The Truths Behind the Life of Maeve Sun Lively

93

CRAP, CRAP, CRAP, CRAP, CRAP.

My mind is going through a series of processing while Carlise is asking me, over and over again, if I am okay.

I'm not.

But I also can't find myself to look directly at her yet.

I rub my hand back and forth on my face, opening my eyes and closing them, but all the same the same thing was here and there. I'm finally beginning to understand what Maeve meant when it felt like she wasn't really somewhere, when all sensations left you and you didn't exist.

Everything spun. Words flow.

Maeve Sun Lively is your birthmother.

Who carried me in their womb for nine months?

She's your mother, Izzy.

Who had pushed me out, with pain and yet strength?

Let me tell you this first, I never had that child.

Who had whispered prayers and secret murmurings to me while I laid asleep, in peace, in her body?

I have so many regrets...and one of them being what I couldn't give to you.

Who gave me so much love before I had fully come to existence?

I never wanted kids. It's not...my thing. I'll ruin them.

Who had set out plans of my future with hope?

Then why did she go adopt Rosalie when she is my mother!

Please, no...

I was a burden to her.

It can't be.

Izzy, listen, she—

"Izzy?"

I blink back to reality.

"Here, this might help." Carlise pushed a cylinder shaped clay-padded mug toward me, the content inside being clear liquid with some mint leaves sparkled on top.

I let my hands hover over it before bringing it to my lips and swallowing down the stuff without a single pause. Rosalie had her alcohol, and now I had this whatever mint-lemon drink. I let out a huge exhale as I almost pound the cup down.

I have to pull myself together.

"So Klarise is my birth mother. Not Maeve." I make myself look Carlise in the eye, trying to hold the tone in my voice mutual and calm. But once the words were out all I heard myself was some kind of slow, growing anger and accusation.

I see Carlise swallow, taking in a deep breath. One that leaves me enough time to be covered with my thoughts, which were all swimming and swirling in different directions and bumping into each other.

Now it makes sense, doesn't it? Maeve had nothing to do with me. I had nothing to do with Maeve all this time. And it had been so petty of me during these weeks to be jealous of Rosalie and everything she had. I cringe at the thought when I once, just days ago, thought everything she had was supposed to be mine. Mine. And nothing is mine actually. Who am I even anyways?

And Rosalie knew all along while I had thought we were somehow sisters; she knew we weren't. I feel my face slowly grow warm as I think about how foolish and embarrassing I have been thinking she and I could possibly be related. Could possibly be family. I scoff, not meaningly out loud but happened either way.