Tears

-MATTHEW'S POV-

The police were no help after calling about my mother's body being missing and the call I received from the woman. They said there was nothing they could do once again. Was there anything they could do? It angered me, it brought me to tears, it made me believe there was nothing I could do that was worth anything anymore. My body hurt. It didn't hurt just from my unhealed and physical wounds, it hurt from my mind. It hurt from the tears that filled my eyes and choked sobs that occurred almost every night. I had lost everyone, and there was nothing I could do.

And I don't say this in a way someone should pity me, or say 'Oh, I'm so sorry', because where had those simple four words brought anyone lately? No where. And I had planned on being no where soon enough; just as soon as I brought my family to a steady place and mind. Yet, I had caused the opposite as soon as I came here- Maybe even as soon as I was born. I was a burden to everyone that came to me. I mean, if you take it from my perspective, I sold drugs to get my family some money yet, that brought me to be kidnapped by Elias and Mark. That caused me to commit murder, and end someone's precious life. And, after moving back to my ménage, my mother dies.

Would it be better if I just stayed at Elias and Mark's place? 

Or, better yet, just kill myself?

The thoughts of suicide had filled my mind throughout almost my entire life, but they started a lot around this time. Ironic, right? I mean, I just got a girlfriend and suddenly I have thoughts about taking the gun to my head, huh? It makes me laugh sometimes when I think about it, really. Am I a dumbass that can't handle a couple bad things to happen, and instantly thinks that painting my wall with blood would be better? I think a lot to myself, would it be preferable wether or not to say that my sister has a kidnapped brother or a brother that committed suicide?

My father seems shocked after I told him what the woman spoke about on the phone call, and also what I said about why I was kidnapped. He had actually locked himself in his bedroom for an hour straight, and had me banging on his door because I thought he was trying to take his time in meeting my deceased mother. I was wrong. He had a panic attack and hugged me. This is what made me question dying myself. To think that after all these years- these horrific years, he would still love me the same? To now know my own father's love was great and amazing, but also brought me to wonder if I hurt a part of him. I noticed in his eyes he was very much a hurt man, and he still looked after my sisters and I. I wanted to help. I craved to help my father, but in all honesty I had no idea how. The emotions of a male was one of confusion that disoriented me whenever I tried to aid the mental health of it. I may be a man myself, but I would much rather call me an immature boy.

I sat at my desk, staring at the words I put on the paper, the ache in my hand will be a small reminder of my release onto a mere piece of sheet for the next few minutes. I scan my eyes over it multiple times, the same empty feeling never leaving my chest and stomach. I was told that my writing of how I felt would aid me in some kind of way. In my personal opinion, it failed me. I tried this notebook writing on multiple occasions, but it never decided to calm my crazed emotions and, it would always end in me ripping it up until one word could not be deciphered from the next.

I lean my head against the table that had steadied my emotion-filled paper once multiple times before and sighed. My world felt as if every breath I took was a piece of shattered glass being ripped through my throat. I was the reason my mother was dead. I pull myself back up from resting my head and take my time in leaving the holdings of my bedroom. My sister is taking her time in lying on the couch and letting the show 'Young Sheldon' play on almost full blast.

"Hey, can you turn it down?" I call out over the speaker, making her jump from the sudden presence of me, rushing her arm to the table and turning the volume down to a decent sound pressure.