She wanted to die.
He wanted to live.
•••
A hand grabbed onto my wrist, yanking me back just as the train rushed past, before I'd even had time to comprehend whether or not I'd carry out the action. I stumbled back into the person's chest, my hear...
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I grew up when I was still a child; a little girl carrying out duties meant for a grown woman.
When the biggest worry for the other children at my primary school was what snacks they had been given in their packed lunches, I was fretting over how to hide the accidental burn I'd gotten when passing my dad a cup of tea. My mind was always flurrying between what I would cook for dinner and how to pass Friday's spelling test, while planning to do the laundry at the weekend and when I would practise my seven times tables.
By the start of secondary school when girls were discovering makeup and getting boyfriends every other week, I was learning how to style my curls properly instead of opting for two French braids that were easy targets to pull me back by whenever I was running away or hiding from Him. When my classmates were going to parties and elaborate shopping trips, I was left to do the weekly shop and haul four bags worth of groceries on the bus before lugging them to my house.
I was left to do all the things my mum never did, because she chose her own safety over the freedom of her daughter, and in doing so she robbed me of the childhood I never got to experience. At 14, I felt like life had nothing more to offer me since I'd taken the brunt of it all, and living for the sole purpose of staying alive was hardly living at all.
I don't think I had ever needed my mum more than these past few years, and yet these had been the times that I had felt her absence more than ever. Every day, all she did was leave me wondering if maybe this was what I deserved; if I was meant to be carrying the world on my shoulders and bearing the weight of what her actions had ultimately led to.
My mum never did what I'd needed her to do when I'd needed her to do it, and yet as I awoke to the gentle feel of a cloth against my skin, I didn't have to open my eyes to recognise her touch wiping away the excess blood that had dripped down my neck. Slowly applying a gentle pressure, the slightly damp material moved in a steady motion across the side of my neck, removing the sticky liquid as I felt her gaze rest upon me.
I didn't need to check it was her; the tentativeness of her movements and the sad sighs that slipped through her lips every so often gave away that it was indeed my mother, and the extra caution she took when she turned her attention to my bloodied curls was the final giveaway that this wasn't just any random nurse.
"You were always good at pretending to be asleep when you were little," she whispered quietly, as I heard the sound of sloshing water which she dipped the cloth into, probably rinsing out the blood before reusing it. "You learnt that when you were just little; to pretend to sleep whenever I was downstairs with your dad."
I ignored her words, keeping my eyes closed as a dull pounding rung out in my head. She sectioned part of my curls away from the rest of my hair, probably the unfortunate bunch that had crusted blood dried onto it. "And if you had ever been hurt, I would always kiss it better," she continued, lifting the damp cloth to my hair as she began washing out the crimson mess. "I wonder if you still remember that Cassie... I wonder if you remember how it used to be when I... when I was still there."
