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His mother is dead.
The woman he got as his mother for three weeks is dead.
Palm -
He screams.
Regret sits in the back of his throat like an old friend - regret for his mom (for taking away her freedom, for dragging her into his mess, for getting her killed), regret for leaving behind everyone on the tiny fishing village he grew up in, regret for not missing them, regret for wanting. Always, always wanting.
Palm is so deeply selfish.
Why did he cling so desperately to his mother? If he’d just let her be, she would have been safe, and -
- his father is back in Bangkok, unaware of everything. He doesn’t know. He - never does, when Palm is involved.
Ha. He’s still so selfish, even as he’s supposed to be mourning his dead mother.
Palm’s throat feels raw. He thinks he might still be screaming. The scrape of stones under his knees and hands is jarring, sharp, and -
(his mother, bleeding out, dying, dying, dying, she was - he finally had her back and then she just)
- and he feels sick, almost, bile rising into his throat and tasting like bitter honesty and desire and the truth and he doesn’t know what to do, he -
- he hates his father for hurting him and leaving him behind all these years, nothing but a phone number that was only for emergencies but he was never told what emergency meant, he hates that he has always been told to respect and love him and he does but he also hates him and it’s not right but he wants to scream because who would abandon their child? Who would do that? Did he not - was Palm not enough? Maybe that’s it, because his mother left too because he was too much he tied her down and he should’ve known better but all he wanted was to be loved and he doesn’t know why that was so hard, he knows she loved him as much as she could but still, still the regret is heavy in the base of his chest like a stone weighing him down in the ocean, a net cast out to drag back in absolutely nothing at all. He - maybe he just hates himself, because the common factor is always, always himself and maybe he is the problem for always wanting and wanting and the greed is built into his bones and he doesn’t know how to remove it because he just wanted to be loved and maybe that was too much, maybe that wasn’t enough. It’s not enough. He doesn’t know how to be loved. He doesn’t -
(he watched a person die in front of him. his mother. she tattooed him. she might have loved him.)
- he’s just his father and his mother and the burning ocean waves and he is a reflection of something he only knows from a distance and sometimes he wishes he was born to different parents, sometimes he wishes he was never born at all, and then he regrets it and he hates that he hates his dad and the fact that the word feels so foreign on his tongue, heavy and awkward and unfamiliar and it is the first thing you say as a baby, you call out to your father or your mother and he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. He can never forgive his dad but he gets it, he understands him deep in his bones because he might have done the same and he doesn’t know why that understanding aches like a wound that was pressed into him and never quite healed, like a scar scabbed over and over again like a temporary measure forever. His father doesn’t apologize and he does and the words mean nothing and it feels like everything has already happened and his mother is dead because of him and he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to hate except maybe just himself. He -
“Are you alright, Palm?” The voice comes from far away, hazy and out of reach and it’s - it doesn’t quite fit right in his head, it feels like too much and not enough and he realizes with a start his eyes are closed and he opens them and -
“-t’s okay, I’m here -” it’s too much and then he’s touching Palm who isn’t - he’s selfish and he can’t take this he can’t have this he can’t have comfort he killed his mother and Palm can’t seem to take in a full breath and it feels like his ribs are broken because it hurts so much and he doesn’t - he doesn’t - he just needs a minute, he just needs some space, he just needs -
(- his mother, because that’s what people do, they want their mother when they’re hurt but Palm never had that and then he did and now she’s dead -)
“Leave me alone!”
And suddenly Nueng’s warm hand is gone. And Palm looks up to see the hurt betrayal in Nueng’s eyes, and it…
It’s selfish. Palm is so, so selfish.
He doesn’t know how to not be.