Tame Me If You Can

Chapter 9

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Chapter 9

It's the morning after. By now, the gorilla has given up on punching and is just sitting on my face. Yup, big gorilla butt cheeks pressing on my sinuses.

I could drive myself to the emergency room, but last time I did that, they made me wait three hours, gave me two tablets of Tylenol, and sent a nine hundred dollar bill a month later.

It's ok. I've got my reindeer buddy and a carton of cold bone broth. It doesn't taste great, but I rarely eat for pleasure. My mom didn't cook much when I was little and the house was too chaotic to teach myself how.

By the time I moved out, I was busy either studying or working. So I never ended up learning.

I wonder now if she grew up like me too. If her own mother never cooked for her.

Maybe that's the reason I can't let her go. Beneath all her triggered rage and cruel words, I see a broken girl who got too hurt.

And I miss her. I miss her the most when I'm sick and alone. Those were the times in my childhood when she'd become soft. She'd sit beside me, check my temperature. When I couldn't move nor talk, I knew she worried.

Deep down, she cared. Just never learned how to show it. Just like I never learned how to cook.

So I reach for the phone and call. Hoping that if she hears my voice, she'll worry. I'll feel wanted. Loved. For a couple of minutes.

"Honey! How are you?" She's in a cheerful mood. Immediately I tense up. The higher her mood, the steeper she falls.

"I'm good, just sick a little bit. I wanted to hear your voice." 

"Oh no!" She cooes. "Oh, honey. You know if my car was working properly I'd come to check on you. Besides, I get so confused in your neighborhood, I don't know why you chose to live so far."

Please, mom. You drive to the beach every week and that's an hour away. My apartment is only twenty.

She giggles, not waiting for a reply. "Ugh, I miss youuu..."

My eyebrows scrunch at the slur in her speech. "Are you drunk?"

"Mhm...." She laughs obliviously.

"Alright, well...I'm going to go, mom."

"Why, where are you going...." She whines. Like a triggered response, every inch of me gets ready for danger. Keep your voice calm.

"Because I don't feel good, mom. And you're yelling in my ear."

"Why are you being so rude? Are you judging me again?"

I close my eyes. "No. It's not about you. I'm just not feeling—"

"You're the one that called me, why are you starting a fight?"

"I'm not starting anything... I'm talking to you calmly."

"No you're not. You're being cold and judgmental. Like you're better than me. You always do that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel like that." My heart beats faster.

"Don't talk to me like I'm one of your patients! You sound like a robot."

"I'm apologizing to you—" My chest constricts. Throat closes up.

"You're lying. You're manipulating me. When'd you become this way?"

I hold my breath to not make a sound. If I cry, she'll say I act like a victim.