Arrgh! u.u late update! I'm sorriee! I've been actually fixing the firsts chapters grammar and stuff.

...

I also downloaded a ps1 and ps2 emulator on my pc and i've been playing spyro the dragon nonstop! It was Playsation's 20th anniversary after all and i had to celebrate it xD

FOURTY-FIVE

Two week have passed by now and I've spent all days taking care of my mother –that was a bit of an understatement, she seemed like she could take care of herself just fine. She was a bit difficult at first, considering her condition, but throughout the days, she got better and was eating a lot, gradually. Her thin figure began to get wider and I was glad. Her medicines worried me though. She still denied them and I couldn't blame her. I began to think she didn't need them, seeing as how well and healthy she was. I only gave her pain killers for the headaches, but other than that, nothing. She was good, really.

About us? She was still grumpy and brusque with me, but I never stopped helping her. She wanted to do everything by herself. Sometimes, I'd give her space, still keeping an eye on her. I started to wonder if she was aware of her illness, but I never asked her, afraid of the outcome.

But she was too good.

After another four weeks, her condition suddenly deteriorated. She was beginning to eat less and acted more like a child. She constantly called me for everything. She literally depended on me. She stopped doing the house chores and just sat on her couch and slept all day. Her moods were erratic; sometimes she was happy and in a minute, she was angry and sad at me or over nothing at all. Like the doctor warned, she had episodes of amnesia, but they were minor: she sometimes forgot whereas she watched her novel or not or if she brushed her teeth. Nothing to worry about.

-"Mom, you need to start taking the pills."- I said, wet hands on waist. I just finished washing the dishes.

She shook her head, making a face, like always.

-"Mom."- I insisted.

-"I don't wanna. I'm fine."- She argued.

-"But you're getting sick and you'll get worse if you don't ta-"

-"I ain't sick!"- She spat, turning her gaze to me with a glare.

So… she doesn't know? Or she just denying it? –"But…"

She gave me one last glare before turning back to the TV.

I sighed and walked towards our rooms to clean the bed sheets. Since she didn't wanted to do anything at all, I do all the house work now. It didn't bothered me. I stayed here for a reason. I make breakfast and dinner –and by dinner, I mean macaroni and Chef Boyardee. I rarely tried something from the book and when I did… well, you know how that turns out. I admit, it sucked after eating it for days, but kept us alive at least. Like I mentioned, Mom stopped eating like she used to and when she did eat, she was picky about it. Whatever I made her, she took her time observing and deciding if to eat it or not. Sometimes, she didn't want it and I'd just retrained it in the fridge for later.

As I picked up her bed sheet, I noticed a few blood stains. What…? I lifted it closer to my face for better inspection and inferred it was fresh, recent. Troubled, I walked downstairs and stood in front of her, eyeing her, -"Get outta the way! I can't see!"- She spat.

I raised her chin, pulled her ears a bit, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

She slapped my hand away, -"What're you doin'?"

I kept observing her though and when I noticed slight cuts on her wrists, I gasped and pulled it, -"Mom, what's this about?"- I began to panic.

-"What?"- I lifted her wrist and she looked at it, turning her lips, -"What is it?"

-"There're cuts here. Why?"

She focused more on it and when she saw it, she shrugged, -"Well, I dunno."

-"Are you fucki-?"- I bit my tongue, prevent profanities come out of it, -"Mom, you need to tell me. Why did you do it?"

-"Shit, I don't even remember when."

-"What?"

I stood dumbfounded while she just scratched her head. Could it be her amnesia? I decided to investigate her room and the bathroom. Her room looked normal, but the bathroom smelled… different, unusual. I noticed few blood drops on the sink and a razor –dad's, on the floor, which I almost stepped on.

So he has been cutting herself, but… why would she do something like that!? And when? She claimed she doesn't remember, but…!

Ok, ok, I need to calm down. I've watched her throughout the day, so maybe she cut herself during nighttime? It's the only explanation I can muster. I've let my guard down. I need to watch her during the day and night. I knew I shouldn't blame myself, but I couldn't help it.

Like I mentioned, she kept watching her novel all day, sometimes falling asleep. When nighttime came, she went to sleep early and I decided to sleep in her room, so I dragged my mattress beside hers and laid down. I sighed. I was unable relegate the uneasiness within me. What if she woke up and I wouldn't notice?

There wasn't much I could do. I tried to stay awake, but the weariness from today's work downed on me and I fell asleep in minutes.

I woke up like five times throughout the night and Mom slept peacefully. In the morning while eating breakfast, I asked her, -"Did you slept well?"

She nodded, swallowing a teaspoon of oatmeal. I discretely eyed her wrists. Nothing new. I sighed in relief.

But after another two days, I noticed her scars became deeper wounds and she was trying to hide it. I couldn't catch her at night. I grew desperate and tried to outsmart the situation. The next night, I left an old camera on the bathroom and went to sleep. The situation had me panicked, so I slept little. Mom was hurting herself and I didn't know why. Whenever I tried talking to her about it, she just shrugged me off and claimed to remember nothing. I couldn't tell if she was lying.

When the sun was up, I quickly checked the camera. It had run out of battery and I had no idea where the charger was, -"Jeeean!"- Mom called from downstairs.

-"Coming!"- I answered, rummaging around the depot for the charger, -"Shit."- I cursed, with no luck in finding it.

-"Jean!"- She called again, higher.

I hurried downstairs and after asking her what she wanted to eat –receiving an indifferent 'I dunno', I quickly made breakfast: eggs with bacon and toasted bread, -"Bon appetite."- I said, placing the plate on her lap.

Like always, she eyed it and pursed her lips, -"I don't want it. I want oats."

-"Then why didn't you told me when I asked you?"

She shrugged and I sighed. Thankfully, I made bacon and eggs for her only, foreseeing her latter statement. I retrained it in the oven for later and made oats for her. I prayed silently as she eyed her plate. I sighed in relief when she started eating it. I picked up the plate with bacon and eggs and sat with her. Discretely, I eyed her wrists and observed her movements. They looked… the same, meaning she probably didn't cut herself last night. I still had to check the camera.

Once I finished eating, I washed the dishes and headed upstairs. I spent half an hour looking for that charger; mom kept calling me for every trifle need and when I finally found it, I sat in her bed and watched the video.

Like I foretold, she woke up during midnight and was sitting on the toilet… razor on hand. I noted her hands shaking as she hovered the sharp blades near her wrists. She was… hesitant. Suddenly, she dropped the razor and placed her hands on her face. She started crying, tears cascading down through her fingers.

The video ended due to lack of battery.

But… why? Why would she commit such an act? What're her reason for taking away her life? What have I done wrong this time!? Haven't I taken good care of her? Was this my fault for not giving her the medicines?

I accidentally dropped the camera. I dozed off trying to answer the swirling questions in my mind. Unfortunately, the video allured more questions than answers. There was one person who could help me.

I've dialed doctor Zackly's number like ten times already. On the eleventh attempt, he answered, -"Yes, Kirshtein?"

-"Wait… how do you know it's me?"

-"No one else would call me ten times this early."- He spat, voice spleenful.

-"Oh,"- I swallowed before speaking again, scratching my rear head, -"I'm sorry, I just have some questions… concerning my mother."

-"Of course, why else would you impede me?"- I made a face, but before I could retort back, he continued, -"Spare me the details."

-"Fine,"- I answered, a bit furious at him, but I could understand his attitude. If I were in his place, I would've been just as bothered at someone who called me ten times this early on a Sunday. He was probably sleeping. Yikes, -"Mom… she's… cutting herself during midnight. I dunno why, but I caught her with the camera I left overnight and she was just… crying. And whenever I asked her, she just says she doesn't remember –she once tried to hide her wounds from me."

I heard a deep sigh from the other side, -"Have you been giving her the medicines I prescribed?"

-"Um, no, but-"

-"Why?"

-"She… doesn't want them and I can't force her to take them lik-"

-"She needs them, otherwise, incidents like the latter you mentioned would occur,"- He cleared his throat, -"Adapin, in particular, is essential."

I gasped and stood frozen. So… it's my fault, -"But… she's not depressed; I mean, I've been observing her all this time and she's, well… fine –you know what I mean."

-"True,"- He continued. I heard ruffling on the other side. He was working on some paper –newspaper maybe, -"You said she committed the act during midnight?"

-"Yeah…"

-"Speak with her, Kirshtein. I infer she undergoes the sentiment of loneliness and thus depression…, alas such act."

-"But she's so… herself during daytime. Why is she so different then?"- I ran a hand through my hair. This situation had me stressed.

-"The dark can be very prestigious. It can make you feel… desolated and hopeless,"- The doctor sighed, took a sip from… something and swallowed. Tea maybe? –"She needs someone to remind her that she is not alone, Jean. She needs you. Keep her company, talk to her, be with her."

I almost choked. He just called me by my name, -"Yeah… I'll do that,"- I said, feeling an awful ache in my chest, -"I mean, I've tried, but she's just so…"

-"Complicated?"- I nodded on my side. He sighed, -"Yes, people with brain tumors can be very strenuous to work with. Their minds are unsteady, erratic with raveled thoughts, impossible to extricate. Their minds end up smothered by these until it alters like those of a child's."

I gulped. Mom was acting more like a kid.

-"Anything else, Kirshtein?"

-"Um… no. That'll be all. Thanks and um, sorry for the calls."- I apologized.

-"Remember her medicines."-He didn't say anything else and hung up, meaning he was still mad at me for interrupting his tea time.

I sighed and slumped back on my bed, hands covering my face. I felt overflowed. I was tired, stressed and panicked with this situation –with the whole thing actually. It's like a giant is pressing me down, telling me 'just give up. It's easier'. I felt like I had anchors on both my hands and legs, hindering me to walk forward.

I had no idea how to deal with Mom or how to give her the medicines she denied, but I had to try. I can't leave all this like, well…like this. I was given the chance to redeem myself with her, I can't waste it.

Without thinking twice, I stood and dumped all the razors I could find on the bathroom –anything sharp really. I hid all knifes from the kitchen somewhere high where she wouldn't reach them. After that, I went to the depot looking for alcohol and oxygenated water when I realized I ran out of toilet paper… again. Dad came last time and brought me some stuff. I doubt he could again. He left to Sina a week ago.

There was a pharmacy nearby, but I couldn't leave Mom alone and unwatched. I needed help.

I dialed Marco's home phone number. No answer. I dialed his mother's phone, -"Hello?"- She answered.

-"Hey, it's me, Jean."- I said, walking around the kitchen, checking for supplies while keeping an eye on Mom.

-"Jean! How are you? It's been a while."- She said joyfully.

-"Yeah, right? And I'm okay."

-"And your mother?"

I looked over my shoulder. Mom was watching TV like always, but she was falling asleep, -"She's… better."

Marco's mom sighed in relief, -"That's good to hear,"- I heard some sort of chorus on the other side, -"So, is everything okay? Do you need something?"

-"Yeah, I… need some stuff. I can't leave Mom alone so…"- I spoke, feeling a bit unsure to ask her a favor like this, but I couldn't do anything else.

-"No worries. I'll bring it. What do you need?"

-"Um… toilet paper mostly."- As I roamed the kitchen, I noted I lacked food.

-"Are you sure?"- She snorted, amused at my inability to ask favors.

-"Um…"

-"Okay then, I'll be right there with the supplies after church."

Church… she and Marco attend church every Sunday morning, -"Hey, um… is Marco with you?"

-"No, he's not. He's stayed home sleeping."- She answered and I noted her tone of voice dimming a bit.

-"Oh."- My voice dimmed too as my shot of seeing Marco, even for a minute, vanished.

-"Well, wait for me, okay? I'll be there soon."

-"Okay and… thanks, really."

-"Think nothing of it, Jean."- Even from this side, I knew she was smiling.

I hung up and sighed deeply. What would I do without her help? I owe her a lot –well, both of them. I'd be a goner if not for Marco.

At the thought of him, I realized just how much I missed that freckled idiot. Then, I remembered our discussion and a foul ache invaded my chest. I wasn't ready to hear those words –I never will, despite the fact that I've never asked him to be my boyfriend, but considering what we've done together, well… it was irrelevant.

I wondered how he was doing. His mom said he didn't accompanied her to church and that, for me, wasn't appeasing. Last time we talked –or better yet, discussed- he was hurt spiritually. His faith in God was staggering since He spoke that homosexuality was a sin. I could be erroneous; maybe Marco was more unsettled with himself, maybe he wants to punish himself or redeem himself with Him –maybe… he was fretful of me. Is that why he wanted to break up with me? Or was it because of how I treated him in public? Or both? He didn't clarified.

In any case, if he stayed home it was because he couldn't "face" God. He might be broken, sad… all, probably, because of me.

I felt my mood drowning. I'll be the one to fall into depression and I couldn't afford that right now. Reluctantly, I pushed all thoughts of Marco aside and cleared my mind. Please, Marco… just hang on.

I did the usual around the house and attempted a conversation with Mom about random stuff. She only talked back whenever it was about her novel, otherwise, she shrugs me off.

After a few hours, I heard a car honk and rushed outside.

-"I hope this is enough for both of you."- She said as I opened the door.

And sure, it was enough. There were like ten bags or so, -"Yeah, it is. Thanks."- I had that prompt need to ask her how much she spent, but swallowed it, knowing she wasn't going to answer me.

-"Need help?"

I stopped collecting the bag and thought about it. I wasn't too keen on letting Mom see someone else inside the house, someone she didn't knew at all. It's not like Marco's mom was untrustworthy, I was just uncertain how Mom would react, considering her condition.

Marco's mom noticed my insecurity. She chuckled, -"It's alright. I understand."

-"Wait… it's not like that..."

-"I understand, Jean. You're just worried."- She said, a sweet smile across her face.

Again, I was amazed at her ability to catch up and understand people, -"Th-thank you…"

I picked up every bag with both hands, making a few trips and retrained the supplies in the cabinets. After thanking Marco's mom again, I headed inside and quickly prepared dinner. After eating, I continued where I left off. I was walking towards Mom with alcohol and oxygenated water when she gave me that 'what the fuck are you going to do' look, -"I need to clean those wounds."- I pointed to her wrists.

She eyed them and shook her head, -"Nah, they're fine."

-"Mom."

She shook her head again.

I sighed and knelt in front of her, -"Mom… please. That razor was grubby. You're gonna contract an infection if I don't sanitize it."

She pursed her lips. I was a bit surprised she didn't asked me about the razor, meaning she either had no idea what I was talking about or didn't cared.

-"Please."- I was practically begging. I really didn't want to use force on her.

She just shrugged indifferently and I quickly bent water on a soft towel and pressed it against her wrists. She winced, but said nothing.

When I finished, I bandaged it and stood up, -"That should do it,"- I sighed and placed my hand over hers, -"Mom… don't do it again."

She had her eyes glued to the TV, but she didn't said anything, she didn't even shrugged. She knew what I was talking about, she remembered.

-"Do you promise?"- I asked.

Now she shrugged.

I sighed and sat on the couch. Even if she didn't spoke to me, I stayed with her throughout the day. The novel was boring to be honest, but it didn't mattered.

When night came, I decided to give her the anti-depressant pill, -"Here, Mom. It'll make you feel better."- It also helped to sleep.

Surprisingly, she took it. She was probably tired of waking up constantly during the night.

Around midnight, I woke up, unable to sleep peacefully and when I didn't saw Mom on her bed, I shot up, panic eating me, and rushed to the bathroom. She was there, around a mess of papers and other stuff.

I gasped when I spotted her sitting on the toilet… with a razor on hand. But… I dumped them all! Did she searched the trashcan? She couldn't have…!

-"Mom… drop that right now."- I said, the panic making my voice harsher.

She stood up and shook her head and whenever I approached her, she stepped back, -"Please… you're going to hurt yourself."- It was a stupid statement considering it was her intention.

-"Leave me alone."- She said, stepping farther away.

I stepped forward, -"Just… drop that, come on."- My hands were shaking as I hovered them in front of her. God, why wouldn't she just listen to me? I gave her the anti-depressant and it did nothing on her! Was Zackly lying to me?

Yet as I watched her expression, I noted how it dimmed, how it slowly fell. Maybe… it was making effect. She stepped back again, groggily, until she was in the bathtub. She started drawing the razor near her wrist as the closed the bathtub's curtain. I rushed forwards, pushed the curtain open and slapped the razor off her hand.

-"Get out, get out, get out!"- She started yelling, eyebrows crooked, as she pushed me.

While she pushed me, I dragged the razor with my foot. I then wondered if she had more in here, so I pushed forwards against her.

-"Get out, get out! Leave me alone!"- She kept yelling and started pulling my hair.

-"Ow, ow, ow!"- I winced. I took her hand and tried to shove it away, -"Mom, stop!"

Her grip was slowly weakening, -" .alone!"

Then, she started kicking and stomping me randomly, -"Agh! Stop, woman!"

Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind –well, several: whenever Mom and I discussed, I always called her woman instead of mom, something that I now considered… disrespectful. She wasn't any woman, she was my mom.

I kind of snapped out from my earlier panic outburst and knew I had to fix this mess, but it was too late. Mom was screaming and kicking everything around her, -"Mom, please, calm down!"

She shocked her head erratically, as if trying to stay awake. She then slapped her face. And again. And again. I took her hand and stopped it, but she slapped me instead. I hesitated on shaking her awake, but if anything, I needed her to fall into slumber.

Her body weakened over me and I held her tightly. She kept kicking me, but I resisted her and started pulling her out of the bathroom. Once in her bedroom, I placed her gently on her bed. She was still awake, cursing and mumbling weakly, but in a matter of minutes, she fell asleep.

I laid down on my bed and just stared at ceiling. My body was still shaking. I was still panicked. What if she woke up again? What if she tried killing herself again? What if I don't notice?

How did she found the razors? Was she watching me during the day?

I shot up immediately and ran outside to the trashcan –sure enough, I noted clues of someone who just rooted it. I cursed mentally and aloud, dumping them in Nana's trashcan. The garbage truck comes on Mondays and I couldn't afford Mom scavenging it tonight. As if I had persecutory delusions, I locked the front door and hid the key under my pillow when I went to sleep.