Lovesick

Rose

Abel sings along with the radio as we head toward my old house.

House. Not home.

It feels different this time. I feel as though this is our final stop in this heinous town. I no longer belong here, and Abel never did.

He parks a few houses down from my mother’s and I kiss him before I go. Something so normal between two abnormal human beings that have somehow found an emotional connection.

If only Joe could see us now.

Well, not now since I’m creeping up my mother’s driveway to kill her.

I squat in the bushes for about a half hour when I see a car coming down the bend. Thankfully, Abel’s parked far enough away that she shouldn’t see him. If that’s her.

Sure enough, a sleek black Mercedes—likely an upgrade or two from her previous one—turns into the long driveway and before long, she parks, and the driver’s side door opens. I brace myself, aware that the rage may rise and make me want to black out and submit to it.

But the desire for vengeance far surpasses the blind rage.

She looks different.

Tired. Older. Bitter.

Her dark blonde hair has begun to lose its luster and though I’m far enough away, I can see that my once elegant and pristine mother is rather disheveled.

And then the giddiness hits me, as I straighten a little to see her clearer.

She’s there. She’s there and I can’t hide my excitement over the idea of finally getting vengeance. All these years, I’ve been patient. And she came home right to me as if she knew I would be here.

She’s grabbing her purse and a suitcase from her passenger seat and I’m happy I’m too far to rush and attack her because that’s exactly what I’d do. She stands, and I don’t know if she can see me when she looks my way, but I stay there anyway.

Part of me wishes I could torment her for a few days. Do things like call and hang up. Tap on her windows when she’s home alone. Leave the front door open so she comes home, worried that someone else is inside. These things would drive her to the brink of utter insanity and I’d enjoy every single moment.

But I don’t have time for these mind games, no matter how sweet the reward would be. When she walks inside, I rush out of the bushes and run straight toward the car I came in. Abel sees me coming and I can see the question on the tip of his tongue.

Is she there?

“She’s here,” I tell him as soon as I open the door.

He nods with a look that spells relief. “So, what now?”

I sit back. “Now we wait.”

I know exactly how this has to happen and in order for it to be perfect, no one can interrupt us.

I’d been forced to learn early on that no one could be trusted. Certainly not those who insisted on having your trust. Like it was some coveted prize to be won, only for them to destroy it without remorse.

People say trust is like glass. That once it’s broken, it can be repaired but the cracks will always be visible.

I wouldn’t attempt to repair the glass.

I’d use the shards as weapons against the one who’d broken me.

It’s one o’ clock in the morning. Abel has fallen asleep beside me and I don’t blame him. I know he didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and we’ve been sitting here for hours, only leaving to eat and purchase supplies for the task ahead.

One o’ clock in the morning and all the houses farther up the cul-de-sac are dark. I reach back to grab the duct tape we bought earlier and open the door, and Abel jolts awake.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice groggy.

I press my fingers to his lips. “I’ll be back. If I take longer than an hour, leave without me.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he grumbles around my fingers and kisses them.

I drop my hand.

“See you soon, espinita. ”

“Stay here. Don’t come inside, no matter what.” I don’t have to tell him why. I couldn’t face causing him more nightmares.

“I’ll be right here.” He grabs me by the back of my neck and kisses me hard.

Before it can go any deeper, I pull away and step out into the cool air. The duct tape is in my hand and I’m ready for anything.

I feel like, for once, the universe is on my side tonight.

My mother hadn’t been here before but today…today is special. Like she was being summoned to her death and she’d answered the call.

She had to know what was about to take place.

Just like last time, only quieter, I open the front door with the spare key. I step out of my shoes and leave them by the front door. My footsteps are softer in my socks and I don’t want her to hear me coming. The house is dark but maneuvering through my old home is nearly effortless.

I slide one of the kitchen drawers open and I have to squint but there it is—the perfect knife. Careful not to touch any of the others, I grab it and wipe it against the sleeve of my jacket.

Will she know why I chose this specific one?

My steps are steady as I walk up the stairs. Quiet but steady. My grip on the knife’s handle is tight.

Some people think that you should never kill your parents. I shouldn’t kill my mother because she was the vessel that brought me to this life.

She was also the vessel that drove me straight to hell.

So tonight, I see my mother as nothing more than a vehicle. No sentimental value; just like the car Abel is sitting in.

I’m close to her room when I hear the hum of conversation.

She’s still awake?

I step closer to the door that’s cracked open.

“Why haven’t you contacted the police? Why is no one doing anything about this? She could be coming for me right now, Dr. Brown.”

I can’t help my smile.

Yes, the universe is my friend tonight.

“Well you don’t know Rosamunde as well as I do. She doesn’t think the way the rest of us do. She’s going to come for me because she thinks I somehow forced her to kill her father.” She steps toward the window where I can see her peeking out into the night, from the highest tower of her castle.

Too late, mother. I’m already here to kill you.

“No, I know I hadn’t provided that information. Because I expected you to be a little better at your job, Dr. Brown, and now I have to worry about her. Do you see how this is inconvenient?” She pauses. “I’ll have to contact the police. Please call my cell from now on.”

She glances at the door and when I see her head toward me, I slink back into the office and push the door so it’s only enough for me to look out of.

She swings her door open and looks out into the hall. “Yes. Yes, I understand. I’ll hire security for the time being. Fine. Have a good night, Dr. Brown.” She doesn’t wait for his response, just hangs up and mutters the words, “incompetent fool,” to herself in soliloquy.

I almost forgot how rude my mother is.

I step out of the office just as she sets the phone back down. When she heads toward me, I hide in the office again and listen as she pads down the stairs toward the kitchen.

I hide in the shadows as I watch her pour a glass of red wine and I wonder where Grace has been all this time.

She sets the glass down and walks past where I’m hiding in the doorway, toward the front door.

I rush after her and just as she’s about to set the alarm, I grab the back of her hair. “Now, now, Mother. No need to do that.” Just as she’s about to scream, I press the knife into her neck, just against the vein that I’m sure is now pumping overtime with blood. “I don’t want to have to slit your throat. I have plans for you. But if you scream, I will.”

She gulps, and the tip of the blade digs into her skin, a red droplet beading against it.

“Let’s go back upstairs. I’ll bet you have a nice fire going in your bedroom.”

She nods, and I lead so I’m pulling her by her hair up the stairs.

“, honey—” she tries to start, her voice gritty as her head is angled, making it hard for her to speak clearly.

“I’m not too keen on being lied to, Mother. I’m not too keen on being lied about. And I’m not too keen on being stabbed .” I yank her too hard and she stumbles on the stairs. “Up! Get up!”

She cries, and it only serves to annoy me as I start to drag her to her bedroom. I’m stronger than she is now. Somehow time has given me this advantage.

“Oh, Mother, quit,” I say as I roll my eyes, pulling her by her hair with one hard tug once we’ve crossed the threshold into her bedroom. “You had to know this was going to happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apologies mean nothing when death is at your door. Don’t let your end make a liar out of you.” I direct her to sit on her bed with my knife. “Touch that phone and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

I look through her drawers until I find a pair of stockings. I direct her again with the knife, this time to sit on the floor. With deft fingers, I tie her hands to her bedpost, tugging them to make sure the knot is secure.

She looks flushed as the flames in the fireplace flicker over the room.

“Comfortable?” I ask, and she shivers as she nods. “Still lying, I see.” That she’d bother to lie to me now is quite comical. “I’m wondering what you’re sorry for, Mother.” The knife is heavy in my hand. Kill, kill, kill, it says but I’m in charge. For once, I’m in charge.

“For all of it. For lying and putting you in that place.” She says the words like they taste bitter.

It’s beautiful, what human beings will do for survival. For my mother, she’ll face her terrible decisions with regret.

Regret .

Perhaps her lack of regret was passed onto me.

It was her brokenness that mine was born of. The only difference is, she will face regret.

I wonder what it will feel like.

From my pocket, I pull out the one thing that may save us all.

“Confess, then.” I set the recorder down between us, watching as her eyes widen before spilling fresh tears. “Confess your sins.”

The quiet click of a button is all that echoes for a moment before I hold up my knife, pointing it directly at her heart.

“Tell everyone how I ended up at Silverwing.”

She stutters over her next breath, closing her eyes so more tears spill before she starts talking.

“I…stopped giving you your medication, spread lies about how terrible your father was to us, and asked you to kill him. I knew your condition and I used it against you for my gain.”

“Why?” I ask, my eyes filling as I remember every torturous moment of Silverwing. It was all because of her.

“Because you disgusted me the same way your father did and I didn’t want to stuck with the two of you for the rest of my life.” She swallows before she rasps, “but you? You also terrified me.”

Me, with my hair undone, my face plain, and my eyes wild.

Her, with her darker hair soft and silken, her makeup running down her face, and her eyes pleading.

Grace always looked more like her than I did.

“Where’s Grace?” I ask as I lean forward to turn off the recorder. I want to know she won’t be the one to find my mother.

My mother’s eyes fill all over again. “You don’t know.”

I walk towards her and squat down to press the knife flat against her chin, lifting her face to meet my gaze. “What is it?”

“Grace is gone. She committed suicide a few months ago. I found her…”

I’m momentarily stopped. The world stops. I stop breathing. And then I start again. “Liar,” I whisper, the blade catching the light as it shakes in my unsteady grip.

She winces when the tip punctures her skin. “Why would I lie about that? What do I gain?”

Her words are frantic, but I can’t understand why. “How? Why?”

My mother is looking at me like I’m insane, eyes like two discs of disbelief. Who asks how someone took their life , she must be wondering.

Me , mother. Always me.

“She hung herself. Her note blamed me. You. Her father. Some boy named George.”

George?

There’s only one George I can think of and I don’t know what that snide little moron has to do with Grace.

I don’t want my mother to see me cry. She doesn’t deserve to see anything other than the monster she created. “Where’s the note?”

She points to the office. “Top drawer of the desk.” She’s probably thinking this will buy her time. And she’s right.

I have to see Grace’s suicide letter for myself. I grab the duct tape from my jacket pocket, rip off a strip and place it over her mouth. “I’ll be back. I suggest while I’m gone, you behave yourself. What’s meant to be relatively quick can easily be drawn out.”

Her eyes are still wide as I turn away and head toward my father’s office. I use the tip of the knife, dragging it against the wall and up to turn on the light. I could nearly see him sitting there, and when I walk in, he would look up at me with a smile.

But that time is gone, and I remind myself of that as I open the top drawer. I recognize Grace’s handwriting immediately.

She doesn’t address anyone in the note, getting right to her message.

I probably won’t be found for a few days. My mother is on another one of her vacations. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing she’ll be the one to find me.

My father wasn’t a bad person. He didn’t deserve to die.

But my sister wasn’t a bad person, either. She just needed help.

I can’t say the same for my mother.

And I can’t say the same for…

I stop reading and fold the letter up before shoving the letter in the back pocket of my jeans.

This letter is sucking the violence from my body and I can’t risk it.

If I keep reading, I’ll be lost in my emotions. I run my fingers over the blade that is still in my hand.

George will have to die. He is now as etched on my list as the scar in my back.

And so, I square my shoulders and walk back into my mother’s room. She’s struggling against her tied stockings and I fight the urge to snicker. In an alternate reality, she’d tell me it’s unladylike, and I’d tell her that stabbing my mother in the neck might be even worse.

“I’m guessing you didn’t know?” I ask, and she turns to look at me, her face pink from exertion. She shakes her head and I shake mine too, only with disgust. “Of course, you didn’t.”

She cries against the tape like I should care about her feelings. Not when she’s ruined so many lives.

“At least you’ll die knowing both your daughters were avenged,” I mutter, closing my eyes to shove thoughts of Grace from my mind.

All while she sits there, I look around, remembering a time when my father influenced this room. All traces of him are gone now. How sad it is that even in the home he built, he’s gone. Only one room remains the same and it’s less a memorial than it is a badge of cowardice.

The knife in my hand speaks to me. It’s tasted my blood, it knows my language. It understands me well.

Kill her , it screams.

I want to shout back but the time has come.

I turn to look at her and smile. She starts to cry but the sound of her fear falls on deaf ears.

I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize that most people don’t go around killing other people. I know this isn’t the norm . But if the world taught me anything, it was to treat others accordingly.

Perhaps it was the universe’s fault. Maybe it was mine. These minor details don’t matter anymore.

Not when I’m brandishing my knife and taking another step toward my mother. It’s strange that the knife that’s about to kill her is the same knife she slid into my flesh the moment my father was dead.

Maybe I am a murderer.

Perhaps I am insane.

But the moment I turned in shock, blood already sliding down my back, I saw the momentary glee in her eyes. My violence came from this woman. You can’t compete with that high, and someone using the same drug will always recognize the ephemeral euphoria. I recognize the monster I am, deep in her eyes, hidden behind the golden irises that are now filling with tears.

“Remember this knife, Mother? It’s the same knife you stabbed me in the back with after I killed your husband.” A smile curves before I can stop it. “Surely you can find the poetic justice in this. The hilarity, I’d even dare to say.”

I sink to my knees in front of her and her eyes are pleading with me but I neither care for them nor the words she might say, given the chance.

I press my ear against her chest and I can hear the unsteady thud of her heartbeat. It moves so quickly against her that I wish I could hold it in my hand and watch it still, no longer having to be attached to such a venomous human being.

“I want to carve your heart out of your chest, Mother. Just to see if it exists.” I lean back, away from her, ignoring her tears. “But that isn’t part of the plan.”

She cries against the tape over her mouth, but I can’t hear her. I can’t hear her beg. I can’t hear her lies. I can only hear the truth, the words she whispered to me years ago before I stepped out of my room to help her. Those whispered words of deception created the perfect bridge to help me cross over to my doom. She was the gatekeeper of my own personal hell and I wouldn’t let her do this to anyone else.

I grab one of her wrists and cut the pantyhose away from her skin before pressing my lips to her pulse.

Without a word, the silver glint of the blade shines as I slide it against her wrist, toward her palm. The blood, deeply maroon and already pouring from her wound, makes me dizzy with delight. I quickly slice her other wrist and stand. I catch my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and I admire the sparkle in my eye.

In my madness, I am beautiful.

I glance down at my mother and she’s pressing her bloody wrists to her chest.

She would ruin her silk blouse?

My mind goes over the way I pictured this going in my head.

Oh, yes. Let her scream.

I rip the duct tape from her lips and step back again as she screams. She pauses to inhale and scream again but this time, I join her.

Her voice cracks and she looks at me with a small shake of her head.

“You’re a monster, Mother. And that’s exactly what you’ve made me.”

If every second is a series of dominoes, my mother’s actions are the force behind the knife I’m about to shove in her esophagus. I glance down at it, admiring the blood that’s already stained the sleek metal. What a beautiful domino.

“, honey. You don’t have to do this.”

“No. I don’t have to.”

She inhales and exhales, a small smile flitting over her lips for a moment.

“I want to.” I grab the golden strands at her crown. All of this gold. “And certainly before Abel gets worried.”

Now. Now. Now!

There’s a small part of me that wants to press the blade into her skin slowly but that isn’t the plan, either. I have to do things exactly the way I pictured. I have to.

One, two, three, four…

I jerk my hand back and then shove it forward, into the flesh of her neck, licking my lips when I feel the warmth of her blood hitting my hand and smattering my face with color.

This shade is crimson and it’s the crimson I’ve been craving since entering this terrible place.