Ghost Bird Fanfiction: Sang's Lyric, The Story of Sang Sorenson's Mother

What I Deserved

I groaned and flipped onto my side. My eyes felt like they were held together with dirt and duct tape, and my uncoordinated hand slapped at my face, trying to rub them open. My entire body hurt; like I had been lifting stones and running a marathon while ramming my head into a brick wall.

My hands found my eyes. I groaned again as the pressure against my eyes shot straight to my brain. I persisted; fingertips grazing grit until I could open my eyes.

I shifted on the bed, shying away from the light filtering in from dingy window.

As I curled up on my side, I felt an ache and twinge between my legs that made me suddenly sick.

And I remembered.

I heaved and threw up all over the floor of my bedroom. I pushed at the mattress until I could sit up, but the room spun. I gripped the sides of my bed with both hands, trying to steady myself while my head whipped around, looking for the next threat. Panic stole my breath and a desperation I had never ever felt before made me move jerkily.

Clothes.

That's all I needed to leave. I pitched forward out of the bed, just narrowly missing where I had thrown up, and crawled toward a pile of clothes on the floor.

Underwear.

Sweater.

Leggings.

Each step, crawl, kneel, movement reminded me of what happened.

I needed to get out.

I stuck one foot in my underwear, and then the other, shimmying them up my legs as I sat on the floor. As I pulled them up my thighs I saw the dried blood staining them.

I gave a choked cry, but my brain shut it down.

Leave. Leave. Leave. Put it aside for now. Don't think about it. Just leave.

I got my underwear on, and started with the jeans. I noticed bruises all along my thighs, on my calves, even on my feet.

A flash of memory. Pushing away and being held down.

Put it aside for now. Don't think about it. Just leave.

My sweater was next, and I couldn't miss the bruises of fingers and thumbs on my wrist.

I heard footsteps and looked around for a weapon. There wasn't much, but I grabbed the lamp next to my bed. It would have to do. I stood up, bracing my back against the wall while my arms and legs trembled at holding up my weight.

The door opened and my mother stepped through. I lowered the lamp without thinking, staring at her, her face getting blurry as my eyes filled with tears.

"Mom," I choked, locking my knees as my trembling started again. "Why?"

Her face was older in the light. I could see the lines around her mouth from curling her lips around her cigarette, deep furrows on her forehead, and grooves along her nose. Her hair was a yellowy blonde, stained like her fingertips.

"Why?" she asked, looking at me in disgust. "Why should you..." she asked, taking a step toward me, her voice deepening with anger, "Why should you get everything?"


I leaned a little more against the wall, holding a hand against the windowsill when my entire body wanted to collapse.

"You think you're better than me?" she cried, her voice breaking. "You think you get to go to some fancy school and leave me here? You think you get to wear fancy clothes when I can't even buy cigarettes?"