2 - Hunger Pains
"Do you think she'll be alright?" a voice asks.
"Yes. We stitched up her head; those were very deep cuts and we'll call her soon to make an appointment to take the stitches out. As for her face, she'll be alright. It'll heal up faster if you re-apply the bandages every hour or so, " I opened my eyes. A nurse.
I looked to my left to see an unfamiliar boy. Ruffled brown hair, olive skin tone, Brown eyes, topped off with his deep voice. He was hot. This is a great dream.
His gaze snapped to me. "What?" The attractive stranger asked me. He began to cheekily grin. That's when I felt a full pain in the back of my head, and realized I wasn't dreaming.
"What do you mean what? I'm sorry, who are you?" I fired at him. The nurse excused herself out of the room, leaving him with me. I began to mentally panic, keep calm. Thousands of questions swarmed in my head.
"What do you mean? I said what first... you called me hot." I immediately sensed the cockiness radiating of off him.
"Wha- I never called you hot!" I sputtered, knowing that I may have accidentally said it-out loud. I obviously wouldn't admit I called him hot; I didn't feel like boosting his ego even more. But I did feel my face grow warmer as we continued to talk about my stupid compliment. Before he could reply, I added, "And you didn't answer my question. Who are you?"
"Alright, alright. I'm Brent, your dad demanded I took you here." Snips of earlier hit me, everything that had actually just happened. I was in shock. "And, just so you know, we're free to go any minute now."
"I want to see my dad." I tell him blankly. I was scared and my stomach began to knot when I let my thoughts drift. Thankfully, I'm great at concealing my feelings.
"And you will, but, right now they're dealing with your mom, oh and shipping the furniture over. So, you're stuck with me." He tells me matter-of-factly.
I pulled the covers off of me, it was too hot in the room and I felt my hands become clammy. Then I chimed, "Can't you just take me home?"
"And how would that be fun?" He smiled. I gave him a look.
"Oh my god, just take me home. I don't even know you!" I shouted, exasperated. "And even if I did, some how know you, you know what---I don't even care, just take me home. I'm tired and I wan't to sleep." His eyes widened just enough for me to notice, he was taken back by my anger. I suddenly wondered if he knew what happened. I awkwardly coughed when the room became silent.
"You just slept for 6 hours straight, well, passed out." He seemed like he'd rather be anywhere other than here. Me too, buddy.
I sat up. "Just take me home please, I'm really tired." I forced a smile on my face, hoping that he'd pity me and give in. I needed to know what was going on with my mom.
"What's in it for me?" He asked with a devilish grin and a twinkle in his eye. I was confused.
"What do you mean what's in it for you?"
"I mean, I'm almost out of gas money, so if I bring you could you chip in?" He asked sheepishly. At this, I laughed. He seemed giddy like a kid. He reminded me of Sel when she'd ask me for ice cream on our Wednesday date nights and I said yes. She had the same look of innocence in her eyes. I felt my eyes water and immediately pushed the thoughts to the back of my head and looked away from Brent and to anything else in the room, choosing to gaze at the clock. The hand on the clock was ticking by slowly.
"Of course, if my purse is here." I told him. As he reached underneath his chair to reveal my purse, the same African-American nurse came back in.
"Are you feeling okay, honey?" She asked me in a soothing tone, which unfortunately, didn't soothe me at all. I just gave her a tight smile and nodded my head. I was lying because I was so not fine.
"Here, step down for me please." She asked. I did as she said and swung my legs over the edge. "Now walk towards me." I walked slowly in a straight line, feeling tired. When I reached her, she asked, "Are you nauseas, dizzy, or is there anything else that I should be aware of?"
"No," My voice came out cracky. I cleared my throat. "No, I feel fine." I assured her. I wondered why she was doing extra testing and questions, they should've done it when I was asleep.
"Alright, well you did get pretty knocked up from a fall," She said suspiciously, eyeing Brent. "We do have people you can talk to on the second floor if you need anything else at all..these are just some pain-killers, take two every couple of hours. You should be fine in no time hun." She placed an orange bottle of pills into my hand.
She gave me another smile without even looking at Brent. Then she turned on her heel and left the room. I just then noticed how warm her presence was once she was gone. I've never met many people like that, simply genuine and kind. "C'mon," Brent said suddenly tearing me from my thoughts. He stood up and grabbed his coat and my purse with him. "We're going to eat."
I glanced down at him holding my wrist, and quickly pulled it away before answering, "And why are we going to eat?"
He scowled. "You're saying that you're not hungry?" I stubbornly rolled my eyes but didn't protest, he was right, I was starving. I just hoped this slight detour wouldn't take too long. I'd rather see what's going on back home than eat. Even if I felt hunger pains.
When we got outside, into the parking lot, I noticed how dark it already was. "Where's your car?" I wondered aloud. I was becoming impatient and wanted this to take as little of our time as possible. He ignored me. We kept walking until we reached the end of the parking lot and he paused in front of a car and I heard the jingle of keys when he searched his pockets.
Once we stopped "This is your car?" I asked. My eyebrows shot up, as I eyed the old, rusty, grey car in front of me. I didn't expect him to have an older model considering how well he was dressed. The kid was covered head to toe in brand name clothing.
"Yes, this is my car. And this is also the only car I could afford. Sorry, should I have a new Lambo to even talk to you?" He shot at me. I couldn't interpret whether it was a joke or not, but I thought it came out harshly. It was a distinct change in tone, did I hurt his feelings? I didn't understand what he meant until I re-thought my words. I guessed that I could've been nicer but I didn't expect him to take it the wrong way; that really was a stupid thing to say.
He unlocked the car, and then I caught my reflection in car window . Well don't I just look splendid, I thought sarcastically. Thats when I turned my head the slightest bit and noticed a bald spot. I point to it and gasp, "Brent!"
He whips his head towards me in confusion. Then his eyes land on the side of my head and I could've sworn I saw the corner of his lips faintly tug up into a smile.
"What?" He snarls.
"What?! You don't get to give me attitude when I have a freaking bald spot on my head!" I exclaimed, astonished by him. I glanced back at the window to get a closer look. A patch of bald on my head of golden hair looked completely stupid.
"Yeah, they had to shave your hair to stitch it up." He mumbled as if it was no big deal. I was about to lose my shit, I looked absolutely ridiculous and I had no idea how I'd cover it up. And what was Brent's deal anyway? He's still mad? I personally would've taken that chance to die of laughter if somebody showed me a bald spot on their head.
He just looked at me blankly which pissed me off even more. I opened the car door to sit in the passenger seat and shut it closed. Hard. For added emphasis.
"Seriously?" He asks when getting in the car, I assume about me slamming the door of his car shut. I don't answer, and he revs the engine to life. Surprisingly, his car was clean of any clutter or mess. It also had the new car smell even though it was old.
"I can't go anywhere looking like this," I tell him matter-of-factly as we begin driving, remembering we were supposed to go out for food.
"Sucks," is all he says. "And here's your stupid phone." He hands me my iPhone which I assumed would be shattered due to my mom, but it just had a few cracks down the screen. I didn't bother asking how he got it, I just slid it into my pocket.
He turned the radio on, probably an attempt in making it less tense in the car and old 2000's rap song came on. "Look, I agreed to go before I knew what I looked like. And I'm sorry about insulting your car, really." His hands tightened around the steering wheel but his face gave away no signs of anger. He concealed his emotions well too then. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything, I don't even have a car." He didn't answer.
We end up in line at a McDonald's. The hospital was in the middle of the county on the outskirts of New York. The nearest fast food place didn't even have a drive through so we had to go inside. I was pissed and humiliated enough. But I knew Brent didn't have money so I had to come in and pay. It looked like a hangout spot for teens considering several of them sat in small cliques at tables. Brent doesn't give me a chance to speak. "Go get us a place to sit." He says.
My cheeks flushed as people curiously stared, wondering what happened to my face. I had stitches, a bold spot, a pretty beat up face and a band-aid on my cheek. I slid into an empty booth in the corner the farthest away from people. Once he approaches the table, I look at our tray of food. There were two big macs, two smoothies, a chicken wrap and a salad.
I take my smoothie, and as I reach for the big mac, he swats my hand away. "What?" I blurted.
"Why are you touching my big mac?" He frowned.
"Your big mac?"
"Yes, my big mac." There was no smile on his face, he clearly didn't find our argument amusing like earlier. He was still mad.
I removed my hands from the burger and took the chicken wrap instead. I began to eat, eavesdropping on the chattering of other people. "And besides," He says. "Why would you want the big-mac? You're a girl." I refrained from glaring and punching him in the throat and didn't reply as I finished eating. I looked at our tray, the 2nd Big Mac looked lonely sitting there when it could've been in my tummy. He didn't even eat it.
I took one last sip of my smoothie and reached into my pocket for my phone. I prepared myself but my stomach still tightened as I looked at the screen. 21 missed calls from mom, but there were no voice-messages. "I'll be right back, I just need to use the washroom," I excused myself, his face was still bitter and he didn't even look up as I left.
When I entered a stall, I reluctantly hit call back. I was scared of what she might say. Would she apologize? Beg for me to come back because she needed someone to clean for her? "Hello?" Her voice called out.
I couldn't find my voice. "Elena?" She asks, her voice soft, not rough like my last memory of her.
"H-hi."
"Why'd you leave me?" Her words were slurred. She was drunk. I was all too familiar with this behaviour from her and I knew the conversation that was about to follow. Or so I thought.
"You hurt me." I told her angrily. "This time it wasn't emotionally, this time you really hurt me badly. I had to go to the hospital." Just saying it out loud hurt my chest. I was talking to the woman who gave birth to me; the woman I once loved so much. Now I felt rage bubbling up and my breaths began to quicken. I wanted to yell and scream at her. I was so tired of this constant routine of fighting and making up.
"About that, sweetie, you know it was an accident right?" She softly giggled, and I grew more angry at how care free she sounded.
"An accident?" I hissed, remembering I was in a McDonald's bathroom and I should keep my voice down. I leaned against the long bathroom counter.
"Oh, don't be like that laina," she cooed.
"Dont be like what? Do you expect me to come running back into your arms right after you smashed my head into a window and punctured my face?" I shot at her. I was scowling and I felt my eyes burn up.
"Please, come home, quit being dramatic. We can pretend none of this happened."
"Dramatic?" I repeated, clearer this time. " I was rushed to the hospital because of you! What if I don't want to pretend? This was your last strike, mom, you blew it." I was going to live a new life now without her ordering me around like I was nothing to her. I thought about how happy I'll be there, I knew my dad would never lay a finger on me.
"Yeah, you know what, lets not pretend anymore." She says through the receiver. Her voice became steady. "Because I pretended I loved you. All 16 years of your life, I hated you!" Her words were sharp, and I realized that was the first time she told me she hated me. She's called me a bitch and every other book in the dictionary, but I've never been told that I was hated. Even though deep down I knew every day, hearing the words out loud hurt my heart.
"I do everything for you! How can you hate me?" My voice wavered, I tried to prevent tears from welling up in my eyes even now and blinked away.
"Don't interrupt!" She screamed so loud, it hurt my ear. "You are not smart. You were never smart. You're a slut." She was slurring again.
By now, I was crying but trying to keep quiet so she couldn't hear me. "Do you hear me Alainna? I want you to hear this! You're disgusting and lazy and I'm ashamed that I had to raise you." It was hard to make out some words. I sat on the floor now crying, not realizing or caring where I was.
I was so angry, I interrupted, "How was I lazy? You we're the one who sat on her ass everyday while I cleaned the house, while I cooked, while I did everything! I never went out with my friends or had a social life because of you!" My voice gave me away. She knew now that I was crying, it was evident in my house.For a second the line was so quiet I thought she had hung up.
"That's right. Cry like the little bitch you are. You should be. Who are you talking to?" Anger rippled through me.
"What is wrong with you?" I sobbed. "I know you hate me but, you're my mother."
"You say that like it means something." I could hear her smirk through the phone. "But I truly do enjoy your pain. You know, I heard every single time you cried and I was smiling, because I was the one who caused you it." She snickered. "Trust me, I saw the cuts on your arms. I know that when I killed Coco it broke you. Making your life miserable was the only thing stopping me from killing you, or myself." My mother continued. My breath halted. I opened and closed my eyes. This can't be real. I couldn't believe what I heard.
My hands began to shake. "You killed Coco?" I yelled. Coco was my bestfriend, a golden retriever who I had since I was 12 when I found her in a ditch in horrible condition and raised her on my own. I even payed for all her supplies and needs. My mom was right; Coco was the only thing keeping me sane and when she mysteriously 'ran away' a couple of months ago, I was so tempted to kill myself at anytime. I had nothing to lose.
"Obviously I killed Coco, you actually thought that runt just ran away?" She laughed. Her obnoxiously laughing had me raging, anger made my chest tighten up as she continued. "Oh and when you got expelled from your old high school for bringing drugs to school, thanks for covering for me hun."
Once I processed the thought of everything she'd done, I lost it. "You're a cold, heartless, bitch! I used to think I didn't deserve you as a mother, but no, it's always been you. You say I'm a slut? You're a stripper! You get it on with different men every night!" I continued to scream and curse at her, saying things I never would say out loud. Until I was trembling, laying on the ground, sobbing with the phone still to my ear. I was completely and utterly pathetic.
"Is that was you think of me?" She began to laugh again, so sinister, it send chills down my back. "Now, you think your life is miserable already? You've made mine terrible too. You're a terrible daughter, and I can't stand you. Especially after you tried to murder the only family you had."
I stiffened and put the phone closer to my ear. I couldn't find any words, she was unbelievable. How dare she try to blame Selena's death on me and accuse me of trying to murder her? The mention of Selena's name made me feel torn. I was already sobbing and memories that proceeded to flood through my head made it all worse.
"Screw you." she snarled. "I'm going to burn this house down. With me inside of it. So there will be no memories of what you did and there will be no memories of me. " My mother threatened. I didn't know whether to believe her or not. I stopped crying.
I knew my mother would never do it. "Leslie, you're bluffing." I said, trying not to panic. I never called her by her real name. My heart began to race. I hoped she couldn't sense how scared I was.
She laughed once more, "Guess we'll have to wait and see." The line disconnected. I then had my phone whipped at the wall for the second time today. This time I didn't care if it was broken.
I continued crying into my hands for what seemed like ages, forgetting that I was laying in a McDonald's bathroom. My head pounded where I got the stitches. Suddenly, my phone buzzed, indicating a notification. I got up reluctantly and reached out for it.
I slowly picked it up and saw I had received a video message from my mothers number with text underneath it. I read the text first, A little thing to remember me by. My heart pounded in my chest and rang in my ears as I hit play.
It was my mom in the video. She set the camera down and smiled before taking 5 containers full of gasoline, pouring it everywhere as she hummed our song to herself. On the floor, the counters, the tables, walls and in the end, herself. I held my breath and kept my eyes fixated on the scream. I felt fear twist my stomach. I wanted to vomit.
She then lit one match and threw it at the floor. She smiled, watching how quickly the fire spread. In a matter of seconds, she was already on fire and the whole house was engulfed in flames. She began to scream, tried to take in all the pain. Her skin began to melt. She came towards the camera, still hissing in pain. Looking the camera dead in the eyes, my mother I still loved with all my heart said , "I always keep my word." Then the video shut off. Thousands of emotions and thoughts flooded my mind. I quickly ran to the nearest stall and my knees buckled underneath me as I puked and puked until I had nothing left. My head was spinning.
The bathroom door slammed open, I looked up to see Brent . "We have to go, they're calling the---" He got cut off by my screams and cries, I got up and shoved past him. I didn't look at everybody's face in the restaurant as I ran by. I didn't care what they thought of me, I just had to get out of there.
I wanted to die. I was a murderer. I killed my own mother. I called her a liar. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. I let her die. I never felt this sick in my life. Every fiber of my being wanted to be dead
I ran into the parking lot, screaming, feeling the hot tears soak into my shirt. Brent ran outside, tried to hold my arms as I flailed them and calm me down but I screamed and screamed until my throat ached. I ignored Brent. I ignored the terrified look on his face, even when he began screaming at me, urging me to talk, I didn't because he was scared of me.
I noticed the crowd of people recording me breaking-down in front of the restaurant. I noticed how everything was quiet except for my screams and sobs. The sky was dark and stormy, and some time through my screams, the rain began to pour. People went inside to watch. Brent stayed. His eyes were wild as he watched me. He still held me in his arms as I cried.
I kept screaming until I could hear sirens.
That was when I stopped. I refused to take it in. All I felt was numbness. I didn't care about my mom. I didn't care about myself. I didn't care about my dad or Brent or the people inside watching me. I didn't care about anyone or anything. I shut it all out.
At some point, police cars arrived. I didn't notice until a police officer approached. "Excuse me, ma'm, please tell me what's the problem ." The officer asked as he stepped towards me, using a calm voice, afraid I would explode any moment again. I must've looked like a lunatic.
I smiled, the fakest and most empty smile I could. It wasn't genuine. "There's not problem." My voice cut into the silence. Rain continued to pour heavily. It was eerie outside. People had phones out, recording me. Waiting for me to tell the story of why I was I psycho bitch.
"Other than the fact that I killed my own mother." I let them linger on my words.