A/N: So, this is my new fanfiction about Seth imprinting. And I will come through with this one, I felt really bad about abandoning the last one, but I just couldn't keep going. This idea has been with me for a while and I feel really good about it. Please, review, make me feel good and such. Thanks to my Beta Julie, she's going through something right now and I'm glad she took the time to help me. She's a sweetie! I hope you enjoy.
I shook, my body convulsed and bucked sending my head flipping; sending my body to the ground. The tears dripped into nothingness, mixing with the drops of rain splattered onto my face; sobs never passed the threshold of my lips, never breaking the painful silence of the night. I was finally breaking down; my mind was at last reacting to the terror that had unfolded. Why now, though? The only part of my brain that could have rational thought at this point was fighting to ask the deep questions I needed to answer. Why didn't I do this when she let go of my hand at the hospital? Or at her wake that only I and her Doctors attended? Why not when I saw her body for the last time? I screamed throughout my mind.
Why on a highway in the middle of nowhere?
Why hadn't the times when she couldn't remember me, made these tears come? She was so frail and sad, her mind would leave at the most important times.
When I was turning seven, I didn't have a party, mostly because I didn't have many friends, but also because we didn't have much money. I got to ask the few friends I had to go to a local family fun park, for Mini Golf, Go-Karts and arcade games; it was the best and worst birthday I had ever had. The day went great, I felt as if I was a real kid; laughing and smiling, just forgetting for the moment that my mom's chorea was coming once a week now or that sitting on her bed, trying to convince her she wasn't dying, was a regular afternoon. It was as if nothing could touch me for those few hours, I was in my own world, where mothers took care of their children, made them dinner, tried comforting them in bed; a world where the child was the mothers whole world, not the other way around.
And then it was time to eat; I was starving, I had never played so much in my life and I hadn't even remember that I needed to eat; mom was just sitting on a bench staring off at nothing, her eyes were glazed over. I knew that look, she wasn't there, her mind was blank; she was gone. All I could think, though, was, 'Please don't let her ruin today.'
My body rose then fell; high then low; fast then slow; I was conscious and then in a fluttering dark, back and forth. Did it really need to be my mother? Out of all the people in the world, why had it been my mother that was taken? My best friend, the only person I cared for; the person who did everything she could for me, even in sickness. What did I do to deserve such a price? Why was my mother marked even before birth to die so young? She was only thirty-five.
But mom never did what she should; her body didn't listen to her mind and she in turn never listen to anyone who told her what to do. She snuck out, she had sex, she drank…she gave birth to me, without a father at hand, she kept me because she loved me and that's why I took care of her. I owed her everything, she ruined her whole life, just for me; she gave up her whole future, a scholarship, a normal life and family and probably a longer life expectancy. Everything about my mother was a contradiction of what I wanted, of what I craved, of what I needed. So I just swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and was about to take a much wanted bite of my pizza, when an employee crouched down in front of me and I could hear her words before they even left her square little mouth.
"Why don't I take a picture of you and your mom, huh?"
The tremors deepened, sending my head into the ground rhythmically; the warm sticky blood was pooling and spreading into the tendrils of my hair. I caught my lip between my teeth and the pain of the unintended bite seared skin, sending pricks to random areas. Everything, the pain, the shaking, the memories got worse; my mind jumped and swirled with over exertion, muddling with my will to do anything. When I built up a new scream, nothing happened; my mouth didn't even open, despite the orders I gave. It was as if the neurons in my brain were just as confused; like they were shaking and mixed up too. Nothing worked; I was losing control of everything; I could barely see and the only feeling I could gather was that of anguish, everything hurt. What was going on? Help me, I'm dying, all alone. I'm dying! Please. Please.
I was slightly surprised, I hadn't been expecting those words but I declined politely, staring at her shocked face. She thought I was weird, I'd seen the face many times before, like when my mom didn't come to PTA meetings or to see me receive my partial scholarship for Southwestern; but I had also witnessed the look my mother held, many times, and of the two, I could handle the girls. She insisted though, to the point that even as a seven year old, I knew it was rude and intrusive. And just as she was about to imply that my mother abused me, I gave in, crossing my fingers that mom would just sit tight and go along with everything. Wishful thinking was something I never did, but it was my birthday and I hoped that was enough for God, or whoever. I took little deliberate steps, towards my mother's form, her straight, slack jawed body. My heart sped, and my breathing was a low pant, I knew it was coming; it sizzled in the air, just like before a rain storm; impending doom. I placed my hand on her shoulder, the reaction was slower than normal, like some force was pushing against her face, as she turned toward me.
"Mom, this lady," I gestured to the employee, "--wants to take a picture of us." Her head tilted to the side, and I just sat next to her and wrapped my arm around her waist; praying the picture would be taken quickly. But before the camera could even be lifted, mom stood, her head twitching and she screamed like a banshee. Her words made no sense, they were a slurred version of speech; her skinny arms flared and she began crumpling into herself, onto the floor. I tripped over to her, and cradled her head in my lap, repeated the words I knew would calm her, while stroking her hair. And when I looked up, all my friends and their mothers were staring at me, at her, at my life and I knew what they were thinking. They shuffled out, looks of horror on the children and disgust on the mothers; the employee ran over and tried pulling me away from my mom, like she would hurt me or something, and told someone else to the call an ambulance. I didn't give in though, she was my mommy, she needed me and I knew if she could, she would be in my shoes in an instant; it wasn't her fault, she didn't ask to be dying.
"Please," the word was on the cusp of my ending breath, but it was there, hanging in the hair, waiting. For relief, for a savior, for numbness. Anything.
Heat encircled my whole body, sending sparks underneath my muddied skin, into my veins and soaring over my mind. Everything was achingly sharp and I was aware of all that was around me. Sensitive to the whip of wind and the burn of breathing; every twitch of my body set off livewires of anguish into my head; warning me of what was coming, of what was happening in my body at that moment. Warning me of the significant change growing in my being. The body I was cradled against, with its russet skin and fiery aura; was safe, I felt it, tasted it, knew it, even in at a time like that. The way the person ran, never breaking stride and not ever jostling me; careful and deliberate.
I never resented my mother when she was alive, not even after that birthday, when I had no friends, or when I was teased for what she had; not even when we didn't have the money for new clothes or food. When I took care of her, I always did it like I was her and she was me, and she was tending to me; like she was the one mothering me. I knew she loved me, and that she wanted me to have everything, that she wanted me to leave and go off to college, she wanted to let go and I wasn't going to. I accepted the partial scholarship only because she was proud and it made her eyes light up at the very idea of me making something of myself. But I couldn't leave, I could never just leave her to fend for herself. Who would talk to her when she had her panic attacks and thought she was going to die? Or when her chorea took over and she fell out of bed? No one, I needed to do it, and as much as she needed me, I needed her too; because who would care about me when she wasn't around? I had only her, no father or grandparents, not even a cousin. But I didn't expect death, I never thought I had to worry about that, I never let the thought climb into my mind, because I knew that once I did, I wouldn't be able to push it back out, I knew it would nestle in every free space of my mind and never leave. So I let myself think that she would live forever, that she could evade death, I drove myself into a false sense of security that I should never had.
The forest was flashing by like a slow motion picture; every time I blinked it stopped and then started again, repeat. We were beyond speed, the little space in my mind could not even fathom how it was possible to move as quick as we did. Dodging limb after limb, weaving in and out of the puzzling layout of the wood. The pain didn't subside, never leaving me, never numbing; my tendons felt forever clenched and my fingers seemed like they would never release from the claws they were bent into.
And then there were lights; blurry and smudged lights that were close and inviting. The travel slowed down, and steadily approached the flickering gleams. My awareness began to falter, ebbing away. The lids over my eyes felt heavy and I couldn't bear to keep them open; the lights shone dim through the protective skin; I swam in an orangey dissolve. It was a visual vertigo, dancing around in front of my eyes, in a mocking consistency. Then the voices; wonky slow, deep strangled words; they sounded warped, mangled and all together, like the parents from Charlie Brown. There were many, all mashed together; twisting, forming one composition of unverifiable tongue. Close and far, one after another sound being spoken; the same monotone disjointed from my comprehension. It was if there was water piling in my ear, drowning the words before I could process them.
And when she died that night in the hospital, all I did was stare at her, at the only person who loved me, the only person who gave me purpose. She was so small, so sickly skinny and gaunt; I couldn't even produce one sign of emotion, just standing and watching as my mother took her last breath. The nurses said I was in shock, and all I wanted to do was laugh. Shock? My mother died, I think shock was an understatement, more like total meltdown. But it never showed, hidden in my mind, just wading there, mocking my stupidity and repeating the moment. Telling me that she was never coming back, not giving me any room to pretend she was going to call for me from her bedroom or that I would have to make her dinner that night. No one needed me anymore, I was the one that needed someone now, someone now, I was the one who was helpless; because I could do all the domestic things in the world and I could reassure someone until my heart's content, but I couldn't live without my mom, because she lived for me and I for her; so if she was gone, who was going to kept me alive?
I felt the arms that held me loosen, tenderly they lowered my body; slowly. Panic darted through me, anxiety, sadness. My safety was floating away; surging off of me in bundles: my mind decided to make a short reappearance.
Putting all the extra strength I had built up into tossing my arms haphazardly around the man's neck; it was awkward and fumbling but I pulled myself up until my lips just barely grazed his earlobe. I was still out of it, nothing was focused and doing any strenuous work just made me faint, but I sighed a slow deliberate sigh, preparing.
I left after the wake and cremation was done, with only a couple shirts, a laptop and my mother's ashes in my backpack; heading for the one place I had resented for better part of my life. I hitched and walked all the way to the only other place I had ever lived; my mother's home. I wanted to be in a place where my mother had grown, and experience the best part of her life; where the only memories were good ones. I wanted to feel her spirit all around me, I wanted it to claim me, bask in it. I wanted to feel wanted; I didn't want to be alone anymore.
"Don't leave me." The syllables flew out on my breath; I barely moved my lips.
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