Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
“Mom?” I can’t stop repeating myself.
My feet move on their own, guiding me to her and when I finally get close enough, I cling to her. Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I hold on to her with a tight grip.
“Mom,” I say between the sobs.
“I’m here,” she says and holds me back just as tightly, the keys in her hand dropping to the floor and clattering together. The noise makes my shoulders shake, but everything makes me jumpy now. I don’t care.
I’ve broken down so many times in the last week. I thought I was done with crying. I thought I had nothing left, but as she cries into my hair and rocks me, they come again. They’re merciless.
I deserve it.
“Are you okay?” my mother asks me although her grip doesn’t loosen. I can’t nod and I can’t speak, so I don’t say anything until she holds me at arm’s length.
“Talk to me please,” she begs me and I shake my head. Her eyes are red and puffy with dark shadows beneath them.
“I’m not okay. I’m not okay,” I tell her as my shoulders shake.
“It’s okay, I’m here,” she says, just like Dean did. As if mere words can make it all right but they can’t. “I heard what happened,” my mother says and my body tenses, but all she says is that it will be okay.
“It’s all my fault.” The words pour from me even though I’m not sure they make sense. I’m not sure she can even comprehend them.
“Shhh.” Hushed words won’t keep me quiet. Not anymore.
“You don’t understand,” I say and the words come out quickly, the rest begging to follow. To confess.
“I do understand. I know that boy’s name. I know who he is,” she says and her gaze turns hard and full of worry. “You can’t tell them you knew. They won’t look into it. Don’t tell them you knew.” Her throat’s tight as she swallows and it takes a moment for the realization to hit me with full force. She knows. Maybe not all of it, but she knows.
“I have to—”
“It’s not your fault,” she says, cutting me off. “What happened to Sam wasn’t your fault either and—”
“Yes, it was!” I scream at the audacity of my mother saying such a lie. Especially now. How dare she! I shove against her, knocking myself backward and scramble to leave her comfort. “When will you admit it?” I shout at her, letting the pain and anger twist in my gut. “I knew the truth and I didn’t fight for her! I didn’t help her!” I practically hiss, the shame and regret all-consuming as I say, “I walked away because you told me to.”
My mother shakes her head, denying it as she always has. Her hands are up in defense as if she’s approaching a wounded animal ready to run. Her blonde hair brushes back and forth around her shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault,” she tries to say again but her words are lost as she cries into her hand. “None of this is your fault and I’ll protect you, baby. They won’t find out.”
“If I hadn’t texted her,” I say then gulp in air and my body shudders. “If I hadn’t told her you didn’t want me to see her anymore …” I close my eyes, remembering how I sent the text in anger. I was so upset that my mother would treat Sam the same way everyone else did. Like it was her fault that Kevin had hurt her. Like she was lying about what he’d done to her.
My mother blamed Sam. And I spread that blame to my friend. My friend who was struggling. Who just needed someone to love her. I broke Sam by telling her that. I know I did. I didn’t agree with my mother. I wasn’t going to leave her. But I wasn’t given the chance to show her. I sent that message without thinking what it would do.
My mother was just like them. She said Sam was trouble, and I should never have turned my back on Sam. I should never have acted so rashly.
That was the last text I sent to Sam. And the last one she read before she killed herself.
“Admit it,” I demand with a note of finality in my voice. “Admit it, Mother!”
“It’s not—” she starts to say but I cut her off, refusing to listen to her denial after all this time. Her shoulders shake with a sob she tries to silence.
“Why avoid me then? Why walk around like you’re guilty? So quiet and afraid to say anything to me like your words will break me? Why!” I scream at her. I was quiet for too long. All of this waiting to come out and instead it only festered inside.
Both of us were so aware of how our words had killed, that neither of us spoke. I hate her for it. So quiet, I became dead inside. She’s the one I blame because I’d rather blame her than myself.