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Camilla was in pain, depressed, and couldn’t stop crying. I just wanted to make her feel better, but there was nothing I could do. The past was already written, and I couldn’t bring her father back. No matter how much I wanted too. She laid on my chest, letting it all out while I rubbed her back to console her.
“Why couldn’t it have been my mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish my father was alive and my mother would have been the one that died. She hasn’t been a mother to me since that day anyway.”
“I know you are hurting, but you don’t want your mom dead. I’ve almost lost my mother multiple times and even though we aren’t close, death wouldn’t fix it.”
She would regret saying that eventually, but depression was rough. All I could do was help her through it the best I could.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“But I want too.”
“Then at least go home and get some clothes to stay with me.”
“Okay, but i'll be back.”
After leaving Camillas and heading home, my mom called.
“Hey, mom. How was chemo today? I meant to call you..” I stopped when I heard screaming. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“Hurry!”
The call dropped and I booked it over to my parent’s house. I knew what was going on. My dad couldn’t keep his damn hands off my mom. She was probably too sick from her treatment to cook him dinner or something. He needed to be taught a lesson once and for all.
I pulled up in the driveway, put the car in park, and ran to the front door. Terrifying screams came from inside. Why was no one calling the police?
I didn’t knock and wait for them to answer instead I busted in. He was on top of her, hitting her. The floor was covered in blood. “Stop, god damnit. She’s sick. Leave her alone.”
My moms hands covered her face trying to keep him from hitting her in the face. Suddenly, I was that eight year old boy again watching my mother get beat except I was older now and could do something about it.
“Leave her alone, get the fuck off her.”
He didn’t listen, and continued to hit her.
“Please, help!” My mom screamed.
I tried to get him off of her, but he was drunk and only one thing would get his attention. His gun. It was in the closet where it was always kept. I cocked it, “I’m going to ask you one more time, get the fuck away from her or I’ll blow your brains out.”
“You stupid, boy. You gonna kill me with my own gun? In my house? I’ll tell you the same thing I told you before, you don’t have the balls to pull that trigger.”
“You sure about that? Really want to take that chance?” My finger was on the trigger, ready to pull it.
“You are just as weak as that eight year old little boy that tried to pull a gun on me. You couldn’t pull it then, and you can’t now.”
