𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

39 || His First

Song: ZAYN - You Wish You Knew (slowed + reverb)

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Nico

I was six when I came to the conclusion that my mamá was sick.

"Everything needs to be clean, mijo." Mamá would mumble tiredly.

"I already cleaned." I'd sigh as I'd prepare to move her to bed.

I was a super strong boy and I carried mamá to our mattress on the floor. She didn't weigh much, she was very skinny.

Mamá didn't eat.

It was why her face got so white and her hands shook to the point where I needed to give her, her medicine.

She was sick, but I knew what to do to make her all better.

"Mi pequeño doctor." She'd try to smile as I began to wipe her forehead with the wet cloth before moving onto her arm. (Spanish| my little doctor)

I was going to be the best doctor in the world one day and make the most money in the world and then buy mamá all the food in the world so she could eat.

I'd move onto cleaning the pointy part of the needle, making sure to point it away from myself. Mamá was always so brave with needles, I wished one day I would be just as tough as her.

She didn't even flinch as I poked the pointy part into the blue line beneath her skin. She merely sighed out as I pushed all the juice into her body.

And when I was done, she'd finally smile, telling me that I did a good job.

"Gracias, mi amor." I'd dispose of the needle and tuck her medicine away so that our room wasn't messy. Mamá didn't like mess. "Ahora, dame un beso y ven a la cama." 
(Spanish | Thank you, my love. | Now, give me a kiss and come to bed)

I'd listen, placing a kiss on her forehead before crawling atop of her. Our bed wasn't big enough for the both of us. But I liked this better because I could always hear her heart working.

And when I finally settled against my favourite person in the whole world, I'd smile, because I knew that I was making her feel better.

Because she was sick.

Mamá wasn't sick. She was just an addict.

I didn't know which was more depressing, the fact that I thought I could fix her, or the fact that I thought she'd love me more than her next fix.

This entire experience was a realty check that taught me the tragic truth of my reality.

I didn't know how to fix things without ruining them in the process.

But I was doomed from the start, because any chance I had at avoiding a lifetime of emotional unavailability disappeared when I was taken a year later.

And this inability to process my emotions had only worsened my people skills. I couldn't seem to do anything right when it came to others. I'd never had a problem with it before, but then again I never bothered to care.