Hockey With Benefits(55)

She was saying everything I hated, everything I didn’t want to hear, and she was doing it while she started going through my bag. She pulled my clutch out, thumbing through it. I was still reeling that she was here, that she talked to my roommates, that she rearranged my entire kitchen, and all the cutting comments within two minutes for me to register what she was doing.

She was taking my money.

“Stop!” I lunged for her, taking my clutch away, my chest was heaving.

Oh no.

I did what she needed me to do. I yelled and I forcibly ripped something from her. I could only stand and quake, waiting to see what she’d do next. Throw a tantrum. Cry? Whatever it was, she’d be the victim.

She was always the victim.

In every scenario.

If I walked into a room, if she was in a mood, she was the victim.

If I opened the dishwasher and forgot to close it, she was the victim.

A guttural sob came from her.

Years and years of this. It was too much. Too exhausting.

She was going to cry. That was her choice of action. She’d be in full meltdown within minutes.

“I can’t believe you just did that to me.” Another sob. A gasp. Tears actually were sliding down her face.

She’d wail soon.

And me, I did what I learned growing up.

I shut down. I couldn’t leave the room. That’d further give her ammunition, that I was abandoning her. That I didn’t love her. Etcetera and etcetera and etcetera. It went on and on. There was no reasoning. She didn’t want that. Logic. Common sense. No way. It was whatever she could do to get my attention. And if someone else was in the room, to get their attention.

She was an energy pariah, sucking it out of you until you were so drained that you were hollow.

I had nothing in me. Absolutely nothing anymore. I couldn’t even bolster the energy to fight her, to kick her out.

“I kept waiting for you to visit me at the hospital, but you never did. I almost died, Mara. Where were you?” More tears. Deep sobs where she had to hiccup around one. “I’m all alone. You don’t love me. Your father hates me. He’s trying to get me locked up. I wanted to see you, so I came here, and I’m trying to do something nice for you. Gaining weight is a big deal to girls. I struggle with it myself, but not everyone can have my metabolism. But Mara, I was all alone. Do you know what it was like when I woke up in the hospital and I was alone? How those nurses looked at me? How they always look at me? None of them were nice. They judged me.”

I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t.

I took my clutch, my bag, my phone–I made sure I had everything of value with me. My keys.

“Mara!” Another deep sob/choke. She was raising her voice. “Where are you going?”

I paused, once. “Bathroom, Mom.”

“Oh.” Another sob as tears lingered on her cheeks. “Okay.” She settled back down on the couch, reached for a pillow and held it over her stomach. Her head went down. Her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated. “I’ll stay here. I’ll wait for you. Take your time, sweetie.”

As soon as I was inside, I locked the door, hit the fan. I slumped down to the floor.

Everything was a tsunami inside of me.

I needed her gone. Now. I could not handle her.

She would destroy everything.

I needed help.

Who could I call?

My roommates? They’d see a daughter kicking her mother out of her apartment, a mother that drove three hours to see her daughter. I’m sure she told them some amazing and fun story so of course it made sense for them to unlock the door for her.

No. I couldn’t involve them.

Who?

My dad was three hours away. Three hours was doable, but I wanted her gone now. Immediately.

I had no clue–my phone started ringing.

Cruz calling.

I answered, choking out, strangled, “Hey.”

He was silent for a second. “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I–” I stopped and closed my eyes. What could I do here? What should I do? Cruz never judged. He wasn’t like that. Maybe that’s why I heard myself saying, “I need help.”

“You’re at your place?”

“Mara, honey?”

My insides withered because she’d come to the door. I was taking too long.

I was sure Cruz could hear her, but I said, “Yes.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m close by.”

He ended the call, but I held the phone in my hand for a long time after.

She was my mother. She had been my person for so long. She was the best thing in the world. I was angry at everyone she was mad at. I helped plot against anyone who was trying to hurt her, and that list was long. Never ending. Everyone was talking about her. Everyone didn’t like her. Everyone only wanted to use her.

But not me. Not her daughter. Her little cuddle bug.

Her and me. The two of us against the world.

She really didn’t see me when she hit me with the car that one time. She was the one crying about it. It was traumatic to her, what she almost did to her little angel girl. And the time she raised a bat to me, slamming it down on my hand, but oh no. She didn’t see my hand there, though I knew she looked right at it. It was another night in the ER where half the nursing staff were consoling her. I sat on the table, got my hand taken care of, while she was almost choking on her own crying in the hallway. And after, if she hadn’t gotten the looks she wanted from the doctor, or the front desk person, then they hated her. They had a personal vendetta against her. Such evil people. No empathy in them.