Chapter 15

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*A/N: Just a quick note to say thank you all for the amazing feedback, I'm so glad people are enjoying this story so much! As with last time, the more feedback the quicker the chapter will be posted (but please remember I am a college student and learning to drive and an avid reader myself) love to you all and until next time!

*Little warning some reader may find this chapter upsetting so read with caution*

Chapter 15

*Frank’s P.O.V*

I had regarded my many tattoos as art. I had my first one at age 15, it was barbed wire wrapped around my wrist, and it just kept building and building after that. Then one day I found myself slouched over a desk in my care class, scribbling away like that bunny with the battery, I just couldn’t stop. I knew what I wanted but I don’t know why I chose to draw it. I had drew a swallow, with a halo and a black strip for its eyes; I wanted it to be perfect so I made sure every line was as neat as possible. I would go to the tattoo parlor that had a revolving door fit just for me after school, I wanted it.

I had always enjoyed art, other peoples, usually comic books or cartoons; I wasn’t too great at drawing, I could get by but I was no Picasso. I was a different artist, one who could paint chords and melodies, I could whisper a ballad or scream a pop song; I was an artist of manipulation to the extreme.

I had always been a fan of ink, my father had a few, if I hadn’t blown my life away trying to pay for his medical bills and all my mom’s crap then I would have considered being a tattoo artist, I had worked my ass of just trying to get into community college and get a small box of an apartment. But it still didn’t stop my mom from wanting to drain me dry, if I wasn’t earning enough then she made sure I earned more, if I didn’t get the groceries she would just chip into my savings and go back to wherever she came from. Yes she had worked hard, for a while, but as soon as my pops had to quit his job she did too. Not that she told any of us, she just lied and lay on her back, she was still the perfect wife and mother of little sickly Frankie and Frank senior on his death bed.

That day I had stuffed the drawing into my pocket and gone back to the place that made me first realize who I wanted to be, what I was made to do and the only thing I ever had any experience with.

“Hey mom.” I smile as I walk into her room and kiss her on the forehead handing her a bouquet of daisies which was her favourite flower and seemed to help her associate who I was.

“Helloo Finley.” She smiles at me as much as she can as her eyes lift a little but she remains motionless and her mouth not really moving with the weight and ache of the skin pressuring the bones and muscles.

“I brought you some more flowers, look they’re your favourite.” I put them into the vase that is always ready for them when I come to visit, fresh flowers every day to help imply a little bit more of a positive vibe into the room even if she doesn’t know where they came from.

Her blue eyes were sunken and bloodshot as they followed me around the room decorated with bits and bobs I’ve brought over time in order to help her relax; “Finley the window has moved.” She says as I put the vase on the windowsill and come over to sit in the chair beside her bed placing my hand in her unresponsive one.

“No mom it hasn’t moved it’s still there look the daisies are in the window, and out the window we can see-?” I hint and point level with her eyes out the window in front of the bed.

“Flow-w-wers, hu-hu-houses, cu-cars.” She stutters and I smile and nod at her pleased she’s showing signs of improvement.

“Well done mom. And will you tell me the colours you see?” I ask then watch as her eyes tear up.

“I can’t.” She sniffles and I sigh, with improvement another fault happens, two weeks ago we noticed how she couldn’t remember colours or names and faces as well as forgetting other words and how to pronounce them. About a year ago my mom suffered a stroke and the effects left brain damage leaving her unable to move- apart from her mouth, eyes and head- the dead cells of the brain effected and starting to spread and a new cancerous cell developed a few months back, she’s been in a home for the elderly since I turned 18; although she was only 40 years old she had some of the mental ability of a 6 year old on good days and some of the symptoms matched dementia patients in their late 80’s which is why we all agreed a home would be best.

I had to keep up with my jobs in order to pay current and past medical bills, as well as the expenses she had used up back when my pops was alive, I had even used up my college fund when I needed it most, I had lost my escape from Jersey ending up in the crummy community college. I had sold the house but nothing could fill the loneliness I felt on my own, which is why I spent so much time working late night or out somewhere, back in high school the old group of friends came in handy for a change because they never asked questions and they never gave a shit about my life. But now I had no one.

“Don’t worry mom, it’s been a long day I’m sure you’re just tired.” I stroke back, her fine limp brown hair falling in her face, she lost a lot of it through surgeries and medication, I remember when it used to be so think and bouncy the deepest brown long and curled perfectly into a nice ‘mother’ style but stylish at the same time and she used to wear cloth ties almost like a 50’s pin up as she baked. Now she barely remembered me let alone how to bake a cake.

“I’m useless. I’m useless. Help me. Please. Help me. Mom! Mommy! Please!” she cries and sobs thrashing her head and her heart monitor racing as she cries. It breaks my heart. Her sobbing and innocent eyes make me want to curl up and pray for my mom back. Of course I watch her knowing there is no way to sooth her and that in a few seconds I will have to leave for the doctors to give her a shot in order to pass her out.

This was a rare episode she had but it was getting more frequent as her condition got worse, as I got into the hallway I slumped against the wall keeping my head down as salty tears ran down my cheeks. With a sob I slipped down the cold plain wall till I finally collapsed in a heap curled into myself sobbing over growing up too fast and a loss of freedom every teenager had. More nurses ran into my mom’s room and an announcement spoken in tongues buzzed over the small speaker system around the home, it was quiet in the morning meaning the sound echoed through the halls and left a cloud emptiness around me, the few visitors were people brining their children to see their grandparents after school or business workers going away saying goodbye to their parents. Not a 19 year old watching his mother die. No, I pray that none of the children see their grandparents or parents suffer the same as my mother.

From the cold varnished pale blue floor I hear her calling “Frankie! Baby! Frankie! Please make it stop!” she’s screaming and I’m sobbing at her words of pain but also for the first time since her stroke she says my name, “Help me! God help me! Save me! Help! Help!” she’s screeching so loud her voice is dying; I cover my ears and pray for her to be put to rest- why hadn’t they sedated her yet!?

And then with a final distressed symphony of beeps of her heart monitor it cuts off to deadly beep signalling the loss of life, gone was the only woman who had left in my life…

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