Puppets

The truth. Pain. Anger. They all meet, and finally it all explodes.

"Elizabeth." Father knelt by her bed, tried to take her hand in his, but she jerked away.

 

"Well if it isn't my lowly mechanic," she said drily.

 

"Elizabeth, please."

 

"I don't want to talk. These f*****g nurses, bitching around me all day, I'm not in frickin second grade, if they'd just shut up already! I don't want to do this anymore. Go away."

 

"Please, I--"

 

She was clearly not in the mood. "I said, go, AWAY."

 

"Elizabeth, you're not being yourself, think--"

 

"I DON'T want to talk to you! HOW. MANY. TIMES. Do I have to say that? I've spent the freaking past WEEK having to put up with barely sentient, incredibly dull, unbelievably stupid nurses, I don't NEED to talk to a FREAKING. MECHANIC." She pressed her palms to her temples. Since we'd come in, she hadn't even looked at us once.

 

"Elizabeth," said Father. A dull sheen of tears made his eyes shine. "Please, Elizabeth. Do you remember? On our wedding day." A single tear slid from the corner of his eye. "I told you I was afraid. That one day we'd end up arguing like this, like so many people do, and you promised me you never would and if you did I'd remind you? You promised me. You promised. You told me you loved me."

 

She was quiet. Finally she turned to him. "I have a brain tumor." She seemed distant. "I know I have Glioblastama Multiforme, Julian, the nurses told me." She paused. "I'm not your Elizabeth. I'm not your little doll that you petted and loved, I don't love you so you can just get out. Get out. I don't f*****g care about what I said ten years ago. So get out. GET. OUT."

 

Father was truly crying now. He said nothing more. He left.

 

But I was still there.

 

Because for some reason that struck the wrong chord with me. Usually I was the quiet type. Stay quiet and no one is going to have a bone to pick with you. Stay quiet, lay low, and you can escape unseen. So I even surprised myself when I thrust forward angrily. "You're not the boss of him."

 

I was tired of this. Sure, this was my mother. I didn't. F*****g. Care. She was still hurting us, both me and Dad, I could see it in his face, the way he almost never talked, never did anything anymore. She f*****g turned him into a f*****g lump of rock. And I. Would. Not. Stand. For. It.

 

"Am I?"

 

"No. You're not."

 

"You two are like puppets." She smiled bitterly. "I can move your strings and make you do whatever you want, you realize that?" She began to laugh. "The biggest suckers on planet earth. I can make you do anything."

 

She grinned at me. A malicious smile. "You can't even stand up for your own father. I make you both come back here. You try to stay away but you can't. I say these things and you can't defend yourself. When I'm gone, you two are going to deteriorate in the corner without Master to move you around."

 

"Shut up," I whispered.

 

"Pinnochio has a very long nose. But you haven't been lying to anyone else, you've been lying to yourself this whole time."

 

"SHUT UP."

 

"I don't understand you, Aden. You can't speak up for your own father whose kind and quiet and generally your level. But you keep coming back here, to me. You brought Father here, too, didn't you? He didn't bring you here, he runs and you stay."

 

"I HATE YOU," I screamed. "THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! You're the one who's being a b***h! Not me! I didn't do any of this, I--"

 

"You're the one who came back and took Julian with you. You chose to come back. This is not my fault. It's. Yours. This whole thing--"

 

"I SAID, SHUT. UP!"

 

"I know Julian is already deteriorating. We both know. Well, it's not my fault. You pulled him back here. You forced him to go through this. If he dies, I didn't kill him. But we know who did. Right, Aden? We--"

 

"I HATE YOU! SHUT UP!"

 

"Ditto, my dear A--"

 

But I didn't let her continue. I was done. I. Was. F*****g. Done. With. This. S**t. "I F*****G HATE YOU!" I kicked her bed. Hard. I was screaming hell inside. F**k this. F**k this f**k this f**k this I hate her I hate this I hate everyone F**K F**K F**K. "I WISH YOU WOULD DIE!" I screamed.

 

Then, sobbing, I ran outside of the Torture Room 407.

 

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Was it sorrow or was it anger that made me cry? Or was it fear? Because the worst part was, the worst part, that I almost couldn't admit to myself, almost too dark for me to put into words. The worst part was, most of her words to me rang true. They were true. Everything was my fault. Everything.

 

I did drag Father into this. I knew what Mother meant. He was deteriorating. He truly was. Because I dragged him into this.

 

I couldn't even stand up for him. I didn't go to comfort him when he left. What is wrong with you, Aden? What is wrong with you. What is f*****g wrong with you.

 

But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part my last words to her. The worst part was that my last words to my mother were those exactly. My last words to her were that I wished she would die.

 

Because Elizabeth Wood died the very next day.

Author's Note

Lots of swearing in this chapter. Sorry. I have no control over my story anymore; my characters have taken over.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you for sharing the excellent story. You are a outstanding writer. The story brought me in and I had to read more. The sad situation and the thoughts of the girl give life to the amazing tale. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.
Coyote

[Alice Locke]

Thank you so much for reviewing. I have had other reviewers, of course, and they are awesome for reviewing, but you kept reviewing until the end which at least told me you finished what I'd written so far. When people only review the first few chapters I'm scared they haven't finished the book. Thank you so much for your reviews!