Chapter Two #2
After spending nearly an hour looking through all the picture albums, Mom boils some tea on the stove while I go to get ready for the lake.
As I step into my room, I quietly close the door and lean my back against it.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly through my nose and out of my mouth.
It’s something that I do pretty often to calm my nerves.
It was around the age of fourteen that things began to change for me.
I didn’t understand at first why my chest would feel so heavy or why my heart seemed like it was trying to force its way out, making my breathing become heavy and rapid, like I couldn’t catch my breath.
I did my best to battle it on my own. I never wanted to upset my mom or add to her already full plate. She didn’t deserve it.
I hid it until I couldn’t anymore. So many nights of jerking from my sleep, unable to catch my breath after a nightmare.
Every single time, my mother came to my rescue.
She held me, rubbed my head, and reminded me that everything would be okay.
Only her touch and her voice was able to make it go away.
That’s when we found out I was having panic attacks.
We kept it quiet for a while, but it only got worse.
Whenever I had to go to school or tried to go anywhere that wasn’t close to home, the panic attacks would take over.
Mom couldn’t handle it anymore, and my uncle Jesse recommended I speak with a doctor.
So we did just that, without giving too much information about the disappearance of my father, but explaining when my panic attacks happened.
It took little for us to realize why I was having them—they diagnosed me with anxiety and PTSD.
I was terrified of leaving the house, especially leaving mom home alone.
I was worried about my father lurking somewhere, waiting for the perfect opportunity to hurt her—again.
The thought of what could happen if I were not there to protect her…
and the nightmares only intensified that fear, leaving haunting visuals that still crowd my mind.
What made the situation even tougher was that I couldn’t confide in the twins.
Mom made me promise to keep what happened on my thirteenth birthday between just the two of us.
She insisted it was too risky. That night, we came up with a cover story.
We would tell everyone that they separated, that he had stormed out and never returned, and that we had no clue where he had gone.
Mom didn’t want the police involved, especially given my age and the fact that I had used a knife on my father.
It would attract unwanted attention, and she feared that other authorities might step in and take me away from her.
The thought of foster care sent chills down her spine—and mine.
So other adjustments had to be made to help with my episodes.
Mom pulled me out of 9th grade so I could be homeschooled.
That helped a little. The doctor offered medications to help my symptoms. Mom refused them at first, but it only took seeing me fold one more time for her to take me back to the doctor’s office for the prescriptions.
It started as a very low dose, considering my age.
But as I got older, the doses increased.
With reliance on medications and attending school from home, things eased up a bit.
The nightmares decreased from happening most nights to just a few.
The panic attacks mostly stayed away, but the heaviness in my chest always lingered, reminding me it wasn’t going anywhere; like a beast hiding in a dark cave, only showing its glowing eyes.
I was its prey, its meal to devour when ready.
I rub my hand along my chest, glancing over at my dresser.
I quickly walk over and open the top drawer, reaching for the two bottles hidden underneath piles of socks.
I throw three pills in my mouth, chewing them up like candy as the taste of bitterness coats my tongue.
Once the chalky substance reaches my stomach, the heaviness in my chest gradually eases.
It’s like a trigger in my brain. Even though the medication hasn’t kicked in yet, it’s the comfort in knowing I’ve taken it that calms the beast inside me.
Back in the kitchen, Mom stands by the window with a hot cup of tea in hand, using her favorite butterfly mug.
She turns her head to smile, then nods at the tea she poured for me that’s waiting on the table.
I grab it, breathing in notes of cinnamon and honey.
I lean against the counter beside her, taking her in as she gazes out at the woods behind our house.
I don’t know how I would ever survive without her.
I’ve spent years trying to protect and ensure her safety, but I’ve never once thought about my survival.
What it would mean if I ever lost her. The thought makes my insides turn.
My eyes fall to where her other hand rests along her tiny collarbone.
Images of that night flash in my head, and all over again, I can see the dark bruises around her neck, the symmetrical imprint of large hands.
For weeks, those bruises lingered on her, and I had to be reminded that it was my father’s hands tight around her neck, so close to ending her life.
I shake my head as the anxious feeling crawls along my skin.
Mom notices my discomfort and places her hand on my arm. “What’s wrong, Ezra?” she asks softly.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I take in the concern behind her stare. I let out a breath through my nose. “I’m not going today, I’d rather stay home.”
She removes her hand from my arm, shaking her head. “Yes, you are. I won’t take no for an answer.” She crosses her arms at me, giving me her best serious expression, still holding her cup of tea. It’s hard to take her seriously, given how small she appears standing in front of me.
“Why does it matter if I go or not? I don’t need to celebrate my birthday, it’s just another day.” I guzzle down the tea and place it in the sink before turning to walk away.
Mom grabs my arm, causing me to stop in my tracks.
I keep my face turned away from her, staring at the floor, waiting for her response.
She lets out a gentle huff. “Because you’ve spent the last three years worrying about me, hardly going anywhere with your friends.
You’ve barely lived, Ezra. And I blame myself for letting you do it for so long.
You can’t protect me every second of the day.
And even if you could, it’s not your place to do so.
So please, if you can’t go for yourself…
go for me, please?” Her voice cracks with her last words.
My eyes pinch shut at the desperation in her voice.
I slowly turn around, bringing my eyes to hers.
She does her best to smile at me while holding back tears.
That’s all it takes, seeing her like this.
As bad as I want to say no and go shut myself in my bedroom, I can’t do it to her.
“Fine, I’ll go…for you.” Relief immediately flashes across her face.
She quickly sets her tea down and pulls me in for a hug.
I close my eyes and lay my forehead on her shoulder as I take in her sweet, comforting scent with hints of lavender and rosemary.
She’s always smelled the same since I was a small kid.
“I love you, you know that, right?” she mumbles into my chest.
I nod my head against her shoulder. “I love you, too, Mom.” She squeezes me a little harder as a silent reply.
A car horn blares outside just as my phone vibrates in my pocket, signaling that Beck and Blake have arrived to pick me up.
Mom pats my back as we finally let each other go from our hug.
I turn toward the front door just as Mom speaks.
“Can you do one thing for me? Your uncle Jesse is stopping by after work tonight. Could you make it back home by 11? He’d really like to see you for your birthday. ”
“Yeah, of course, Mom.” She gives me a quick nod and follows me to the door.
Beck and Blake sit at the end of the driveway, music cranked up way too loud, head-banging. Mom and I exchange a look, probably both thinking the same thing. As I walk toward Beck’s car, I can’t help but glance back at Mom. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask.
She purses her lips, holding back a smile. “Yes, Ezra, I’ll be fine. Now go have some fun with those crazy-ass twins! Jesse and I will see you later tonight.”
I nod and climb into the backseat of Beck’s car.
Just as we pull away, Blake rolls down his window and sticks his head out.
“Don’t miss me too much, Esther!” he shouts obnoxiously.
Beck reaches over and slaps him on the back of the head.
I glance at Mom through the window as she walks back into the house, shaking her head at Blake’s antics.
As we drive away, I watch my house fade behind us.
Taking a deep breath, I finally turn my attention to the twins, who are bantering about nothing important.
Beck’s blue eyes catch my reflection in the rearview mirror as she looks at me, and I can’t help but silently stare back.
There was something different about her gaze.
And just as I was trying to figure it out, she quickly shifted her focus back to the road, leaving me wondering what she was thinking about.