Agonium

"Mom!"

I didn't know she was home. I would have been with him if I had known she was home.

Leo's leaning against the table, his eyes tightly drawn shut. His cheeks are damp, and oh dear god, is that blood?

I'm running now, pushing past her. Leo's sobbing softly, just a bit more than panting really, and his neck is red from where she was holding on to him.

"Lovi, I didn't mean to...." Her voice trails off. She sounds tired, but I don't think that's she's sorry.

My hands are pressing against his forehead; I'm trying to stop the blood from getting into his eyes. He's limp in my arms, and I'm terrified. God, I am so scared.

"What did you do?!" My words make her flinch, but I don't blame her. They're full of venom and fear, but really, there's nothing but hatred at the same time. "What the hell did you do to him?!"

Mom's crying. For the past two years, I've only seen her crying. I haven't seen her much though. All I've seen her do in the past twenty-four months is sit on the couch and cry as she clutches the phone to her chest.

I like to say that she's only out on the weekends, but we're lucky if she's home on a Thursday afternoon. She is now his, the goddamn bastard's. She no longer belongs to us.

I don't know when I lost her.

She's gone for weeks, it seems. The answering machine will beep, little notes left in the fridge, 'Be home later.' It's never signed, never dotted with hearts. The half empty pints of milk have her lipstick on it, and I wonder when she started wearing that color.

Leo's five and has suffered a broken heart. They call him 'No Mom.' He looks at me with pity in his eyes; he just wants to belong in kindergarten since we don't belong in a house because, here I am, eleven years old, a mother since I was nine.

It makes me sick that I even know what the inside of a checkbook looks like, that I know how long to cook spaghetti, even how to smuggle bread in the folds of my backpack. I am a child, but I know where to bring Grandma's old antique bells to get some money for Leo's field trip. I know how to get the neighbors to invite us to dinner.

I am too scared for Leo to leave me. They will take him away, so I cannot call for help. We suffer instead, poor with dirty clothes, but I still have Leo. He remains mine.

But here he is, leaning against me, his breathing ragged. I don't know what to do, and the blood won't stop coming. I feel like I'm going to be sick; I feel like I need to hurt Mom in return.

"He..." She tried to speak, but the sound didn't come out right. It's choked as if she's the one hurt. "He wouldn't stop talking. I didn't mean to! Lovi, I swear, I didn't mean to hurt him!" She's on her knees, slowly crawling towards me.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

"I grabbed him, and shoved him! I'm so, so sorry! Lovi, will he be okay? Tell me it will be okay."

She disgusts me. "Call the police now." My voice is grave. Leo's breathing is shallow. He's not awake any longer, but his little hands are clutching my shirt. "I'm here, baby, I'm here." I press a kiss to his cheek as a namesake for a promise. He smells of iron, of blood. "I'm here, I promise I'm here." I need him to hear me. I need him to know that I am here, that I will never leave him like Mom has.

She's on the phone. She's panicking, hyperventilating, but she told the operator where we are. An ambulance would be on its way, and Leo would be okay. He had to be okay. He just had to.

The phone is hung up. Mom's watching me from the dining room. I want to yell at her, but I don't want Leo to hear.

"Lovi...."

She's not my mother now. This woman cannot be mine. I cannot be a part of her. She's not the same person who would brush my hair and sing me lullabies. She's not the woman who used to be so caring, so gentle, so patient and understanding.

She's a poor excuse for a human being, and it's clear that all she cares about is herself. She's strung out, and she always will be.

"I have to leave," she's sobbing. She is not sorry. "I'll be back though. Tomorrow, I promise. I'll come home tomorrow. I can't be here, Lovi, but tomorrow."

I don't want to look at her, but I do. Her eyes are red and puffy, but it's not from crying. There's a bruise on her collarbone, and I should be mad about that - JP had hit her again- but I'm not; she deserves it. Her hair is getting long, and I see myself in her. My stomach twists.

I'm so terrified of turning out like her.

"Leave," I order. I'm running my fingers through Leo's hair. Bruises are blooming on his throat. "Do not come back. I do not love you."

She's out the door, and I don't know when I started crying.



Forget it, Lovi, it's been five years. Just forget it already.

I can't though. I can't remember how many nights I'm restless thinking of what I needed to do, how horribly I had failed. I need to go back. I need to make things different.

It was my responsibility to protect Leo. I should have been there for him; I should have been a better sister. I should have had the damn foresight to know.

I've always been so dumb.

But, above anything else, I needed to be there for Mom. I should have held her; I needed to kiss her head and make her remember that we love her, we're here for her, we too can make her happy.

I am so ashamed of myself.

If I was a better daughter, Leo could have smiled. Mom would be home, smelling of stale cigarettes, but her eyes would be bright. She'd smile, and maybe, just maybe, she would still love me.

She stopped loving me long before she left.