Page 9 of Beyond Repair, Part One (Damaged Duet #1)
Nina
M y fridge is stocked, there's taco meat on the stove, and I'm in no mood for company, so really, there's no reason my mom can find to stay. We both know the next step is literally her walking out my front door.
I hate it so much. My throat aches with the strength it's taking to hold my sobs inside. I want my dad to stay. I want my mom to come sit on my pretty burnt orange couch and watch our favorite vampire show.
My god, I want them to stay so badly I feel like my chest is going to concave any minute now. Dad's already outside, having hugged me minutes ago. I'll hold on to his parting words forever, just like I did when I was locked in that basement.
Whether it's a phone call right before I'm kidnapped, or leaving me to get settled into my new home alone, he always ensures his final words are I love you, sweet.
My mom, though? She breaks my heart in a different kind of way. It's the pure love and devotion in her watery eyes that makes the urge to crumble to the ground, then beg her to stay all that more powerful.
I know I reflect the same emotions in my gaze and that's why she's hesitating to leave. Mom and I are the same and when heavy emotions are involved, we're like a live wire ready to explode in a puddle of tears.
Crying never used to be my default, but these past few years, even when I'm numb, my tears have been my only outlet. Sometimes I'll be so disassociated to what's going on in my mind that I don't realize my chin is dripping with salty despair.
That's when Mom and Dad get the most worried. In my disconnect there's so much unknown. Too much.
Therapy has helped me learn my triggers, but I fear my trauma is so irreparable that awareness won't do me any good. I can usually feel the panic coming on and pinpoint why, but there's no going back. The current is too strong. The trauma is too consuming.
That's why I'm a homebody. Avoiding everything is safer. Thank goodness for all the new delivery services. The only apps downloaded on my phone are for food. Every subscription I have is to keep me at home. I have movies, TV shows, and games thanks to my old PS4.
I'll be happy enough with Zombies and chocolate-covered almonds for the rest of my life if it means ignoring the world.
"I love you, Nina. Please, please call me before you go to bed."
Nodding at my mom, I refrain from telling her I don't currently know where my phone is. It's somewhere in this house that echoes with emptiness. Even with all of my boxes unpacked and the new everything my parents filled it with, family photos included, I swear it still echoes.
After the sheer chaos of my mom decorating and making my entire home look already lived in after a short forty-eight hours, of course I have no idea where the heck she docked my phone, but I don't really care.
"I will. Love you, Mom," I whisper, hoping she doesn't hear the crack in my voice. No such luck; her lip wobbles. She takes a step toward me, but Dad halts her in her tracks.
"Meg, darling," he coos softly, stopping just outside my front door. Behind him, my quiet, cozy neighborhood glows in the desert sunset of Provo, Utah. "It's time to go."
"But—"
Darting forward, I cut her off and slam my smaller body into hers. I never did surpass her 5'9" curvy frame. Years of malnourishment and PTSD keep me far thinner than anyone would consider sexy. I'm nothing but a 5'6" waif in my mom's trembling arms.
"I love you, Mom." I don't tell her I'll be okay, because I don't think I will. But I can express with all my heart that I love her and show her in my tight hold how much I'll miss her.
Her answering words shatter me. "I'm proud of you, sweetie." And her parting statement puts me back together as she steps out of my new home. "I love you. Always and forever."
"Always and forever," I choke out and when the door closes behind her, I become weightless. My knees crashing into the hardwood floors jar my teeth and shake my sobs free.
If anyone has the ability to make me love so much it breaks me, it's my mom. And quoting our favorite show solidifies that I didn't realize how much I would actually miss her until this moment.
That same sorrow shoots adrenaline through my wobbly limbs, allowing me to stand and rush for my bay window. I watch my dad guide my mom into the passenger seat of their Lexus, and when he kisses her gently as he buckles her in, I can't stop my smile.
Memorizing their features like it could be the last time I see them, I study the way my mom wipes her cheeks and rummages around in her purse. Dad nods at her when he gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car.
I so badly want to be with them. Rarely do I add my own thoughts to their conversations, but to just bask in their presence is healing.
My eyebrows relax and my lips part on a sigh as I witness the normalcy that are my parents. Take me with you , I want to shout, but I hold it in. If they think this is best, then I'll trust them, but only because I agree they deserve an empty nest after everything I've put them through.
The relaxation I feel takes a nosedive into a deep frown when Mom presses her phone to her ear. Who's she calling?
Jolting at the sound of the oven letting me know it's preheated for my tortillas, I turn away from the window. My appetite is crap, but I can always make an effort for a taco.