12/30/2015
chapter twenty ;
MOM
♡
B E N N Y
point of view.
SOFT MORNING LIGHT spilled through my window, and my mind was ripped away from a wonderful dream. The clock beside my bed read 6:01 AM; no matter how long I lay still, eyes closed, though, I could not return to sleep.
Eventually, sighing, I pushed myself out of bed. The strong aroma of coffee wafted through the cool air, and I trudged downstairs in nothing but boxers, running my fingers through my hair.
I was surprised to find Elizabeth standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a hand on her forehead, the other gripping a mug of steaming coffee.
"You're up?"
Liz glanced up at me; her exhaustion was clear. "Couldn't fall back asleep."
"Why?" I questioned.
The girl waved me away. "Personal reasons. Maybe I'll tell you later."
"All right. I'm going to check on Mom. She's been sick."
For a moment, Elizabeth stared at me in utter silence. Then she looked down at her coffee mug, pursing her lips. "I know. Bad headaches."
"I noticed." With that, I made my way into the narrow hall between the living room couch and staircase.
Rather than barging in – afraid that I would find my mother naked or something – I knocked lightly. Just to be safe. When there was no answer, I knew that she was still asleep.
Of course she's asleep, I thought to myself. It's six in the morning, and we have nothing to do.
Initially I planned to leave her alone until she awoke, but something kept me planted in place. She'd fallen asleep peacefully the previous night, and I'd slipped out of her room and went to my own bed. But before that her state was quite worrying.
Once more I knocked, just to be sure, and softly called, "Ma."
The next few moments were silent, as they had been, so I pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside. There was an odd smell in the room, and I wrinkled my nose.
"Momma, what is that?" I approached her and sat at the edge of the bed.
Mom was still asleep, utterly peaceful. Her dark lashes nearly brushed her cheeks, and her features were soft and gentle. For a forty-year-old woman, she looked young, and very beautiful. But I noticed now the strands of silver hidden among her dark hair.
I pressed my lips together. Surely she had already noticed the gray hairs; if she hadn't, I knew that she would not be pleased when she did.
A sigh escaped my lips, and I just watched Mom sleep for a moment. Part of me wanted to let her get her rest, to leave her alone . . . But, at the same time, there was a nagging in my gut. I couldn't identify the feeling, but I just knew that the urge to wake her up was becoming overwhelming.
For a minute, I stared at my hands, contemplating. What reason did I have to wake her? We had no plans for the day. Nothing to prepare for. . . .
Sighing, I made my decision. I would let her rest. Clearly she needed it.
As I stood, I glanced at Mom again – and then I froze. She looked so peaceful, so peaceful, so deep in sleep. It was then that my eyes flickered to her chest, covered by her deep purple blanket. I stared, my gaze unwavering.
She was still. Completely still.
My heart had already picked up its pace. A wave of anxiety crashed over me, pricking at my skin, my muscles. Suddenly my skin tingled all over and then went numb, and I could feel my insides rumble, a threat, and the beating of my heart was so violent that it hurt my chest.
"Hey, mom," I managed to say, dropping down to the side of the bed. The movement traveled through the bed, moving her with it, but she did not stir. "Hey."
I gripped her shoulder and shook gently. She did not react in the slightest. So she was in a very deep sleep, of course, and I shook her again, harder this time.
"Mom, wake up." My voice was louder this time; there were times that Mom could be a very heavy sleeper, and once Elizabeth had to scream in Mom's face to wake her up. The exhaustion must have caught up with her.
I should leave her alone, I thought. She's just really tired. She'll wake up when she's rested.
But I could not push away the worry buried in my heart. I shook her again, harder, harder, always harder, and I called for her several times, louder and louder, but she never once stirred. Now the panic was setting in.
The moment I stood to my feet, my knees buckled, and I nearly tumbled to the ground. My entire body was numb, and my hands were trembling violently. I could not choke back the painful rising nausea.
"Mom," was all I managed to whisper, my voice breaking completely. I stared at her in shock, terrified. No single thought could run through my brain and actually make any bit of sense. My mind had gone into a frenzy.
Only after I had watched her chest for five minutes straight, searching for the slightest of movements – and finding none – did I trudge out of the bedroom.
Elizabeth had not moved from her spot against the counter. She stared down at the coffee mug, tracing her finger along the rim. I could not speak, but she noticed me on her own after a while.
The girl's brows pulled together instantly, creased with worry. "What's up with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I was biting down on my tongue; the metallic substance of blood was bitter against my throat. If I had been breathing, I might have choked on it. All I could do was stare at my older sister, unable to open my mouth, unable to find my voice. Shock consumed me.
"What?" she demanded, the worry now coloring her voice as well as her eyes. She straightened up, moving to enter the living room, coffee mug in hand. "Benny, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that? You're scaring me. . . ."
Mom. My mouth shaped the word, and blood oozed down my lip. The sight caused Liz to lurch forward.
"Benny!" she shrieked, reaching me in seconds. Then she touched my lower lip with her free hand, dabbing at the blood. "What happened to you? Why are you bleeding?"
The slick liquid hastened downward, dribbling down my chin, but I felt no pain. Just numb. Absolutely numb.
"Why won't you answer me – ?" Elizabeth broke off abruptly. "Benny, why are you crying – " And she broke off again, suddenly going as still as a statue. Her eyes darted past me, toward the hallway, unfocused.
Liz was right – I had started to cry, against my will. The tears rushed down my cheeks, uncontrollable. The salt mixed in with the blood, creating an odd mixture of taste. I might have felt more strongly about it if I could focus on anything else –
"No," Elizabeth mumbled. "No, absolutely not."
Suddenly she pushed past me, angry and frantic. It was all I could do to turn myself around and follow her. And I reached her in time, allowing my back to hit the wall, as Liz jerked the blanket off of our mother's body.
"Mom," she spoke through gritted teeth, touching the woman's hand, "get up." She spoke roughly, although her touch was gentle.
Liz drew her mother's hand up to her mouth, and kissed it lightly. She shook her head nonstop. And then she started pulling Mom into a sitting position, although the woman only swayed limply, unwilling to help. And this seemed to scare Liz, because she immediately let her go.
"You have longer!" Liz cried out. "Get up! I'm serious, this isn't funny!" She didn't dare to touch the woman, and all I could do was watch, trying to make sense of it all in my jumbled mind. "Get out of bed, Momma!" she screamed, causing me to flinch.
When the tears began to flow down Liz's cheeks and a ragged gasp tore from her throat, it really hit me. The truth – The truth that made absolutely no sense. The impossible truth, the truth that could not be and was not true.
Of course, people died all the time – it was a natural part of life. It just couldn't be my mom. Never my mom.
And Liz was screaming at the top of her lungs, and I was sliding down the wall, unable to breathe, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to think.
This isn't real. This cannot be real. It isn't possible. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.
It's not real.
M A K A Y L A
point of view.
Sleep escaped me.
Throughout the night I may have caught at least two hours of sleep, but the remainder of the night consisted of restlessness. No matter how long I remained still, kept my eyes closed, I could not slip unconscious.
Eventually the morning sun rose, and I sighed in defeat. At least if I stayed up now, I would have no choice but to fall asleep tonight. My mind would be forced to shut down. Ha ha.
Now I sat at my open window, in a twirling leather chair, a steaming mug of coffee burning my hands and my thighs. The air that blew in was cool, but I still wore only a tank top and leggings.
The winter air – however warm it was compared to Tennessee winters – refreshed my skin, my lungs. A cloud passed over the sun, casting a dull glow over the cul-de-sac, but it was beautiful, nevertheless. For once, I could acknowledge that there might be some good qualities of being a morning person.
Despite the lack of sleep, the morning was peaceful. If I closed my eyes now, I might have dozed off.
And then a scream sliced through the gentle birdsong, the peaceful atmosphere altogether. I had been slightly dozing off, and so I jerked forward, nearly spilling coffee all over my legs.
The worst part was that I recognized the direction of the voice. And it was directly across from my house.
Before I was even aware of anything again, I was moving across my room, wrenching my bedroom door open. Adrenaline coursed through my veins already, and I screamed, "Luke!" as I flew downstairs. I had no idea why I'd yelled for him – it was an instinctive thing, but if he had awoken, I did not stop to know.
In moments I stood at the front door of the Rodriguez house, knocking rapidly.
Even from outside I could hear the loud cries – cries of despair and agony. The sound sent chills down my back; whatever had gone wrong inside was beyond my imagination. There must not have been an intruder, no Austin escaping from jail to threaten my family, because there was no sound of physical struggle. Only the haunting sobs of a woman – either Lynn or Elizabeth, I could not tell.
Either way, no matter who was crying, the sound planted a horrible fear in the pit of my stomach, wedged it between my lungs, my heart. Something horrible had happened – there was no doubt.
No one answered the door, so I tried the doorknob – unlocked. So I stumbled inside, frantic, and I followed the direction of the cries. The hallway beside the staircase, where there was only a small bathroom and Lynn's bedroom.
"Benny," I cried out, nearly tripping over myself as I entered the bedroom. In my haste, I was hardly able to skid to a stop, ceasing just at the side of Lynn's bed. My bare feet crunched over something, but that was the last thing on my mind.
And there Elizabeth sat, weeping, clawing at her stomach, holding Lynn against her chest with her free arm. Utter confusion swept over me like a tidal wave, and for a moment I watched in horrified silence. Why was Elizabeth crying so hard? What had happened?
Lynn only allowed Elizabeth to hug her, and did not put forth any effort of her own. Perhaps there had been a death in the family, although I was not aware of any close relatives of the Rodriguezs'. Something had happened, and Lynn was affected, too; she was completely limp, probably weak with grief.
I glanced backward, and my eyes landed upon Benny. He sat on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. And he stared at the ground, eyes wide and unblinking, jerking violently. It took me a moment to realize that he was trembling.
"What – " A whoosh of air escaped my lungs. I could hardly breathe, and I moved toward my boyfriend, dropping onto my knees in front of him.
Benny looked up, met my eyes, and said nothing. His lips were pressed tightly together, but his eyes were pleading. Never had I seen someone look so broken – Never had I expected to see Benny look as small as a child, so utterly lost.
"Benny," I whispered, gripping onto each of his shoulders and keeping our eye contact. "What happened? What happened?"
A moment later, his lips parted slightly, and they quivered nonstop. "Mom," he managed to whisper, his upper body beginning to jerk with the sobs that he attempted to hold back. "She's dead."
The words bounced off of my mind, making absolutely no sense. My hands fell from Benny's shoulders, and I leaned backward, eyebrows pulling together into a frown. "No, she's not, she's – "
"She's dead," he repeated, louder this time, and perhaps his raise of voice had not been intentional. Suddenly Benny's brows were pulling up, his lips stretching and curling downward, eyes filling with tears. He shook with choked back sobs, and then he shook harder when the sobs escaped fluidly.
Nothing made sense. The world had stopped spinning. The sun had burned out. The moon was the greater light. The stars were dull and black. The fucking Earth was flat.
"Don't joke," I managed to choke out, "about that."
Benny only just glared at me when someone else burst into the room. Luke. I looked up at him and then fell backward. It was then that I could feel the glass piercing into several areas of my body: my feet, worst of all, and my knees, and my palms where I had tried to regain my balance. Something had soaked through my clothes, and it wasn't blood.
"Kayla," Luke breathed, staring down at me first. "What happened – ?"
His eyes flickered to Elizabeth and remained there. A grave shadow passed over his face, darkening his features, blue eyes to black.
"No," Luke said, shaking his head, and I did not know if Elizabeth had met his gaze, because I was staring at Benny, searching for some sign of trickery. "She had so much more time, Liz, she can't. . . ."
The sound of Benny's and Liz's sobs echoed from the walls, vibrated against my bones, and I felt the nausea traveling upward. I pushed myself to my knees, then stumbled to my feet, throwing myself out of the room. And I did not dare to look back, not at Benny, not at Liz, not at Lynn, definitely not at Lynn.
I barely made it to the toilet across from the bedroom before I threw up. There was nothing in my system but coffee, however, so vomiting was much worse than it would have been. But even the pain of that could not distract me from the pain that was to come.
It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.
Clear liquid spewed from my tightening throat, and my stomach clenched painfully with every wretch, and I held up my own hair.
It's not real.
♡
i'm sorry. i hate myself, too.
i can't even think of anything to say right now, to be honest. i've known this was coming for forever now, but now that it's here...ugh. i really hate myself.
just know, though, that it has a purpose. i would not kill her off for no reason. and if you're confused, which is more than likely the case, it will all be explained.
STAY GOLD
August 27, 2017