I'm back!
Massacre
Quinn
"What were you like before? And you simply stare at them because you can remember no before, and the word you means nothing at all."
- Wasted by Marya Hornbacher
The days start to drag when Quinn doesn't get out of bed. Home from the hospital, she buries herself underneath blankets and refuses to come out. Her mother brings her meals, which she only eats when she's alone. Her sister flies home all the way from California to visit but she won't talk to her. She can't talk to her. Why would she talk to her when she's the perfect daughter who didn't screw up and would never consider slicing her own skin?
At night, she pokes her head out from underneath the covers and listens to her mother pick up the phone and dial the same number. She hears her screaming the same old arguments.
"You need to come home and see her, Russel!... because she's your daughter and she tried to kill herself! She needs you… oh don't bring that up again, it's over- … that is not why! You-"
It's about then she goes to the bathroom and turns on the water to muffle the voices. Her mother had a repairman take all the locks off of the doors and she stored every sharp object underneath her bed. Even the forks are hidden.
Quinn knows her mother is just trying to protect her, but if she was still going to kill herself, she'd just leave the house in the middle of the night and jump off a bridge.
Life was so much easier when she tried to be who her parents wanted. It wasn't like she knew anything else. Sure, it was suffocating, but it never hurt as bad as this…
What is this, anyway? How can anyone expect her to live when she's ruined everything she's ever had? She doesn't have friends or family or her religion or her child… nothing. Nothing except her mistakes.
The doctor said that was the depression talking, and gave her tiny blue pills to make her happy again. She hasn't been taking them, but her mother's probably mixing them into her food. She refuses to talk to a therapist, too. It's not like she makes house calls, and Quinn won't leave her room. Why should she talk to someone, anyway? No one could understand this. Her own father refuses to even look at her. What sort of hope does she have, if even her family abandoned her?
She doesn't need help. She doesn't deserve help. It's her own fault she sinned, and so it's her fault she self-destructed. There's nothing to fix.
"Quinn?" the doorknob turns, and her mother pokes her head into the bathroom, "Oh, there you are. What are you doing in here?"
"Just… sitting."
They're probably both getting flashbacks because of this bathroom. Quinn knows her mother doesn't shower in here anymore. All she sees is her child's blood decorating the tile walls. It must've taken a lot of bleach to erase the memory.
"Hm. Well, why don't you come downstairs for some lunch?" she reaches to turn off the faucet, "And why was the water running?"
"I like the sound," she says simply, and slips through the crack in the doorway, heading straight down the hall and crawling back into bed.
Of course, she can't get away that easily. Her mother arrives a few seconds later, perched on the edge of the mattress.
"Aren't you hungry, sweetie?"
The sound is muffled through sheets: "No."
"Of course," she says quietly, "Caroline was sad you didn't talk to her."
"Hmm."
"Quinn. She wanted to make sure you were alright-"
"Well I'm not. You could've told her that over the phone."
Judy sighs, absently looking around at the blank walls, "You know, we could redecorate in here if you want. Give it some color. A brand new room for a new…"
"What? A new me? How about we just splatter the whole place with red since-"
"I meant a fresh start," her mother cuts her off, "Why won't you just try to work with me, Quinny?"
"I am."
"You're not. That's the first time I've seen you out of bed in a week."
"At least I'm alive."
"Don't… don't do that to me. I'd feel much better if you'd just meet with the therapist-"
"No."
"Quinn-"
"No."
Her mother stands up and sighs again (she's been a chorus of sighs lately), patting Quinn's leg under the sheets, "I know this isn't the best situation, but you're going to find that nothing ever goes perfectly. I just wish you could help me understand…"
Her footsteps are soft as she leaves the door open behind her.
…
Nothing ever goes perfectly? Then how come her mother never lets her life be less than perfect?
Well, it certainly isn't perfect anymore. Quinn took care of that all on her own.
It's not like she can even pretend to be perfect anymore. Anyone who ever thought she was is a fool. Someone simply threw a sheet over her broken pieces, and she learned a long time ago that covering up the mess doesn't fix anything.
Since when does her mother want to understand anything about her life? It's not like she ever cared… she never bothered to understand how she got pregnant and why she was keeping it a secret for so long and if she needed help – she just kicked her out. Why should Quinn even bother to let her mother in? Because she let her come home?
That's what really gets her. It's not like her mother was on Daddy's side, because Daddy still won't speak to her. Her mother kicked him out and brought her back. She left her mood alone. She didn't get upset at Quinn's attitude. She had to find her, cut open and bleeding in the middle of the night.
Maybe she gets nightmares about it. Maybe she doesn't sleep much, either. She's probably worried her daughter is going to die at any moment, and Quinn can't fathom how she could have that effect on anyone, especially the woman who went right along with the plans and shut her out of the family. But she must feel that way, or else she wouldn't be reaching out like this.
Even though she's gone, Quinn can't imagine… Beth dying. The thought of it shocks her. It must be even worse for her mother…
She's not positive, but she doesn't think she's going to die (though she hasn't exactly grasped how to move on, either). Maybe her mother deserves to know at least that much.
In the morning (and by morning, it's more like three in the afternoon, but Quinn had been up all night pacing) Judy opens the door and pulls back the curtains, sunlight flooding through the windows.
"I'm going on a walk in an hour with some of the church ladies. You can come if you'd like; they're all quite worried about you. I was thinking about getting Chinese for dinner, but I can cook something too. We could even make it together!"
She twists and turns around the room, straightening up a pillow or picture, chatting about how she has all the ingredients for Quinn's favorite pesto sauce, not once expecting an answer. How does she have all this energy? How does she keep going every single day when her husband left her, one of her daughters is hundreds of miles away, and the other is a loon she has to worry about constantly? She has every right to be upset…
"Mom?"
She turns, one eyebrow raised in surprised. Quinn gets that from her, "Yes, sweetie?"
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" her mother asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling the blankets back a little. The cool air makes her shiver, "Why?'
"For everything I've done to you…"
"Honey, you haven't done anything to me-"
"I'm a bad person," she says, propping her head up on the pillows, bandaged forearm and week-old pajamas exposed to the light. She stares at the white gauze, almost blending in with her cream colored sheets.
"No you're not," Judy's mouth sets in a firm line, "You've made a few mistakes, Quinny. It happens to the best of us."
Right, except mistakes have never been acceptable in this house. Mistakes are forbidden, and she fell from grace so hard and far it took her this long to hit the ground. She let everyone down, including her parents and God and her friends. No one expected her to get herself knocked up and ruin all their plans. No one thought she'd decide to try to kill herself and disrupt their peace.
"I'm a sinner."
"Aren't we all?"
"No. Not me."
Her mother chuckles a little, "You're not some sort of martyr, dear. Everyone sins, but God forgives-"
"No one will ever forgive me."
"Of course-"
"Daddy won't forgive me!"
She frowns, "Your father is far from perfect. He's the last one you should be looking for forgiveness from."
Maybe that's true, but she still can't see how she's supposed to let go of the one man she's always tried to impress. Then again, she's tried to impress her mother too, yet here she is, telling her what's wrong. It's unfamiliar territory; they've never been much for talking about their feelings. Maybe it's different now with her father gone. Either way, it's a start, isn't it?
"Daddy thinks I'm a whore."
She stares at the wall, but her mother's answer is quick: "Your father is too judgmental for his own good, Quinn."
Too judgmental. They all are, aren't they? She thought her mother was, until she got out from underneath her father's thumb. She's starting to realize that they don't really know each other at all. They only saw each other's character they played for their leading man.
"You made a mistake, honey," Judy continues, filling the silence, "Everyone makes mistakes."
"I'm not supposed to."
"I know… we might've taught you differently, but you're human. We all are. Everyone messes up. Everyone sins. Even him."
Adultery is certainly a sin, and she idly wonders how long it had been going on. How could she be such a disappointment when he was breaking his own rules? Was his daughter supposed to be innocent, never marred by his own mistakes or scars to remind him of his choices? It was her job to be perfect. It was their job to protect her, and they let her down. Both of them.
"You let him kick me out."
Judy sighs, "I know. I never… I should've left with you, at least. I just didn't know what to do."
"Stop him."
It sounds simple enough, but she knows it would've been more difficult in practice, "That's a mistake I made. I understand if you never forgive me for that."
"Mm."
"Having sex doesn't make you a whore, Quinn. It doesn't make you a bad person. You shouldn't listen to anything Russel says."
She doesn't answer. Her mother places a hand on her knee, "I'm sorry for letting all this happen… for you growing up in this house…"
"You were just… doing your best. I should've tried harder."
"Oh baby, you shouldn't have to try!"
"I failed everyone…"
"You didn't fail me!" her mother says firmly, reaching out and squeezing Quinn in a hug, "You could never fail me."
She breathes in her scent, soap and lavender, and closes her eyes, tears dripping into her mother's shoulder as her voice shakes, "I'm sorry I scared you. I just… I wanted to stop feeling so horrible all the time."
"It's okay. It's okay."
Her mother rubs circles into her back as Quinn tries to wipe the snot from her nose, wondering why this is making her cry. Thinking about how she'll never get to hold her baby like this. She doesn't even know if she wants that. Of course she wants it, but she can't have it.
"I'm sick of being sad."
"The doctor said you have depression. You'll be okay once you start going to therapy and you medication kicks in."
"They can't fix me. I can't…"
"You can. If we taught you one thing, it's how to follow through."
She could laugh at the thought of all the trouble she's followed through on if she wasn't crying.
"I just miss her, mom."
"The baby? Yes, I read that missing her is normal…"
"You read?"
"I did some research, yes. I was trying to understand…"
The fact that her mother was making any effort to look up the effects of adoption on biological mothers astounds her, "But I… she was a mistake. I shouldn't miss her."
"Oh, I don't think babies are mistakes, Quinny, no matter the circumstances. God was trying to teach you something."
God's always trying to teach her something, according to her family. God is fire and brimstone and only lets the best little girls into Heaven. Except her mother doesn't think she belongs in Hell anymore. Maybe she never did in the first place.
"… how can I believe in God when he made me this sad?"
"I just know everything happens for a reason, baby. Even all this. I have to believe it, or there'd be no reason to my life."
Quinn envies that faith, as her mother rocks her back and forth in her arms. Envies that security. Her every form of safety has been shattered. There's nowhere to turn. Except her one comfort has been here, waiting for her all this time. If she can only share one thing with her mother, it's the experience of living with her father and his expectations. There could be hope in that.