Author's Notes: Awww.. You guys make me smile... Thanks for the positive push forward... Here's the next chapter... Please review??
I'm bored. I am unbelievably bored. I've flipped through every channel, read every article in every magazine I have in my house, and starred at my ceiling looking for imperfections for the last three hours. I couldn't find any, but I'm determined to find at least one. I thought I would be up in a week, but my body has to have that extra day just for kicks, just to torture me. I can put a little weight on my ankle, but it still hurts like hell. So I've been resorted to only walking when I really have. I hear a knocking at the door, and I start to sit up. My daughter comes padding out of her room to the door. She gives me one of those glares that say I'm supposed to stay on th sofa. Fine. She can answer the door. I plop my head back on the pillow and continue to stare at my pitifully perfect white ceiling. I hear her scream out daddy, and I pop up. Carter stands in the doorway, a goofy grin on his face. I watch him give Millie a kiss on the cheek, and he wraps his arms around her as they walk closer to me. I give him a forced smile, so at least Millie doesn't know about how much I still hate him. I really want to tell her how much of a moron her father really is, but that would be mean. I'll wait a few weeks.
"How are you feeling?"
I roll my eyes out of sight of Millie and then shrug my shoulder. Not bad for almost dying from hypothermia and a sprained ankle. I might actually be able to get back to work in a few days. Millie's starring up at him like he's some almighty and powerful god. Okay so I should bring her over to see him more often, but that's not my fault. I've been handicapped. Because of his idiotic self. I see Millie start back off toward her room, but then she turns around.
"Daddy, can you help me with algebra?"
He shrugs his shoulders and takes her outstretched hand. She leads him back toward her room. I've been here, what? For the last week? And she hasn't asked me for help in anything, but as soon as daddy shows up, suddenly he's god and I'm the devil. Thanks a lot Millie. I hear her mumble something about me being grouchy. I am not grouchy. I'm bored, frustrated, angry, and high on painkillers. I'm not grouchy! The painkillers prevent me from being grouchy. I close my eyes, maybe I'll be able to fall asleep. Fat chance, but its worth a shot.
This is pointless. I've decided that after three seconds. I should probably get up and make something to eat, or at least something to drink for myself before I dehydrate. I hop toward the kitchen, holding on to whatever is around me. At least I'm getting my daily exercise requirements of the day. After a much needed hop-scotch game I get to the kitchen. I pull out a cup from the cupboard and place it on the counter. I hobble over to the fridge and open it, pulling out the carton of orange juice and getting to the cup. Then the phone starts to ring. Damn it. Why don't I have a phone in the kitchen? Damn it. I start to half run, half jump toward the living room. My foot starts to throb again, and it's like this jump-hop move to keep my weight off it. I come into distance of the phone, the same minute Carter comes shooting around the corner. He grabs it and hands me the phone, standing a few feet away from me, probably making sure I don't fall and kill myself. That would be a possibility here. I answer the phone with a quick hello. My brother's voice comes over the line. It's been a few weeks since I've spoken to him.
"Abby, it's mom. She killed herself."
The phone slips from my fingers, falling against the floor, the cover and batteries flying apart toward opposite sides of the room. I'm frozen in time, in space. I can't feel anything at that moment. So what if she was a bad mother, and I hated her more times than I loved her? She was still my mother. My mother who had us all fooled she was on her medication, that she was doing better. I can't believe this. I can't. It's not her. This is some cruel joke of Erik's. It's a game, something stupid to get me by their side. No, she still had time. She could have lived another few years, died of natural causes, anything but this. She's selfish, she's always been selfish. Why did I think she would change? Carter's voice knocks me out for a second, a concerned look etched on his face.
"My mother.... She's... She's dead."
I feel my knees give in, my body start to crumble, and his arms catch me, holding me up. Maybe he's good for something. I feel his one arm wrap around my back, as his other goes under my knees, picking me up. I lean into his chest, digging my head into his shoulder. He walks with me to the couch, and sits down, rocking me back and forth in his lap. I can't believe this is happening. I can't. This isn't fair. I wasn't supposed to get the phone call that my mother died because she decided she wanted to. No, the world doesn't work that way. People die in accidents, of natural causes, of old age, of ailments, cancers, AIDS, things that we don't have control over. Not simply because she decided she hated life. If I had the same philosophy I wouldn't have made it past ten.
I don't' even know when the tears came, I mean I never thought I would cry over my mother again. She wasn't a mother, she was a person. A person who simply hung around and decided to be a mother on her time off. I never had here there when I needed her. She was never there, she was off with some guy she met on the street, or painting crazy things, or designing clothes that no one in hell would wear. Or she was depressed, lying in bed for weeks at a time, ignoring everything around her. So what? She didn't need to eat, but her two children did. Who gave a damn about them?
I want to block it out, I'd rather feel nothing at all. I just want to be held, be rocked, be comforted. I don't' want to think of the reasons why because it hurts. It hurts more than I ever thought it would. I never through she would go through with it. I came so close to watching her die, and she never did. I became numb to it. And I want to be numb right now, I want to not feel anything. I want to not think about anything. I want to deal with this tomorrow, not tonight. I want this to be over. I wish this wasn't my life.
I feel Carter stand, and he begins to walk toward my bedroom. His hand keeps gently running up and down my back, but he says nothing. He knows nothing will help me. The silence is something I need, I want it more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I look down at my hands in the dim light, they're shaking. My whole body is shaking, but it does nothing to phase him. His grip on me is as tight as ever. If only he could take away the pain I'm feeling inside.
He places my body down on my bed, and he slowly pulls the comforter over my shaking body. I roll up, oblivious to the pain in my leg, or the pounding in my head. His hand skims my shoulder, and I instinctively reach for it, pulling it in closer, pulling him in closer. I link my fingers with his as his body adds weight to the mattress. I keep pulling him closer and closer to me until his body is as close to mine as humanly possibly. He slips his arm on my stomach, my arm rests on his. I pull our hands closer to my body, trying to squeeze out all the pain. It's not working. I just want him here, I want him to hold me and tell me everything will be okay. I feel him place a feather kiss on my temple, the tears begin to fall once again. My body shakes, aggravating all the physical pain I'm feeling. He breathes slowly and calmly, a rhythm that I can't follow. I don't know how long he'll be there for; I don't' know how long till I will stop crying; I don't' know how long the moon will shine through my window. I don't know anything anymore.