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If you asked Mama who the most troublesome child to raise, she wouldn't say Ray, or surprisingly even Emma.
She would say you.
Mama would say that Emma never ate her vegetables before she was up and running, practically glued to the front door that had had to be locked on several occasions, Mama said getting Ray to even eat was a nightmare because he simply would not do so and she would have to resort to taking his book away until he did, coax him if he was having one of his moods or have Emma pester the ever-loving fuck out of him so he'd eat quickly to escape her. Since you could not leave the dining room till your plates were clean and your tummies were full.
Emma and Ray seemed like problem children when it came to meal times but Mama's biggest issue was with you. You would eat everything. Everything at a snail's pace. You were always the last one out of the dining hall and Mama could take a trip to hell and back before you finished. Slowness happens to the best, or the worst of us, it's not your fault your taste buds want to savour the food before we stuff our bellies. But nevermind that, maybe it takes more effort to get Emma to sit down and eat her food before she buried herself in the dirt outside or to get Ray to open his mouth and take a bite, but at least there was some sort of coaxing Mama could attempt to keep her children fed. So how frustrating it would be that the one child that ate without complaint would sit there for hours just chewing the same piece of bread for 10 minutes straight? Especially since it was hard for you to eat without company, so Mama would leave the older kids in charge while she sat next to you, patiently waiting, other days just spoon-feeding you when she could not wait a minute longer.
The weather was always a losing battle. If you went outside, you'd get a sunburn, like paper on a barbeque, or faint from the heat that you claimed to be sweltering, only for Ray to scoff in your face or Emma shudder and give you an odd look. Mama forbade you from leaving the house with your jumper on and made sure you only wore short sleeves shirts and shorts even though you looked ridiculous and stiff, lathering you with sunscreen when Emma just looked like a golden marshmallow and Ray...was unaffected.
And when it was too cold? You would catch a cold immediately, bedridden with a fever every other day, bundled up in jumpers and thickly woollen socks and blankets in the infirmary. Going outside was out of the question, but when you did, your attire was more appropriate for a snowy expedition on mountain tops. Forced to live in front of the fireplace, it was an unspoken fact that you owned the fireplace and the hearth but you'd rather read a book in the library, with Ray buried in the crook of your elbow or make a blanket fort with Emma in the freezing bedrooms, which everyone claimed to be an exaggeration.
And speaking of illnesses, you were the resident sick boy, every game of Doctors and Nurses was great until you were the sick patient everyone forced into the makeshift bed in the playroom. With Doctor Emma and her trusty Nurse Gilda (and sometimes Nurse Ray made a special appearance when he was forced into those occasions), you have had many deadly diseases, cured always by the amazing doctor. Mama would have a hard time keeping Emma out of the infirmary when you were sick, having to tape the doors shut since the lock was faulty and keeping Ray from feeding her questionable tidbits of information was a full-time job but keeping an eye on you was arguable worse. If you went out to play one day, it was back into the infirmary the next, you begin to wonder if you've slept more in your infirmary cot or your actual bed down the hall, next to Ray's bed. If it rained and you got splashed with just a dot of water, you could have built a palace with the number of tissues you used to blow your nose. If Emma persuades you to make a mud pie with her, you were just asking for it. Mama curses your weak immune system like the plague. How unfortunate.
Getting you in and out of the shower is a workout. Ray doesn't care about the water and doesn't do much when the shampoo gets into his eye. But your eyes go red, bloody red and scary when a fleck of shampoo so much as gets to your eyebrows. Your hair is thin and fragile so Mama has to be extra careful with you than with Ray, where she squirts a mixture of everything on his head and lets him get to it. You also had bad reactions to the soap bar so Mama had to make you homemade soap that has to be prepared every other week. If the water is too hot, your skin peels and if it's too cold, it's back to the infirmary. Half the children get in and out before the temperature reaches the perfect one.
Getting you to bed seems simple in itself, but Mama claimed the struggle of handling you as a mere infant, balling little fists and fat tears rolling down your red cheeks if you aren't sandwiched between your two favourite people. Mama said that Ray would be the first she would get to sleep, rocking him gently, a soft lullaby always did the trick. To exhaust Emma was like trying to collect all the salt from a sea. While Ray slept on your left, hands clutching your sleeve gently, Emma would blabber on until Mama stuck a pacifier in her mouth and her tummy was full with some warm milk.
And for you? Setting you down in between them would be enough, and you think it'll always be true. But Mama had to admit, while it was easy for her to get you to sleep when you were a baby, when you moved into the bedrooms, she was faced with another issue. To make an effort for the cause, Mama moved Ray’s bed next to your one so that technically Ray was always within reach. A far reach but a reach nevertheless. Too bad Emma could not join in on the fun, since the girls had their room.
Though, while you were the most troublesome to raise, you weren't the hardest. Mama could cater to your emotional needs just as easily as Emma's because you never needed a strict talking to or comfort after a scary nightmare. Mama said you were resourceful, and often had Ray on your case when Emma was unavailable or vice versa, so while Mama felt like she was giving you the bare minimum, you felt as though she was giving you the world. Mama always hugged you, never forgot your bedtime kiss, Mama made you happy. And what more could Mama want but a happy child?
Mama tells you time and time again that she loves all her children the same. And you don't question it, even though sometimes it feels like she's keeping you all at an arm's distance. Mama is always very proud of you, her smiles are more genuine when you get full scores on your tests and when you help your younger siblings, there's a sort of raw longing buried deep but you don't question it. Motherhood is a spectrum of emotions, and you can't quite grasp it yet. Either way, you do your best, you make sure to carry a spare plaster in case Emma trips over in the woods or shuffle up in your bed to make space when Ray has a nightmare. Mama is very proud of you as her son, and you know every though she does not say it every time.
Maybe that’s why you’re here right now. Under the covers of a cold bed, who knows how far from Gracefield, with neither Emma nor Ray by your side. All alone, no longer does the sun float through your window like a golden elixir, settling on your face, tickling your cheeks and illuminating your eyes so that they shine like crystals. No longer does the smell of freshly made pancakes and syrup drag you downstairs, no longer does the sound of laughter and delight squeals fill your ears when you step outside, no longer do you feel the warmth of Emma’s smile and fumbling fingers that clasp your hand, no longer do you feel the familiarity and comfort of a good book and Ray’s crazy hair brushing your cheek as you curl up with one another by the fireplace. No longer do you feel proud to be Mama’s son.
Now it’s the harsh fluorescent lights you wake up to, the aftertaste of chemicals leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth after clogging up the cramped room, the carefully arranged meal that comes with the metal tray and plastic cutlery makes you feel so starved after the loving meals you used to eat every day, it makes you remember how spoiled you used to be. So innocent and naive. The squawking of machines and the exhausted groan of the screens grate at your ears and you realise that maybe you took everything for granted. All you receive are clipped words, approving glances and a faint touch to keep you walking, and in times like these, all your mind wants to think about is Ray’s head on your shoulder and Emma’s head on your lap and the pools of light that dripped through the green trees, landing on the curve of Ray’s soft pale cheek, on the slope of Emma’s freckled button nose and the rich sense of fulfilment and content that struggles not to overflow from your beating heart. The pride when Mama’s eyes twinkle in a gorgeous purple, the way her lips curve when she hears you speak, the way she smelt of roses and nectar, cinnamon and warm apple pie and hot cocoa by the fireplace when she wrapped you up in her arms and you clung to her apron, face buried in the crook of her neck.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
It was once your life and now you sit in a glaringly white room in the place of a chaotic dining hall, chemicals pumping through your veins in the place of happiness, horrifying screams and bloody, scrambled bodies shrouded in darkness, covered in vomit and teetering on the edge of life in the place of hearty laughter, bright grinning faces looking up at you, glowing in the afternoon sun, full of energy and love. Nights when you gag over the toilet bowl, throat raw and eyes stinging in the place of nights peering at stars past the windows, loud chatter and shy smiles.
The heart that aches in the place of the heart that used to flutter.
Ray’s bed is no longer a reach away, when you wake up in cold sweat, there is no boy with dark eyes staring into your soul and there is no boy that’s face lit up when he was with you and Emma, there are no quiet and snarky remarks that follow you around, no sly smiles and no guarded looks and no buried secrets, there is no boy that padded around with a book in his hands, there is no boy that is so beautifully tragic because there is no Ray. Emma’s voice no longer echoes through the walls, when you open your eyes, there is no girl with an addictive smile and glittering eyes, there is no girl that jumped from branch to branch, wind whipping through her fiery mane, there is no girl that flicked her peas everywhere but her mouth, there is no girl that tackled you in a game of catch in the grass, there is no girl that is so painfully loving because there is no Emma.
There is no one. There may never be anyone. It may just be you, the 6 cameras in your room and the demon stationed outside your door. It may just be you because there is nothing else, just you and you alone.
Maybe in another life, Mama could love you like how she has always wanted, Emma could live her dreams and be the girl of yours and Ray could have a heart of peace and have the honour of holding yours.
And you?
You don't ask for much, in another life, you could have the love of the people dearest to you, close to your heart without the fear of losing it, and your days would look like everything you ever wanted them to look like.
Why?
Because you deserve as much.