Tough Love
Supposed to be the healthiest type of love?
"You're not good enough!" A burning sensation hit the girl's cheek. "You're never going to be good enough!" Another sting. Little Brandy looked up at her mother with a tear stricken face, her deep green eyes filled with pain and sorrow; she looked so much like her dad.
"I hate you!" Her mother screamed. "I hate you," the pain was getting a little better, "I hate you," by now she could barely feel the sting of her mother's hand, "I hate you!" She heard the shrill, broken voice one more time before she saw her mother collapse right beside her.
She was used to it. Her mother would always be so exhausted after something like this. Once she regained feeling a pang was sent to her heart when she realized what a burden she really was to her mother; how much pain she's inflicted on the poor woman on a daily basis. Pain that she did not need to endure, especially after the tragedy of her father's death.
Slowly, she stood up, ignoring the shock of pain that ran through her left shoulder. She prayed it wasn't broken, she had to get her mother up the stairs and into her bedroom, and her right side was already distorted.
The young girl walked slowly over to her mother's side. She worked so hard, just to come home to such a disgrace of a daughter.
Swiftly and quietly, making sure not to disturb her mother's sleeping form, the girl lifted the much larger body from the ground. Quickly, she squeezed her eyes shut tight, and bit down roughly on her bottom lip, attempting to keep a sob wedged deep within her throat.
Pain was a burden; it was just an inconvenience. If not for pain, she might not shame her mother as much as she does on a daily basis.
Very carefully and gradually, Brandy walked her mother up the stairs. Thanking the lord above on her way that tonight the unconscious body was cooperating.
A sharp, stabbing pain burst through her right side as she tried to tilt a little bit at the top stair. Something inside -probably one of the few broken ribs- had shifted, and stabbed the inside of her body. She wasn't positive that it stabbed her, but it sure did feel like it.
Without much thought, Brandy sucked in her breath and continued on her -painful- journey to her mother's bedroom.
Slowly but surely, she came to the third door on her left and pushed it open the rest of the way with her leg. Holding yet another sob as something else shifted, she laid her mother's upper body on the big, canopy bed. Ignoring all her joints and nerves as they screamed at her to stop, she bent over and pulled her mommy dearest's feet onto the bed.
She didn't move for a while, just watched her mother's drool slowly slide from her slightly opened mouth and soak the pillow.
And with a painful sigh, she left the room, making it a point to only leave the door ajar slightly.
As she descended the stairs, her thoughts drifted to school. The one place in the world she was free. Free to read, free to write, to learn, to be herself. Everyone around her at school adored her. So why couldn't her mother? How come her mother was the only person she gave two thoughts about in a day, yet she was the only one to hate her?
With a glance at the clock, Brandy quickly began her chores.
If she thought about it, she had a lot to do, but it was all in attempt to please her mother, so it was beyond worth it. And so, she didn't think about it.
Going down her chore list and checking off each chore as she went, she was finished long before she thought she'd be. Running back over it in her head, she nodded in approval.
The dishes were finished, the toilets scrubbed, the counters and table tops wiped down, the blood stains scrubbed out of the carpets, the pet fur all cleaned up, the pets bathed, all pets were fed and watered, the books were back in their correct places -in alphabetical order-, her mother's bedroom spotless, the floors all mopped and vacuumed, the litter box cleaned, and all clothes were washed, dried, and put away.
She hadn't had much to do, but still had to rush downstairs to her room to quickly do her homework.
By the time her chores, and school work were finished, Brandy was exhausted. But she still had to shower. After all, she couldn't bathe in the mornings and the school might take her mother away if they saw any of the dried blood.
By the next morning, Brandy was grateful to have had her shower. It was picture day at school. Of course, she looked nice enough, just like every other day. Even though she knew the pictures would be thrown away without a second glance, she still wanted to look at least okay.
School that day went by quickly, much to her dismay. But Brandy was not going home, not today. Her mother had made it clear that morning what Brandy had to do to make her happy. And if she hadn't forgotten to take out the trash, she would have never known.
However short her day at school was, Brandy learned something. Officer Grafton from the sheriff's' office talked about things that her mother did to her; and how wrong it is to hit kids, no matter how old. Brandy already knew all of this, but her mother only hit her because she was such a disgrace. Mr. Grafton would never understand that, none of the officers would try hard enough to understand. And Brandy had not known that before.
So, Brandy went into the woods that afternoon. Not just any woods though, her favorite ones; the woods by the park where all of the little kids play with their mothers. Man, what she wouldn't have given to have been like them.
But her mother didn't like doing things like that. Her mother would be so much better of without her; and Brandy knew it.
A few weeks down the road, when Brandy did not show up at school for a long while, nor did she ever make it home, officer Grafton went looking for her.
When he could not find her though, he got worried. So, he brought forth the search team. Not many kids, however old, go missing around that part of town. And Brandy's mom was worried sick!
Unfortunately, what officer Grafton found was far from what he wanted to find.
Brandy Marshall lay, twisted in some obscured way, on the forest floor, dried blood matted with dirt in her hair!
When they searched her body for means of death, they only found a letter .... A letter addressed to Mrs. Marshall, Brandy's mother.
It read:
"Dear Mother,
I'm so very sorry for how horrible I was. I understand now why you never really loved me. I hope one day you will be happy enough with this decision I have made. Maybe, I have made your life better and took at least some burden off your shoulders.
I Love You,
Brandy."
The officers had no evidence that Mrs. Marshall had done anything to Brandy to cause her suicide; but many people who had known her believed that she'd committed suicide on account of her mother.
After all, an eight year old can only take so much.
"I hate you!" Her mother screamed. "I hate you," the pain was getting a little better, "I hate you," by now she could barely feel the sting of her mother's hand, "I hate you!" She heard the shrill, broken voice one more time before she saw her mother collapse right beside her.
She was used to it. Her mother would always be so exhausted after something like this. Once she regained feeling a pang was sent to her heart when she realized what a burden she really was to her mother; how much pain she's inflicted on the poor woman on a daily basis. Pain that she did not need to endure, especially after the tragedy of her father's death.
Slowly, she stood up, ignoring the shock of pain that ran through her left shoulder. She prayed it wasn't broken, she had to get her mother up the stairs and into her bedroom, and her right side was already distorted.
The young girl walked slowly over to her mother's side. She worked so hard, just to come home to such a disgrace of a daughter.
Swiftly and quietly, making sure not to disturb her mother's sleeping form, the girl lifted the much larger body from the ground. Quickly, she squeezed her eyes shut tight, and bit down roughly on her bottom lip, attempting to keep a sob wedged deep within her throat.
Pain was a burden; it was just an inconvenience. If not for pain, she might not shame her mother as much as she does on a daily basis.
Very carefully and gradually, Brandy walked her mother up the stairs. Thanking the lord above on her way that tonight the unconscious body was cooperating.
A sharp, stabbing pain burst through her right side as she tried to tilt a little bit at the top stair. Something inside -probably one of the few broken ribs- had shifted, and stabbed the inside of her body. She wasn't positive that it stabbed her, but it sure did feel like it.
Without much thought, Brandy sucked in her breath and continued on her -painful- journey to her mother's bedroom.
Slowly but surely, she came to the third door on her left and pushed it open the rest of the way with her leg. Holding yet another sob as something else shifted, she laid her mother's upper body on the big, canopy bed. Ignoring all her joints and nerves as they screamed at her to stop, she bent over and pulled her mommy dearest's feet onto the bed.
She didn't move for a while, just watched her mother's drool slowly slide from her slightly opened mouth and soak the pillow.
And with a painful sigh, she left the room, making it a point to only leave the door ajar slightly.
As she descended the stairs, her thoughts drifted to school. The one place in the world she was free. Free to read, free to write, to learn, to be herself. Everyone around her at school adored her. So why couldn't her mother? How come her mother was the only person she gave two thoughts about in a day, yet she was the only one to hate her?
With a glance at the clock, Brandy quickly began her chores.
If she thought about it, she had a lot to do, but it was all in attempt to please her mother, so it was beyond worth it. And so, she didn't think about it.
Going down her chore list and checking off each chore as she went, she was finished long before she thought she'd be. Running back over it in her head, she nodded in approval.
The dishes were finished, the toilets scrubbed, the counters and table tops wiped down, the blood stains scrubbed out of the carpets, the pet fur all cleaned up, the pets bathed, all pets were fed and watered, the books were back in their correct places -in alphabetical order-, her mother's bedroom spotless, the floors all mopped and vacuumed, the litter box cleaned, and all clothes were washed, dried, and put away.
She hadn't had much to do, but still had to rush downstairs to her room to quickly do her homework.
By the time her chores, and school work were finished, Brandy was exhausted. But she still had to shower. After all, she couldn't bathe in the mornings and the school might take her mother away if they saw any of the dried blood.
By the next morning, Brandy was grateful to have had her shower. It was picture day at school. Of course, she looked nice enough, just like every other day. Even though she knew the pictures would be thrown away without a second glance, she still wanted to look at least okay.
School that day went by quickly, much to her dismay. But Brandy was not going home, not today. Her mother had made it clear that morning what Brandy had to do to make her happy. And if she hadn't forgotten to take out the trash, she would have never known.
However short her day at school was, Brandy learned something. Officer Grafton from the sheriff's' office talked about things that her mother did to her; and how wrong it is to hit kids, no matter how old. Brandy already knew all of this, but her mother only hit her because she was such a disgrace. Mr. Grafton would never understand that, none of the officers would try hard enough to understand. And Brandy had not known that before.
So, Brandy went into the woods that afternoon. Not just any woods though, her favorite ones; the woods by the park where all of the little kids play with their mothers. Man, what she wouldn't have given to have been like them.
But her mother didn't like doing things like that. Her mother would be so much better of without her; and Brandy knew it.
A few weeks down the road, when Brandy did not show up at school for a long while, nor did she ever make it home, officer Grafton went looking for her.
When he could not find her though, he got worried. So, he brought forth the search team. Not many kids, however old, go missing around that part of town. And Brandy's mom was worried sick!
Unfortunately, what officer Grafton found was far from what he wanted to find.
Brandy Marshall lay, twisted in some obscured way, on the forest floor, dried blood matted with dirt in her hair!
When they searched her body for means of death, they only found a letter .... A letter addressed to Mrs. Marshall, Brandy's mother.
It read:
"Dear Mother,
I'm so very sorry for how horrible I was. I understand now why you never really loved me. I hope one day you will be happy enough with this decision I have made. Maybe, I have made your life better and took at least some burden off your shoulders.
I Love You,
Brandy."
The officers had no evidence that Mrs. Marshall had done anything to Brandy to cause her suicide; but many people who had known her believed that she'd committed suicide on account of her mother.
After all, an eight year old can only take so much.
♠ ♠ ♠
A big thanks to Kt-Scissorhands. (: