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It's hard to imagine a secret having the power to manifest into a mind eating virus

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It's hard to imagine a secret having the power to manifest into a mind eating virus. It's just knowledge that needs to remain under wraps, right? What power does it hold if no one else knows? If it can't be used as a weapon against you? How does a secret have the means to devour your sanity, chip away at the resolve you've spent a lifetime building up, create a chasm of despair and suffering?

I don't have the answers to those questions, but I do know that the moment I told mom what happened, a flood of relief filled that chasm and while I'm still a mangled mess, her knowing the truth has offered me a ladder out of that pit.

I don't know what's at the top or if I'll ever reach it, but I feel like I have the strength to climb.

"Logan?" Mom whispers, wiping tears from her cheeks, she hasn't stopped sobbing since I told her what happened. "He seemed so. . . charming."

"He is," I say. "That's part of the problem. Who's going to believe me when I'm accusing Logan Altridge?"

"I do," mom says, forcing me to meet her stare. "I believe you. Dad does. I wish you had told me sooner, Luce. Your behaviour. . . I had no idea where it was coming from."

"You didn't even bother to ask."

That's not fair, I wouldn't have told her even if she had. Not then.

"I did ask," she says. "I wanted to know what was causing the attitude. If I had known the cause, we could've dealt with it."

"It wasn't a we issue to deal with, mom. It had to be on my terms. You couldn't just fix me because you knew what was wrong."

My knee bounces up and down, restlessness beginning to stir. Mom wants to think she knows how to deal with reckless teenagers because she was one. She wants to be more present than her mother was and I get that.

But it's turned into a need to compensate for every little thing that happens, she wants to fix the problems, no matter how that happens, she needs to fix them and fast because her children cannot go through hardship. As if that's something she can prevent.

She audibly exhales, her hands fidgeting in her lap. I'm waiting for her to get up and start cleaning. "At least if I'd known, I could've been more understanding. I'm sorry I wasn't Luce. I am. You went through something that no one should ever go through and now I want to know what you need from me?"

"I don't know what I need," I mumble. "You know the truth, that's enough for now."

"Luce," she scoots closer to me on the couch, wrapping her arms around me, it makes me wince, her affection is hard to accept, I want to push her off, but I don't, I let her hug me, all the while my teeth grind together. "This shouldn't have happened sweetheart, I'm so sorry this happened. I wish I could've protected you."

"I should've been able to protect myself."

"Oh, sweetheart," she holds my cheeks and looks at me. "It's not your fault. He's a horrible, selfish, evil person. It's never your fault. No matter what. But I'm your mother, I'm going to wish I could've protected you regardless. I could string that little shit up by his balls."

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