The Taunting Past
My mother was a saint, at least she was in my eyes. For that reason, I couldn’t understand why my father was always so hard on her. Being by her side was always so comforting and reassuring, her warm hand caressing my cheek as she rocked me to bed and her sweet scent always put me at ease. I believed she would always be there to protect me from any harm that would come my way, so I waited and waited in vain, for in my heart I always knew she would never come back. There were times I blamed her for leaving me, all the pain and suffering was the result of her broken promise. My immature brain couldn’t comprehend that she had left, not because she wanted to, but because she was my shield of protection, and to keep her promise meant to sacrifice herself. I was her light and her world, so she would have done anything for me, even if it cost her the last breath.
After understanding why everything happened, I stopped blaming her and started blaming myself. ¿Would she still be alive if I hadn’t been born? ¿Would my father treat her differently? But blaming myself wouldn’t have changed anything either. My father was a sick delusional man, he never once was confident in my mother’s love towards him, so he always ended up victimizing himself and placing the fault on everyone else. To him I was nothing, but an object brought to life by my mother to manipulate him and gain profit. My existence caused him stress and doubt, to the point of accusing my mother of horrendous things and treating his own child like an unwanted pet.
Multiple DNA tests proved that I was indeed his child, but still he was blinded by his madness. Constant fighting brought the couple to the edge of insanity, and I was the rotten fruit of a decaying marriage. The man blamed everyone for his delusions, but he was unable to break the fragile nods that held the family together. He would apologize for his behavior and promise to become better; he would die if she were to leave him.
“You are all I have left, please, don’t go I beg you” were always his words. He would cry to the point his eyes were so swollen, he’d become unrecognizable. My mother agreed on various occasions, as he promised he would get help… and he did, but soon after he would always relapse. After a while it all became a nasty cycle till my mother died.
I recall it being a normal day like any other. My mother got up early as usual and made me my favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes. She made coffee for my father and sat down across me with her cheek resting on her hand. She gave me the warmest smile; I had never seen such affectionate gaze from her. It was almost painful to look at.
“Mommy, are you ok?” I innocently asked
“Yes baby, why do you ask?”
“Nothing…your eyes look a bit sad”
“Well, I’m not. In fact, I think I feel happiest today. You want to know why?”
That man came in the kitchen before she could say anything, she kept quiet and helped him with the coffee. Every morning she would make him coffee before he went to work. She gave him the coffee and he hugged her tightly, he forced a kiss upon her, and she retreated with a nervous smile. He coldly stared at me and kissed my forehead as he walked over to his office.
He worked from home, he never left the house, as if he was on guard 24/7, monitoring our every movement. Sometimes I wondered if he ever even slept. Leaving the house without his permission was never an option. I had no idea how he knew where we were every time we were out, but somehow, he always knew.
My mom sat across me once again, but this time she didn’t utter a word. She just stared at me and with wavering eyes, shifting from me to my father, and back to me. She bit her nails and tapped her foot. The sound of my father typing on his computer was heard from his office, and after a while, it ceased. My mom jumped out of her sit and went to the office, I just sat there and wondered what was going on. She left the office, went to the hallway closet and grabbed fully packed luggage.
“Are you going somewhere mommy?” I asked impatiently
“WE are honey, you are coming with me” She anxiously said while dressing me up in a coat.
For some reason I got scared, I suddenly burst in tears, it was all so confusing to me. She grabbed me and with luggage on both her hands exited the house and put everything in the car.
“mommy, what is going on? Where is daddy? Where are we going?” I cried
“Don’t worry honey, everything is fine, your daddy is sleeping…we just have to go somewhere.” She kissed me and we drove off.
We arrived at a house, I had seen it before, but I wasn’t sure when. A lady that resembled my mother came out of the house and hugged her, then me. They both cried as I sat there motionless. The lady grabbed the luggage and took my hand. My mom stopped me by the door and hugged me so tight I could barely breathe, then she whispered in my ears: “I’ll be right back” she smiled and left.
I waited at my grandmother’s (or so she claimed to be) house for several days. She promised she would come back, so I patiently waited, without causing the lady any trouble. Days passed and there were still no signs of her. The lady called someone (I’m assuming it was my mother) over and over, day after day, but there was never an answer. She would cry in such pitiful grief and each time I walked to her and tried to console her in however way possible. I was too young to know any better, so all I could do was sit there and wait.
After many days, a police officer came by and said something to my grandmother by the door. She crumpled on the floor like a broken doll, and my father whom was also by the door came in. He grabbed me by the hands and took me with him. Once inside the car, I looked from the rear glass and saw the lady running towards me and the police officers cuffing her from behind. He drove off and the lady got farther and farther, as my tears poured down my cheeks.
To be continued…
Author’s Note: The will be to chapters of flashbacks. A little back story to understand our main character’s actions and behaviors and clear some doubts. Hope you like it! ^_^
Music: Farewell life by ARN ANDERSSON