ғʀᴏᴍ ᴘᴏʀᴛʟᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟ.ᴀ. » ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ sᴇᴀᴠᴇʏ

Chapter Fourteen

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

I lean against the apartment door, shutting it gently with my back before sliding to the floor. The pouring rain outside creates a dark and gloomy atmosphere in the chilly front room of my home.

JTB's orientation event is in seven days. If I'm not there, I can't be involved in the program.

I've waited for two weeks. After that night when I talked to Daniel about my problem, I emailed my mom.

It was long. How could I ask for money when she doesn't even know that I write? So, I started from the beginning.

How alone I felt when she wasn't home. How I turned to creativity to express myself. I explained the situation with JTB and then asked for her help. Help with paying for a new apartment in L.A. until I could pay her back, because that was the only way I could pursue doing what I love. But why did I expect her to care?

My entire life, I have not existed to her. I live a life apart from her, more so now than ever, so I don't matter to her. If she's even seen the email, she's ignored it.

I've never been good enough for her or her attention.

It's been too long. I've held it in for too long and that thought stirs up chaos inside of me.

The last time I cried over mom was the night she left with nothing but a simple parting phrase, like we were nothing but business partners who had just happened to live in the same apartment for seventeen years. For almost a year, I haven't gotten upset over her, hardened and tough with years of experience. But today, too long becomes enough.

My heart suddenly feels strange pumping in my chest, my thoughts blurring together in a rush of what I've felt towards the woman I call mom my entire life.

You've never been good enough for her. You are inferior. You are unimportant. Unloved. Uncared for. Alone. You are unworthy of her attention. She doesn't love you. She doesn't care about your feelings. She doesn't want to be your mother. She hates you. She doesn't want to help you. Your dreams mean nothing to her. You mean nothing to her. You are nothing but a scrap of her love that didn't work out. She doesn't care if you don't attend JTB. She doesn't care what you do with the rest of your life. It doesn't matter because she won't be there. She. Does. Not. Love. You.

The rushing stops when I finally let go.

My throat burns from the sobs racking my body, my hands shake, my eyes water and sting and spill over.

My entire future depends on my mom, but she doesn't care. Every time, she doesn't come through.

You will never be a writer. You can't. How will you get there? You won't live in L.A. Your future will be as dreary as you've always imagined it will be. Daniel changed that view for a moment, but he's too good for you, too. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve to receive the happiness he makes you feel.

I drop my head in my hands as another wave runs it's course through my body.

Minutes melt into each other, but I can't calm down. I'm spiraling and the lack of control I have over myself only causes more panic.

Somehow, I manage to fumble around for my phone, desperately needing Blaire. I hold the phone up to my ear when I press call, biting my lip so that the first thing she hears isn't me absolutely losing it.

"Kai?"

No. 

I pull the device away from my face to read the contact name. Daniel and Blaire's were next to each other on the recently called list and I clicked on his name instead of her's.

"Kai?" Daniel says, questioning my silence.

"Daniel," I whisper.

"Kai." His tone is cautious when he states my name again. He doesn't ask me if I'm okay because he can hear I'm not.

I don't say anything. If I do, I'll break down.

"What's wrong?"

He can't see me but I shake my head anyway, allowing it to lull against the door as I squeeze my eyes shut.

A tangy copper taste in my mouth. Blood. I realize I'm still biting the inside of my lip. When I release the tension there, my body relaxes involuntarily and a breathy cry escapes me before I can stop it.

"Kai, talk to me. I need you to talk me to, are you safe? I- tell me," he says, anxious and concerned.

I resort to clenching and unclenching my jaw over and over to avoid sobbing again.

"I can't tell you," I finally say. My voice is weak but he counters immediately.

"Yes you can."

And just like that, I tell him everything. I tell him about every thought that has run through my head about how I'm worthless and alone and useless. About how I won't be able to pursue writing simply because my mom doesn't act like my mom.

I don't stop crying for a very long time. The rational part in the back of my mind that tells me I'm being stupid is blocked out by the emotions I've kept locked away for months.

It was too long. It all built up, and I had to let go.