Save Me

I glanced at my mother nervously, my insides melting in despair as I fought back tears. I’m not one to shed tears, nor am I one to fear the unknown, but the second I sat down across from her at our kitchen table, dread immediately overwhelmed my body, devouring every fiber of my being slowly. I could tell from the look on her face, the obvious fact that she’s holding back a waterfall of tears making water slowly break through the crack in the dam that is my eyelids. I should have noticed that something is wrong with her, the way she’s so pale and frail-looking, her hair slowly falling out, her levels of respect for her body slowly withering away along with her.

I was undoubtedly living my life in denial lately. The changes in her, changes that prove that she’s sick, are so obvious and prominent, but I let myself belief her half-hearted lies, knowing that she wasn’t ready to tell me whatever is wrong because she didn’t want me worrying about her. I kept telling myself that she’d have no reason to tell me what’s wrong with her because everything will eventually be okay just like it always is, but now I realize that my hasty façade is quickly tumbling down, squishing me into a puddle of misery with nothing left to live for. This entire situation can only mean one thing, the one thing that I fear the most, losing her.

“Morgan,” she spoke softly, sniffling slightly as she adjusted the bandana tied loosely around her head before taking my strong hands in her tiny, frail ones. “There’s something I need to tell you, but you have to promise not to look at me differently,” she whispered, a few tears escaping over her eyes.

“Mom,” I whispered, making it clear that if she breaks down, I’m going to break down too. She’s my rock, I can’t see her cry. “What’s wrong?” I asked slowly.

“A few years ago,” she whispered softly, “I was diagnosed with breast cancer. We didn’t think it was as mild as it was, but the doctors messed up. It’s really bad.” She said, staring anywhere but at me. I could hear both of our hearts slowly breaking in two. “I’ve got the summer,” she whispered, not being able to say the words that would ruin my life. She’s dying.

My mother, my rock, my world, is fucking leaving me! It’s been just the two of us for eleven years, ever since my father cheated on her with that fucking whore and now she’s fucking leaving me! No, no, no, no, no! Hell fucking no! What did I ever do to deserve this?

I stood up from the table, roughly scraping my chair back, accidently knocking it over since I lost all the control I had over my body when she uttered those words. I stomped around the dinner room, punching the walls, shattering the vases, knocking over the picture frames. I could no longer tell the difference between right and wrong, up and down, left and right. I was an uncontrollable beast on a rage filled rampage. I continued to slowly destroy the room, my mother watching me from her chair as tears fell down her face.

Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Without her, I have nothing. I will have nowhere to go. I have absolutely no one to go to. It’s always been just her and I, a two person army, but now our commander is down.

I froze as I realized I had the vase I painted her in kindergarten raised above my head in preparation to get smashed. I looked at it, the stupid glass covered in childish attempts at stick figures, animals, flowers, and rainbows. One big fucking happy family in a big heart was in the middle of it. This was made when we were happy, then the bitch came along and ruined everything, and finally when my mother and I manage to pick up the pieces, our world’s are shattered again, and this time we have no chance of recovery.

My reflection stared back at me through the glass. My nostrils were flared like a raging bull, my nose and cheeks red from both rage and my attempts at holding back the army of tears that were fighting me to fall. My normally shiny and expertly styled black hair was strewn about wildly, looking as if I haven’t showered and washed it for days even though I showered this morning. My eyes were bright red, my pupils wide and wild, my entire body shaking with rage, uncertainty, fear.

With one final grunt I raised the vase above my head, throwing it down on the floor and watching it shatter into pieces, the sounds of breaking glass resonating around the room as I finally allowed the tears to fall in endless waves, desperate sobs racking my frame. I can’t lose her…

I felt two arms wrap around me, forcing me to lean myself into a body that was shaking just as hard as I was. This was it; this was the end of everything. I’ll no longer have a mother to look to for guidance, for love and care and support in all my decisions. I’ll have nothing…

“We have to make the best of this summer,” I somehow got out through my sobs, cursing everything and anything in the world. This was not how I planned on spending the summer leading into senior year.

“Morgan,” she cooed softly, running her fingers through my raven locks once she calmed down. She long ago accepted her fate, but I refuse to accept it. “I can’t have you stay here and watch me die,” she whispered.

I tensed the second she uttered those words. Are the horrifying facts never going to cease their attack on me? I got up, roughly pushing myself away from her, looking down at the helpless woman on the floor. She stared up at me wide-eyed, regret evident in her now dull and almost lifeless orbs. “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked through gritted teeth, doing my best to not scream. The last thing we need right now is to start screaming at each other.

She looked at me, pleading with me to understand. “I called your father,” she whispered guiltily.

“You what?” I screamed, failing at keeping the volume of my voice low. “You fucking called the asshole and his gold digger?” I screeched in shock. I thought she despised them as much as I do. She nodded guiltily. “I’d rather live in a fucking orphanage,” I spat.

“You don’t mean that,” she said, standing up and trying to put her hand on my shoulder in comfort.

“I do fucking mean that!” I seethed. “We wouldn’t be in the fucking poor as hell situation we are in now if it weren’t for him and her! How can you expect me to live with them and stay sane?” I screamed, not understanding her logic.

“You have to do it for me,” she whispered, shaking my shoulders, begging me to understand. “The second you turn eighteen you can get out of there. You won’t even be living with them for a year! It’s just temporary. And when you turn eighteen you can start a new life for yourself with everything that I’m leaving you. I’m literally leaving you everything!” She said, finally cluing me in on her recently developed master plan.

“I don’t want to be in your fucking will, Mom!” I said, trying to get her to understand my point of view. “I want to be living with you like we have been for the past eleven years!”

“Baby, I wish everything was normal too,” she whispered. “But that’s not a choice anymore. I just… I want you to promise me that after all this is over, you’ll keep living happily. I want you to grow up and find that person you love, male or female, and marry them and live happily ever after. I want you to be happy. I was going to go eventually, I’m just leaving way sooner than we thought I would.”

“But I don’t want you to leave!”

“We don’t have a choice anymore, Morgan,” she said, clearly holding back more sobs. “I love you, but you have to live with him. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I basically let you watch me die,” she tacked on before walking away.

I ran up the stairs to my room, my thoughts no longer coherent. I slammed my bedroom door, locking it and crawling to the far corner under the window, sitting in it. I bent my legs up to my chest, securing them with my arms as I tucked my head in my knees, curling my body into a ball. Why can’t anything go right in my life?

“I love you too,” I whispered desperately, dejectedly to no one in particular as the tears continued to flow.

I can’t believe this is really happening. This entire situation is just horrific.