Chapter Text
April 22nd, 2009
“Love you to the moon and back.” - Sam McBratney
She still mistakes me for her husband, my father. At first, she screamed and hit me. Taking out her rage about my father leaving the both of us. Now she begs. She gets down on her knees hugging my legs and begs me to stay. She cries and screams in the middle of the night.
I have to hold her until she falls asleep. I don’t want her to hurt herself. I’m afraid one day she’ll drink too much, or she’ll starve herself to death. She’s already thin enough. I can feel her ribs when I hug her. She’s changed in the past two months. After her last boyfriend left her, she broke down. In the past, she had resorted to violence, but now she has moved down a few levels. I couldn't leave her even if I wanted to.
I don’t know how I’m going to go to college without her freaking out.
~~~
Noel mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen. For most kids entering your house would be something normal and less taxing on the brain, but for him it was terrifying. His mother would probably be intoxicated and would scream and threaten him. Forcing him to not leave her until she passed out so he could sneak out of the house to go to work. And he would work from 7 pm to 9 pm until he had to go home and do homework until 10 pm, eat dinner, shower, and then sleep. His hand was still around the doorknob taunting him, wanting him to open the door. He should bite the bullet and just enter the house. He held his breath and slowly turned the rusty doorknob to face his fear.
As expected, she was lying on the couch with a bottle of wine in hand. He placed his backpack down and walked toward her. “David? Is that you?” She looked up at him. Her sunken eyes stared into his soul. “Why did you leave me?” Noel crouched down next to her. She placed a bony hand on his cheek. “David. Answer me. Please,” she muttered slowly caressing his face with her hand. He could feel every bone in her hand. Her cheeks were hollow and the bags under her eyes had gotten darker. “I-“ he faltered, unable to think of anything to say next. “I’m not going to leave you anymore.” A small smile formed on her face. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. He took her in his arms in some sort of bridal carry. He carried her to her bedroom. As he set her down, he thought about the scars from the bottles that she would throw at him. One time she got too close to him with a knife and slowly cut a line down his arm. It hurt. He still had nightmares about the blood seeping out the wound and flowing down his arm. He hated seeing her like that.
She was angry. Angry about not being accepted in this town because of her son. Angry about her husband leaving her. Angry at the world for giving her a son that was a-
"Stay."
His mother's eyes were half open, and despite her barely discernible expression, Noel could see her desperation and sadness. He nodded and got into her bed. He held her in his arms and ran his hand through her hair. Strands of her oily black hair fell out. He gripped the hair in his hand. A reminder of her declining physical and mental health. He hummed a soft tune until she was lulled to sleep.
He didn’t leave her side until morning.
After that day he knew two things. Get the neighbor to help with money and to take care of his mother and always do homework at school. Don’t do your homework at home because if you do it at home you can’t give your full undivided attention to your mother. He would spend his free time, lunch, and choir time doing homework so he wouldn't have to do it at home. His mother was more important. Ocean thought this was him taking initiative and that he would join her for things outside of school or that she had made an everlasting impression on him, and he was following in her footsteps.
He would rather die than be anything like Ocean.
~~~
October 8th, 2009
“But starvation, unfortunately, didn’t improve art. It only hindered it.”- Charles Bukowski
She’s not eating. I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t focus in school. My grades are dropping. Ocean is pushing for me to start taking lessons with her because she’s an expert at everything. She recommends we do the lessons at my house, but I refuse to do them here. What if she finds out about my mom and thinks it’s weird? She’s going to think it’s creepy.
~~~
He walked home with multivitamins and food in hand. His mother needed to eat food. Her figure was so thin and small that he was practically double her weight even though he wasn’t getting many nutrients in his system. He arrived at his house mentally preparing himself in case his mother decided to be violent again. He turned the rusty doorknob to find his mother in the same position she was in yesterday, lying on the couch bottle in hand. Her bony figure was swallowed by the heavy blankets on top of her. He wasn’t sure if she could lift them off her. He set down the groceries and began to make dinner. Tomato soup. Something that his mother used to make for him when he was sick, but now the roles were switched. He stared at the window. Looking outside, but what he was actually doing was observing his reflection. Most of his genes come from his father, which is probably why his mother thought he was his father. The only thing he didn’t inherit from the man he hated the most was his hair. He loved his inky black hair. He loved styling it and fidgeting with it.
That wasn’t important. His mother needed food. He turned on the blender, watching the ingredients be chopped up until it was a thick liquid. He knew about refeeding syndrome from Penny after dealing with something similar after being malnourished for years while in that commune. He decided on a small cup of soup. He carried the bowl to his mother. Still staring off into space, bottle in hand. He gently took the bottle. She motioned to get it back. He sighed and placed the bottle out of her reach. He helped her sit up. “Mom, you need to eat.” He raised the small bowl of soup to her lips. She pursed her lips. “Mom you’re sick.” She turned her head around acting like a child. “Mom-“ she hit the bowl with her hand, spilling some hot soup on her blankets. “No.” She crossed her arms still acting like a child. “Fine,” he placed the soup down. “It’s there if you want to eat it.”
He didn’t give her a second thought and walked out the door into the night.