Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this story; it's just my normal self manipulating previous stories.
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She was walking alone with a man! I could tell just by looking at them that she was having a nice time. Why? What gave her the right to make friends while I was trapped in these four walls? What gave her the right to forget me while I had nothing to do but think of her? How could she fall in love with a stranger while she couldn't even stand the sight of me, her own son?
"Who is he?" I demanded as she came into the hall. Who was he and what did he think he was doing with my mother? It wasn't fair! She's mine, she's my mother. I have first rights to her, not some stranger from town.
Étienne? A doctor? A friend? She thinks she has the right to have friends just like anyone else in town? I don't have friends; I'm not allowed to have friends. If I can't have friends, why can she?
"I don't wish this to continue," I said, staring at her coldly. I had all these questions trampling through my head and I wanted answers. I wanted them to go away. I wanted a life.
And how does she answer me? I'm answered with a slap across the face. My hand flew to my stinging cheek, making sure my mask was still firmly in place. But the slap was nothing compared to the sting of her words that followed.
"You! You wish?" Her words barely had any effect on me at first, until the end of her rant. 'HATE'. Did she really mean that? Maybe she's just saying it without thinking. 'I wish you were DEAD. Do you hear me? DEAD!'
My eyes widened at her confession. She was telling the truth, I was sure beyond a doubt. I mean, I knew she didn't like me, but hate me? I am her son, she couldn't hate me … could she? But by all appearances she did. She really did.
My whole body started to float, as if the room was swimming. My head sure was. I felt myself kind of rock on my heels, but maybe that was just my imagination. I wasn't too sure. My chest closed up on me as an invisible fist squeezed the blood from my heart. Then all the muscles in my body seemed to lose their strength, the hand on my mask falling limply at my side.
I took a shaky step back as the walls surrounding me seemed to shrink. I hate you, too," I whispered around the fist in my chest. I stared up at her, gripping the wall for support. "I hate you, too."
I took a few more hesitant steps back, never taking my eyes off of her. After I was able to look away I turned around and used the wall for support back to my room. I needed to get away from her, I needed space.
When I finally made it to my room I immediately collapsed on my bed. I curled into a loose ball, carefully taking of my mask from my still aching cheek. My mind still couldn't get around her words. She hated me so much she wished I were dead. It made no sense. She's my mother; she's not supposed to hate me. Aren't her maternal instincts supposed to kick in or something? Isn't she supposed to love me no matter what?
But then again, looking back, it seems so obvious. The beatings, her refusal to kiss me, the force she exerted to make me wear my mask, it all lead up to those words.
I'll never be good enough for her, no matter how hard I try. All because of my accursed features, I'm doomed to her loathing. And if I'm not good enough for my own mother, how can I ever expect to be good enough for anyone else? My eyes have finally been opened. Now I see I'll never amount to anything. I may have extraordinary talent in many things, but no one will ever look past my face.
So what was the point? Why should I even try? I'll never be a good citizen, and I'll never be a good son. Well, maybe there was one thing I could do. She wished I was dead, didn't she? I have the power to do that. With my last breath I could grant her wish. And why not; there was no point in living.
I slowly crawled from my bed with a new purpose. I would finally be a good son. Under my bed was hidden a shard of glass from a mirror. That would serve me well enough.
I sat on my bed studying, running my fingers over it and turning it around. Every time the front was face up I would catch a glimpse of my retched face. This was from the mirror that had first shown me the truth, and as I gazed in it now it continued to reflect it
In a distorted way, I was fascinated with my reflection. I examined my face thoroughly memorizing the yellow, beady eyes, the gaping hole of a nose, the deformed lips and paper thin skin. Wouldn't I be the favorite specimen at all the universities!
As I looked upon my face I saw the pale skin of my cheek was red. Anger started to burn inside me as my purpose with the shard came to the front of my mind. I pressed my hand against my cheek and immediately the pain grew. It hurt, but at the same time it felt soothing. I knew I would feel the same soothing when I cut my arms along the arteries, and a sad smile formed on my malformed lips.
I set the piece of mirror down and went to a corner of my room where I stored my paper and pencils. I rummaged through the stack until I found a clean sheet, picked up a pencil and went back to my bed. Upon it I wrote a short message, letting my mother and the world know I was doing this for her.
I once more took up the mirror. I looked in it once more, looking at myself for the last time. Putting the sharpest edge against the center of my wrist, I pressed on it hard and dragged it along the length of my arm. Blood instantly escaped from my arteries, ran down the length of my arm and dripped from my fingertips.
The same sensation came to me once more, but this time it was more intense. It was like I was getting a high from the pain, and to be honest I wanted more. So once again I dragged the sharp edge along my arm, this time on my other one. My bloody hands made the glass harder to hold, but I was still able to get it done efficiently.
Not long after I made both wounds did I start to feel disoriented. My head was getting heavier and heavier, so I quickly took the note and pinned it above my bed with the bloody shard. I then lay down and watched as my vision grew fuzzy, then nothing.
-
Marie Perrault walked across the doorstep of Madeleine's house then knocked on the door. She and Madeleine had decided to bake today after Church, so now she was coming so they could start. She also wanted to check up on Erik. She felt so sorry for the poor boy. Madeleine wasn't much interested in his work so she liked to indulge his ego a bit.
Madeleine soon came to the door to let her in and immediately she could sense something wasn't right. Madeleine wasn't in her cheery mood and no music was being played. It was odd Erik wasn't playing the piano, but maybe he was just writing or playing with Sasha.
Marie followed Madeleine into the sitting room where she was happily greeted by Sasha, but no Erik. When she inquired on Erik's whereabouts Madeleine only brushed it off, muttering something about rudeness and stumbling to his room.
Marie's ears pricked at Madeleine's mumblings. Erik had stumbled to his room? Was he alright; was he hurt? "I'm going to check on him before we get started," Marie said, veering off in the direction of Erik's room.
When she got to the door she knocked softly. After waiting a minute and receiving no answer she grew a little worried and knocked again, louder this time. "Erik, it's me. Can I come in?"
Once more she received no answer, and again she knocked even louder. When, again, no answer came Marie grew more panicked. "Erik, if you don't answer I'm going to come in."
After a few moments of continued silence Marie slowly opened the door. The sight that greeted her when she walked in almost caused her to faint. Erik lay motionless on his bed. One of his arms was lying on his chest with blood covering his body, and the other arm hung over the side of the bed, blood dripping off his fingertips and into a pool on the floor.
She noticed something fluttering over Erik's bed and saw a piece of paper pinned to the wall. She ran over to Erik's side and ripped the paper down but didn't read it just yet.
First she occupied herself with trying to stop the blood flow. Erik had already lost a massive amount of blood, and she feared it may have been too much. She got on the bed beside Erik to better put pressure on his arms. She took Erik's head into her lap, maneuvering his body in a way so she could use her skirts to help stem the blood flow.
"Madeleine!" Marie yelled as she continued to apply pressure. A bit later Madeleine came to the room and her eyes widened at the sight. "Go get medical supplies and water," Marie said frantically, but Madeleine didn't move. "Go!" Marie yelled, snapping her out of her daze.
Once she ran off, Marie turned her attention back to Erik. "Come on," she whispered, applying more and more pressure. She couldn't let this boy die; he was too young to give up his life.
After a few seconds a low moan escaped from Erik's lips. His eyes cracked open a little bit, not having enough energy to open them all the way. He turned his head a little, wondering who was cradling him. He was completely confused on why he felt so weak, and why he couldn't remember much. But he didn't have time to ask or ponder over his confusion. Erik went completely limp and his eyes closed, this time forever.
Tears fell from Marie's eyes as she tried desperately to revive Erik. She shook him by the shoulders, all the while calling his name. But the only response given was Erik's head falling to the side.
She soon gave up and collapsed backwards. Her hand fell from Erik's shoulder and landed on the piece of paper she had all but forgotten about. She slowly picked it up and read it. Her immediate reaction was horror to the words written on the blood splattered paper:
'A mother's wish is a child's command.'
What did that mean? Did Erik mean to say Madeleine wished he was dead? Madeleine would never say something like that. At least she never said anything to that extent in her presence.
Madeleine came back with the supplies and was met with angry eyes. "What?" she asked, glancing from Marie's mad, yet tear-stained face, to Erik's limp body.
"What did you say to him?" Marie asked angrily, carefully getting up from the bed and going over to her. "What did you do to him to make him feel death was his only option?"
"Why do you assume I did something?" Madeleine asked, she herself getting angry. "Erik was capable of making decisions without my input!"
"Erik was capable, but he did not make this decision on his own. This," she said holding up the bloodied paper. "This is what makes me believe you had something to do with it."
Madeleine took the paper and read over it. "What is this supposed to mean?" she asked angrily.
"I don't know, why don't you tell me?" Marie asked. "You said something to him. What did you say?"
Madeleine in her anger crumpled the paper and threw it at the far wall. "I told him I hated him, and I wished he were dead," she yelled at Marie. "He told me he didn't want to see me with Étienne again. He has no right to say that. I have just as much right as anyone in town to have friends."
Marie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Anger grew in her with every word that came out of Madeleine's mouth. Finally her anger snapped and she slapped Madeleine across the face. "How dare you!" Marie yelled. "He is just a child, your son. How can you wish death upon your own child?"
"He was driving me crazy! I had no freedom being tied down with him."
Marie stared in total shock. "No freedom?" she asked. How the hell did she think Erik felt? Erik quite literally had no freedom. He wasn't even allowed to leave the house. And Madeleine was complaining of being confined?
"You know what," Marie finally said. "You don't deserve a child. I'm sure Erik is now in a better place. It's not a case of Erik not being worthy of you. You weren't worthy of Erik. I'm just upset it was all at his expense."
Madeleine said nothing, just turned and marched out of the room. Marie then turned and went back to Erik, laying him straight on the bed. "No more worries, Erik dear," she whispered as tears once more found their way down her face. "You are now safe from all harm."