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Then she stumbles to the bedroom, giggling now.
Like a fool. It’s working. Mother never looks like a fool.
She laughs even louder with a snort.
See you in the morning, bunny.
She holds on to the walls in the hallway for balance.
She falls to the side, sliding down the wall, all the way down.
She’s so still.
Still breathing, but still.
I think about touching her one last time.
The last time. What have I done?
What am I doing?
Should I call someone? Ask for help.
Help.
No. No one will help me. No one ever helps. Not for free.
This is the only way.
To be truly free.
It was always the only way. I tried to get away. She didn’t let me.
She’ll never let me go.
So do I touch her one last time?
I don’t wipe the tears from my face. Let them fall. I need to feel them. I need to feel this.
For her and for me.
I deserve this pain. We both do. Feel it. I feel it.
I know I am a bad daughter.
But what did she think she’d get?
She’s a bad mother.
Maybe I’ll brush the hair away fromherface.
No. I won’t do it. I can’t.
My face is soaking wet.
I can hardly see. I rub the crook of my arm across my face.
I can see. I can see everything. All of it.
