Pain.
The pain had been apart of me since I could remember. It was a reminder. It reminded me of my disease; it reminded me of my fucked up life. It consumed my days and nights until there was nothing left of them.
Just an empty shell of what it never was. I didn't have a life before this disease and I would never have a life. I was born with it, and I would die with it.
This was a fact. I had learned to accept it a long time ago. I had learned to love my room, with its bright lights, its cushioned floor, its kid-friendly items.
Everything, not normal with my life, I tolerated. The kid scissors slid along my body easily as I pushed them deep into my wrist.
Nothing happened, of course...they were encased in rubber.
There was a short knock at my door. It could only be one person."Come in." my soft voice whispered. It was a fragile thing. Just like me. My mother panicked when she looked at my resting position on my Egyptian cotton bed sheets. "Nicki, you can't sit like that!" She rushed to my side and sat me up gently.
I was recently sitting in a slumped position."Mother, I'm fine," I whined and smacked her hands away from me. I hated this. She always felt the need to bombard me with her helicopter ways. I was seventeen and still treated like a child.
"I just worry honey, the doctor said your bones can break from almost anything. You need to be careful with how you sit. It can make the difference between you going to the ER and you staying home with me." I mentally picked the first option. At least I'd be able to go outside for a couple of seconds.
"Did you need something?" I cut to the point. I was tired of her already. I just wanted to sleep and wait for the next day to come. Shit, that was all I had to look forward to.
"I just heard back from the illness program, and guess what?" she beamed with excitement. Her teeth gripped her bottom lip with such force it created a small cut and left a smudge of red lipstick on her pearly whites.
"What?" my voice still only rose above a shaky whisper. If I spoke any louder it would probably crack from the exertion. I was always quiet though. I have never really yelled. The only times were when I broke five bones at the same time.
That was pretty painful.
Her face lit up so quickly, I was afraid she was going to explode with happiness. "They are willing to let you write an informative essay about Osteoperosis!"
"No."
Hell no! Why would I want to showcase what I have to the world? I was an obstacle. Just like my father told me... I would never be anything other than a hassle.
She swept her short black hair into a neat bun. Her brown eyes were the same as my dark ones. I loved my mother so much, I could never explain the full extent. She was always there for me. Mom put her dreams of becoming a singer on hold, and sometimes I wish I was never born because then she would probably be doing what she loves. I am an obstacle.
"Why? Don't you think others should be informed about this honey?" she asked. I could tell she was upset because the Trinidadian accent began to become more prominent.
"I just.. don't have the energy." I coughed slightly, and this only made her forehead crease with worry. She felt my head for warmness and checked my breathing. She was honestly doing the most. I hated it.
"Now I'm rethinking of leaving you so I can go to the market." she sighed, after taking my temperature. I was a little warm.
"No!" I blurted. Her eyebrow rose in surprise. My voice was just under a yell.
I recovered shyly, "I just need meds for my temperature." This seemed to convince her because she looked at the thermometer with worry. "I'll be back in an hour tops."
"Okay bye, mom." She kissed me on my forehead before padding out of my room. Not soon after the front door closed. I idled for five minutes before gently getting up. I sat in my wheelchair and pushed the wheels rapidly. The pastel pink walls matched my pajama pants as they dragged along the ground.
Taking the elevator I practically flew against the halls until I sat in front of the front door. I was waiting for her. She checked her mail every day and came and gave us ours. The mailman always mixed up ours.
I never had the courage to answer the door so I just watched her as she placed them down on our doorstep every day.
She was coming out! Her brown curls bounced against her back as she jogged to her mailbox. She read the mail quickly and separated them into two piles. Again, she jogged up to our door, in her Nike sweats, and shirt. On her feet, she graced some Adidas slides.
She knocked two short knocks before placing them on the step-like she always did. Maybe one day I would have the strength to answer her.
Maybe...
Hello guys. Uhm I don't know what to, or how to go about this. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Its been in my drafts for months.
What did you guys think about Nicki?
The chapter?
Should I keep the chapter up or unpublish it?
