Blame it on our Fates

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Song Of The Day: Hurt by Christina Aguilera

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Sadness. A thick wall of sadness clouded my being, engulfing me, choking me, making me feel like I was being strangled alive, and the thing strangling me were the stout hands of none other than sadness. My eyes welled up with tears, my eyes glistening. I sobbed, but didn't make a sound doing so. My face twisted as gut wrenching sobs escaped me.

I just couldn't seem to grasp my head around the fact that I was really responsible for my mother's death. It was because of me, her own daughter, that Patricia Brown was not alive any,ore. After I realized that I am the one to be blamed for my mother's sad demise, I had a panic attack, a complete, full-on breakdown. My breathing turned into short rapid breaths, my eyes fogged with tears, and it was funny that I had not dried my eyes out already. I spent the night curled up next to my bed, silently sobbing into the distant night.

Mark and dad didn't seem to notice my quiet behavior and even if they did, they didn't pester me about it. Mark mostly stayed in his room and dad was mostly out of the house for his meetings and office stuff as he wanted to wrap his office work before he left for his business trip to Japan. Also, I thought the work was a nice distraction from mum for him.

After packing my bags and stuff for my stay at the Lewis', I decided that I wanted to do something for my mother, something that could make me feel more connected to her, more attached, and less like a crappy daughter. Yesterday when they put her casket down, I wasn't there. I wasn't there to bid her adieu one last time. And my heart jolted with a deep ache every time I thought of how I failed her as a daughter. I wanted to see her and talk about something. Just the satisfaction of speaking to her while she listened to me, filled me with a warmth. I knew she would listen to me. I knew that. She would be there and would be one good listener while I poured my heart out to her even if I couldn't see her anymore.

Just thinking about the fact that I missed my last chance of seeing her yesterday, a fat tear rolled down my cheeks and I wiped it away with the sleeves of my black and white colored flannel harshly and stood up from my bed. I had made up my mind.

With a motive in my mind, I marched downstairs expecting to see no one in the living room but was a little surprised when I found Mark sitting on the couch staring blankly ahead, his eyes distant. His knuckles were absentmindedly tapping the warm mug of coffee in his hand. Upon hearing my footsteps, he broke out of his reverie from his entranced position and looked at me, startled. His eyes scanned my flannel shirt and and my denims, a surprising change from my clothes these days, questioning me silently. His dark brown eyes, that we both inherited from our dad, looked tired in the very least. Lacking the usual mirth and cheek, they were pooled with a fresh wave of unshed tears.

"I'm going out for a little walk, will be back before seven," I informed him quietly. And, luckily enough for me, he didn't question me further. If he did, I would have told him about my motives for the night and he would tried to stop me.

He would have tried convincing me how it wasn't my fault when I very well knew it was.

As I reached the main door, Mark called out to me. I turned slightly, my brows furrowed.

"Just take care."

And that was it for the small amount of restraint that I had mastered to come tumbling down, and I quickly nodded before leaving. The moment I was out the door, a sob wrecked through me and I sat down on the cold marble. Finally after what felt like an eternity but was a mere five minutes according to my phone, my sobs finally turned into small hiccups and then just some sniffles. When I was positive that another fresh wave of tears would not appear, I stood up and dusted my pants off.