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But he says nothing. He just looks at me, at my arms, and at the big white bathroom door. Blank eyes. Unseeing.
I collapse on the ground next to him, shielding my arms and crying into the floor, my wet clothes leaving a dark wet patch on the pristine white carpet.
I’m in the bath,the same bath my mother’s life ended. Just hours ago, her death was released asbreaking newsin the press.
‘Kennedy Harlow’s wife commits suicide’.
They didn’t even write her name. Even in death, she’s another possession. It’s just another news article on Kennedy Harlow, the precious District Leader.
They say she committed suicide. That being Kennedy Harlow’s wife became too much, so she chose the easy way out.
It’s bullshit.
My mother was happy and my father loved her very much. He chose her when they were young and even with his lifestyle, she accepted his proposal. They were in love. Real love.
And she had me. She loved me. She’d never leave me.
As cliché as it sounds, my mother was my best friend. My only friend really. And like all best friends, I knew her.
I could tell what she was thinking by her facial expressions, and we could communicate with just one look. We’d never let each other down or stop protecting the other.
And that’s why I know there is no way it could have been suicide.
My mind wanders back over the day I found her, trying to make sense of it, when I remember the envelope.
Shit, was it a suicide note after all?
The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, and after the police left and everybody left the house, I’d totally forgotten about it.
I jump out of the bath, the water sloshing over the edges as I run from the bathroom across the hall to my room without bothering to grab a towel. I’m the only one home anyway.
The door slams shut behind me when I enter my room, and I run to the far corner to rip off the loose skirting board, little bits of dust dirtying up the white carpet. Reaching in, I pull out the envelope that I stuffed in there quickly before anyone could find it and take it from me. The police weren’t taking the last words I’d ever receive from my mother.
A shiver wracks through my naked body and I run to the wardrobe, take out the black silky robe, and shrug my shoulders into it, carefully sliding the fabric across my scarred arms.
Lucky for me, the burns hadn’t done too much damage and hadn’t affected any of my nerves, just left behind some scarring that the doctor said may even disappear completely after a few years.
I walk over to my dresser, the large vanity built into the wall, next to the open window that overlooks the garden and pool. Some of the staff attend to the greenhouses and plants, sprucing it up for the summer.
Spring is my mother’s favourite time of year. The grass grows longer, and flowers bloom. And she always said she loved to wake up with the birds singing. Fitting really that she dies just as spring comes to an end.
I shut my curtains, shrouding myself in darkness, and turn the envelope in my hands.
Carefully tearing the seal, I pull out the small, folded note. In my mother’s dainty handwriting, just a few small sentences fill up the blank space.
My Theo,
Promise me one thing. Never eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for you to hear, my darling. There will always be consequences.
My beautiful Theodora. I love you.
Fuck.
This isn’t a suicide note. It’s a warning.
* * *
A week later,my mother’s funeral is in full swing.
