Hurricane

I hadn't remembered what it was like living with my mother. I didnt remember her mannerisms or how she lived around me. It was weird when we first sat alone together.

She was sipping tea; her and I on the couch, in her living room, "So...Ladonna--"

I had stopped her, "Rooney. I prefer Rooney."

My mother nodded her head, "What has been happening these last couple of years? I hate to ask, but I am curious."

I looked around, trying to remember, and looking over her place. My mind went everywhere but to what happened those 4+ years we we're gone. Her new home was a lot bigger than our old one, and there were a lot more maids and butlers. She married a richer man, this time.

"Rooney?" She called to me quietly.

"I don't remember." I told her.

She touched my hand and I finally looked at her, "I won't love you any less if you tell me you and he planned to kill your father."

"I didn't plan anything. Mikey just went crazy." I spoke softly, not wanting to say anything else.

"You know, I can take care of you for the rest of our lives, sweetie," my mother caressed her hand, "I can get you some counseling along with little Isabel--"

"We're fine, thank you." My tone never went higher or lower. I was speaking with a soft, obedient tone.

"Um...you can finish school, too. Maybe go to college, or--"

"Maybe..." I rubbed my neck, "I don't want to stay here forever. As soon as I have a job, I'm going to move out and Izzy and I are gonna move closer to the prison so I can take her to visit Mikey."

My mother had desperate eyes. She wanted me to stay, and I didn't know why. I love her, but I know her, I know that she just wanted me for the publicity. Good or bad publicity, it didn't matter. As long as somebody is watching, especially with a crime like this, one person will have sympathy over you.

"You don't want to do that," she told me, "You can stay here, you don't have to work, unless you want to."

I was tempted to take her offer. Working didn't seem to satisfy me, being out in public, now, terrified me. I didn't want to be scene, I wanted to be hidden. 

"Thanks, mother," I had murmured, "but, I don't want to be a burden."

"You aren't a burden, I love having you here. I missed you."

I knew she was being sincere and meant it, "I...missed home." 

I couldn't say I missed her. I really don't remember if I had, truly. I think I hat said it a lot to myself to sympathetic.


The whole court thing had gone off in a blur. I read about it in the paper, saw it on the TV, and didn't have to attend until the middle of it. It was when I saw Mikey again; prison/jail, whatever had aged him.

I didn't know what to expect, y'know, when I was brought in. I sat up on the stand, looking around at people judging me. One of my worst nightmares. 

"State your name for the record." The bailiff had said.

I couldn't remember my name. My real, real name.

"Rooney..." I couldn't even say Ladonna, "La...Donna Rooney." I muttered.

As the lawyers and attorneys asked me questions, I avoided looking at Mikey. I had looked at him once, and the look he gave me, made me want to keep my eyes adverted.

But, aside from all that, the questions they asked me, made me very confused. I couldn't remember, a lot of them thought I was lying. I wasn't lying, I really couldn't remember. I was afraid that I would go to jail for it, but the only thing that the prosecutors did was give me a disappointed look. I caught Mikey's last glance, and I saw him smirking.

A lot of people condemn me for saying I don't remember, because of the victims involved. Gretchen and Rich's families were the only ones truly hating us at the moment. The woman who had molested Mikey didn't have much family, and lots of people felt for Mikey and Gerard's parents. People thought that I was so in love with Mikey that I'd say anything to get him off. Part of it was true, but I would tell the truth no matter what.


Mikey's lawyer had called me a couple of days before his sentencing because he wanted to see me. Mikey wanted to talk to me about my testimony. I was sure he would apologize, but wasn't holding onto it.

I had brought you along, just so you could him. It had been months, and you asked about him a lot. 

We were set in a room, where he was handcuffed, and we couldn't touch. His hair was longer, greasier, and he looked exhausted. You wanted to hug him, and started to cry when you couldn't.

"Why did you say you don't remember?" Mikey had asked once I settled you down.

"Because I don't."

"You're lying," he had squared his eyes, "...oh."

"I don't. Everything is a blur...like a dream, I can't remember up to when we Izzy was born."

He had looked at you, "You aren't lying."

"And why would I lie?"

"To make me apologize."

I shook my head, "I know you, Mikey, I know nothing I do will ever make you apologize."

"Exactly."

"So, is that all?" I felt my chest tighten, I wanted him to just say it. That he was sorry.

"Yeah."

I had gotten up with you, and you face him, "Bye daddy."

Mikey didn't say anything. 

I left with you, and kissed your cheek, "I'm sorry, Isabel."

I said it to you because he wouldn't ever being himself to say it to you.