Insomniacs (#1)

49. backbone

"You didn't tell me." She breathed out, her words a broken whisper.

"For the love of god, mum, if you cry again, I'm leaving." I said flatly, smoke spiralling from my throat. She swallowed down the tears.

Mum sat besides me, her head in her hands. Honestly, she looked awful. The past few days she'd barely eaten or slept and the paleness of her face was evidence enough. I probably should've asked if she was okay but I hadn't.

Most of my time around her recently was spent avoiding her, ducking her questions. She'd begged me to talk to her so often, pleaded for me to tell her what had happened that day after I revealed it. It was that, or ignoring me. She honestly gave me emotional whiplash.

And she cried so much; if I had to hear her sobs one more time, truthfully, I think I'd lose my mind.

But I couldn't bring myself to confide in the woman that's trampled on my trust and my once unconditional love for her.

Though I'd ignored her presence in my life, I watched the bond form between my mum and Benji. They were living in the same house. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a sense of joy sprout in my stomach when I saw them, watching a movie and laughing about the silliest things.

Mum treated him wonderfully. That's all I needed or cared about.

"Why won't you just talk to me? How did- how did this happen? How did we get here?" Her voice was choked. This was the first time I'd given her the time of day in a long while, "When did it get to the point where my little girl is like a stranger to me? I promised myself I'd never let this- this happen, when you were born."

"You know exactly when. I'm still waiting for you to stop the pity party." I said casually, taking in a drag of my second cigarette of the day. Surprisingly, I'd been trying to cut down on smoking recently.

"Please just talk to me. I love you so much, you know that. And it's killing me to that you-" She took in a shaky breath, "That you went through something like that. You don't understand how much it hurts to hear as a mother."

I zoned out her rambling for the next few minutes, her voice a droning noise in the background. It was still weird to think about how cold I'd so easily become to my mother. How she hurt me beyond repair. How I'm not sure I'll ever be able to move past it.

When her droning got a little too much and I was beginning to get sick of it, I put out the cigarette on my bedside table.

"I was raped at April's ninth birthday party-" I'd barely got my sentence out when a sob cracked from her chest, clutching her stomach like she couldn't take this.

"If you're gonna cry like this, I'm going to leave. I meant that." I said, trying to reign down my bitterness.

But in actuality, I was struggling to hold down my own emotion. I hated talking about this, every time.

Here she is, bawling her eyes out for me. Where was this when her boyfriend slapped me purple? When she ran off to him like a reckless child instead of a grown woman? When I first wanted to take Benji in, when she screamed in my face with words to make me feel worthless and denied him?

She was hurting me. Everyday.

"He didn't orgasm inside or anywhere near me. I never had any symptoms of STD's. I googled what should happen after an assault and they said to go to the police so you can be tested. I didn't even know what they were. I didn't tell anyone so I just became obsessed with any newfound symptoms for months afterwards because nine year old me was scared I had an STD. A stomach ache and I thought I was going to die." My tone was numb, calm.