11 - The Unforgiven II
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I couldn't sleep. Not after that. But neither could I figure out what to do. How to move.
The decision was taken from me by a taxi gliding to the curb. I watched my mother step out of it, and it stayed there, waiting. She moved up to me slowly, as if frightened. "Mom," My voice sounded more hollow than I expected. "Hi."
She looked at me for a long moment. I looked a lot like her; except for her skin being pale, and her eyes being a warm brown, you would not have trouble seeing her in me. "I'm leaving for Europe." She said it simply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I stared. Then I laughed, bitter and empty. "That's it, huh?" I asked. "Just…leaving?" Running away, and leaving me alone. I understood why. Just as I understood that it pissed me off. At least she had the decency to tell me.
"...Yes." She said. She stared at me for several moments longer, and then turned on her heel, beginning to leave. Abruptly. Without warning. Like…she always did, really. Never there. Departing with little fanfare.
Always a neutral expression. Always that polite detachment. Like somebody rereading a story they didn't want to read the first time, but she was still reading it again, for the umpteenth time.
All of my respect and faith for my mother evaporated in a single betrayed instant. I'd always seen her as the reasonable one, the one who actually cared. It seems as though she was the one who had never cared, in reality.
For all his faults, my father was present. But thinking about it, not once in the last week and change had she been home. Had she actually talked to me. Just gave me a 'I won't be home'. Just left me alone, like always.
"Did you ever care?" I asked, slowly, "about either of us?" I don't know why I asked. The answer would never have been something that satisfied me, never been something that made it better.
And with that, it had officially fallen all the way apart. I didn't know what would happen. I had two weeks, approximately, of anything resembling normalcy.
I felt a small smile come unbidden to my face. Now that was the type of person to have faith in. The type of girl I wanted to…
…No, that wasn't romantic interest. Or sexual. I didn't really…understand what it was. It felt aspirational, somehow. A powerful, deep, weighty yearning. It wasn't really towards Becca, but it was towards her.
I was worried that it wouldn't hold up, for a moment. "So she's just leaving?" Becca spat, clearly livid. "Her bags were in that back seat with her, Abigail saw them." I frowned-that seemed unlikely. But it was true enough. I nodded.
"You can stay with me and Dad. I made sure to ask, too. I'm not leaving you with that old bastard of a priest." She was seething. I meant to do so gently, but I reached out and nearly crushed her hand between mine. It surprised me, but I couldn't bring myself to stop clutching so tightly at her.
"He's dying," I wasn't sure she could hear, my voice came out so faint. "two weeks." She was silent for a long few moments. Long enough to see as the tears fell from my face, tears I hadn't even noticed until she looked at them with shock.
"Fuck," She said, eloquently. "Fuck, Eli-" I shook my head. It began to spill out without stopping, now.
"She said that she didn't care. Not for a long time. And she's leaving, because didn't want to ever see me again. I-I-" I stammered, even as a son choked it's way ahead of further speech. "I don't know what to do, Becca…" The admittance hurt. "Everything's falling apart, and I'm even losing control of myself. I don't know who I am anymore." I needed to stop before I said something stupid. But my mouth wouldn't listen to my brain.
"I'm getting incredibly jealous of some weird magical girl that we saw, I'm being attacked by weird sulfur shadow monsters, and now some weird holy ghost apparently wants to be my therapist or something, and when I saw you chasing after Mom, I, I thought 'Jesus Christ I wish I could be her, and not my pathetic self'-" My mouth snapped shut as I took in what I, myself had said.
Becca's free hand reached up to touch my cheek. She didn't say anything, even as my own face must have looked horrified. "I can't, I can't want that, Becca," I whispered. "I can't live with that." I didn't know why, but that admittance, of envy, felt wrong. "I mean, that's sinful…" I started, but she moved her hand from my cheek to firmly click my mouth shut.
"I want you to shut up and breathe." She said it firmly, in a voice that clearly imitated her mother. I wanted to curl in on myself, because I was some weird, weird- "Alright? And stop degrading yourself in your head. Right this goddamn second." -my train of thought came to a messy derailment, and I stared.
She gave me the space of a single Mississippi to gather myself. "It hurts when you talk like that, like you aren't allowed to be anything other than the man your Dad said you had to be. Like you can't want to be something else." Her eyes shone. "Maybe you'll hate me for this, but everyone else can see it: You aren't happy as you are. You're in pain. And you can change all of that." I forced open my mouth to deny her, and she yanked me forwards, to flare into my eyes.
"Listen to me. You're like a sibling to me, so please, for the love of your God, stop that. I don't care, Margaret doesn't care, Abigail doesn't care, and Mary would beg to be with you if you burned this town to the ground!" She snarled it, with passion burning in her eyes.
"No she wouldn't," I answered automatically, "because she likes girls and not boys." I found myself surprisingly impassioned about that. Then I felt guilty-that was a secret, that she had entrusted me with a long, long time ago.
"That is NOT THE POINT numbskull!" Becca glowered at me. "The point is that I want you to stop going 'oh I shouldn't have this totally reasonable feeling because it's wrong'. If you can't give me a reason that I find satisfactory, I'll kick your ass about between your ears for keeping on like this!" She finally fell silent, panting.
I blinked at her. I opened my mouth to affirm that it was wrong to be jealous of her for getting to be born a girl, but then I looked at her face and just felt guilty. "Then what am I supposed to do?" I asked, plaintively.
She blinked. "Uh, well, go to a therapist probably, but I don't think you'll do that." She seemed taken back that I actually relented. "Go on the internet. Do some research. Don't just throw reasons why not at yourself, search for the reasons to feel this way." She took a deep breath. "I expect to hear an answer tomorrow. I'm not letting you get out of figuring yourself out, and soon, and as fast as you can handle."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because you're on a timer. He sucks, but that man in there is the only father you have right now. You'll regret it, in the end, if you can't tell him before he's gone." She spoke with raw pain and guilt.
I said nothing. But, I nodded.
It was strange. This conversation….
…I felt like I wasn't just a third person observer, for the first time today.
Author's note: the story is kinda accelerating towards the end of the first arc, so to speak. Also, sorry for the long absence, I intend to try to be slightly more regular!
The decision was taken from me by a taxi gliding to the curb. I watched my mother step out of it, and it stayed there, waiting. She moved up to me slowly, as if frightened. "Mom," My voice sounded more hollow than I expected. "Hi."
She looked at me for a long moment. I looked a lot like her; except for her skin being pale, and her eyes being a warm brown, you would not have trouble seeing her in me. "I'm leaving for Europe." She said it simply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I stared. Then I laughed, bitter and empty. "That's it, huh?" I asked. "Just…leaving?" Running away, and leaving me alone. I understood why. Just as I understood that it pissed me off. At least she had the decency to tell me.
"...Yes." She said. She stared at me for several moments longer, and then turned on her heel, beginning to leave. Abruptly. Without warning. Like…she always did, really. Never there. Departing with little fanfare.
Always a neutral expression. Always that polite detachment. Like somebody rereading a story they didn't want to read the first time, but she was still reading it again, for the umpteenth time.
All of my respect and faith for my mother evaporated in a single betrayed instant. I'd always seen her as the reasonable one, the one who actually cared. It seems as though she was the one who had never cared, in reality.
For all his faults, my father was present. But thinking about it, not once in the last week and change had she been home. Had she actually talked to me. Just gave me a 'I won't be home'. Just left me alone, like always.
"Did you ever care?" I asked, slowly, "about either of us?" I don't know why I asked. The answer would never have been something that satisfied me, never been something that made it better.
You feel the need to Understand.
She stopped. "Not for a long time." As it turned out, it was worse than a simple 'no'. "I want…absolutely nothing to do with this miserable little place anymore. I want nothing to do with him, or with what he's made you." And with that, she got back into the taxi, which pulled out so quickly it could have been the instructions.And with that, it had officially fallen all the way apart. I didn't know what would happen. I had two weeks, approximately, of anything resembling normalcy.
Ah, you cannot perceive the Light yet…
"GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKING BITCH!" The scream came from down the street, and my head snapped to see Becca, having leapt over her porch railing, and despite clear pain, was doing her best to sprint after the taxi, hurling…something. She came to a stop after long enough that I couldn't really tell what she was saying.I felt a small smile come unbidden to my face. Now that was the type of person to have faith in. The type of girl I wanted to…
…No, that wasn't romantic interest. Or sexual. I didn't really…understand what it was. It felt aspirational, somehow. A powerful, deep, weighty yearning. It wasn't really towards Becca, but it was towards her.
…but you are close to opening the blinds.
The hairband warming made me blink. I touched it lightly, and felt a wave of…reassurance wash over me. I watched as Becca loped over, one leg propelling her and her bad one merely holding her up in between. She slowed, as she got closer, and I gathered myself together enough to go and help her over, so that she could sit in the old rocking chair on the deck.I was worried that it wouldn't hold up, for a moment. "So she's just leaving?" Becca spat, clearly livid. "Her bags were in that back seat with her, Abigail saw them." I frowned-that seemed unlikely. But it was true enough. I nodded.
"You can stay with me and Dad. I made sure to ask, too. I'm not leaving you with that old bastard of a priest." She was seething. I meant to do so gently, but I reached out and nearly crushed her hand between mine. It surprised me, but I couldn't bring myself to stop clutching so tightly at her.
"He's dying," I wasn't sure she could hear, my voice came out so faint. "two weeks." She was silent for a long few moments. Long enough to see as the tears fell from my face, tears I hadn't even noticed until she looked at them with shock.
"Fuck," She said, eloquently. "Fuck, Eli-" I shook my head. It began to spill out without stopping, now.
"She said that she didn't care. Not for a long time. And she's leaving, because didn't want to ever see me again. I-I-" I stammered, even as a son choked it's way ahead of further speech. "I don't know what to do, Becca…" The admittance hurt. "Everything's falling apart, and I'm even losing control of myself. I don't know who I am anymore." I needed to stop before I said something stupid. But my mouth wouldn't listen to my brain.
"I'm getting incredibly jealous of some weird magical girl that we saw, I'm being attacked by weird sulfur shadow monsters, and now some weird holy ghost apparently wants to be my therapist or something, and when I saw you chasing after Mom, I, I thought 'Jesus Christ I wish I could be her, and not my pathetic self'-" My mouth snapped shut as I took in what I, myself had said.
Becca's free hand reached up to touch my cheek. She didn't say anything, even as my own face must have looked horrified. "I can't, I can't want that, Becca," I whispered. "I can't live with that." I didn't know why, but that admittance, of envy, felt wrong. "I mean, that's sinful…" I started, but she moved her hand from my cheek to firmly click my mouth shut.
"I want you to shut up and breathe." She said it firmly, in a voice that clearly imitated her mother. I wanted to curl in on myself, because I was some weird, weird- "Alright? And stop degrading yourself in your head. Right this goddamn second." -my train of thought came to a messy derailment, and I stared.
She gave me the space of a single Mississippi to gather myself. "It hurts when you talk like that, like you aren't allowed to be anything other than the man your Dad said you had to be. Like you can't want to be something else." Her eyes shone. "Maybe you'll hate me for this, but everyone else can see it: You aren't happy as you are. You're in pain. And you can change all of that." I forced open my mouth to deny her, and she yanked me forwards, to flare into my eyes.
"Listen to me. You're like a sibling to me, so please, for the love of your God, stop that. I don't care, Margaret doesn't care, Abigail doesn't care, and Mary would beg to be with you if you burned this town to the ground!" She snarled it, with passion burning in her eyes.
"No she wouldn't," I answered automatically, "because she likes girls and not boys." I found myself surprisingly impassioned about that. Then I felt guilty-that was a secret, that she had entrusted me with a long, long time ago.
"That is NOT THE POINT numbskull!" Becca glowered at me. "The point is that I want you to stop going 'oh I shouldn't have this totally reasonable feeling because it's wrong'. If you can't give me a reason that I find satisfactory, I'll kick your ass about between your ears for keeping on like this!" She finally fell silent, panting.
I blinked at her. I opened my mouth to affirm that it was wrong to be jealous of her for getting to be born a girl, but then I looked at her face and just felt guilty. "Then what am I supposed to do?" I asked, plaintively.
She blinked. "Uh, well, go to a therapist probably, but I don't think you'll do that." She seemed taken back that I actually relented. "Go on the internet. Do some research. Don't just throw reasons why not at yourself, search for the reasons to feel this way." She took a deep breath. "I expect to hear an answer tomorrow. I'm not letting you get out of figuring yourself out, and soon, and as fast as you can handle."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because you're on a timer. He sucks, but that man in there is the only father you have right now. You'll regret it, in the end, if you can't tell him before he's gone." She spoke with raw pain and guilt.
I said nothing. But, I nodded.
It was strange. This conversation….
…I felt like I wasn't just a third person observer, for the first time today.
Author's note: the story is kinda accelerating towards the end of the first arc, so to speak. Also, sorry for the long absence, I intend to try to be slightly more regular!