Page 47 of Chasing Hope

My mouth opens and closes, and it takes an ungodly amount of time for me to find my voice. “You think I’m the one who needs help?” I manage to croak out.

“Yes, it’s wrong that you made this up, Evie.”

“I didn’t make up anything.”

“Stop lying to yourself. It’s a load of garbage.”

Everything around me seems to stop, including myself.

The tears, my heartbeat, my lungs.

Time even takes a weighted pause, as if to confirm she really just said what she did.

“You don’t believe me?” I ask, my voice one of a mere child’s.

My mom hesitates as if she can feel what she’s about to do, but she still decides to hit me with a sledgehammer anyway as she says curtly, “No.”

Life returns with that one word.

But not like before.

Nothing will ever be the same again after that one syllable.

I’ve returned not as myself but as a zombie, dead on the inside, my soul long gone but my physical body forced to continue walking through this miserable existence.

“Why?” I hear myself ask.

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“It’s confusing, Evie. I don’t understand how you could just randomly remember one day out of the blue. People don’t forget things like that.”

Closing my eyes to try and block it all out, I say for the millionth time, “I’ve explained why. Every psychologist can confirm that it happens, Mom.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Telling the truth?”

“Spreading lies!” she snaps, any composure she had completely gone.

My eyes flare at that. “I am not the liar,heis!” She can’t see the sneer that overcomes me, the utter disgust. “He is a vile human being and I hope he fuckingdies!” I scream, every ounce of anger and hurt lacing my declaration.

My mom gasps. “That’senough. I’m done with this conversation. I’m done listening to you about this stupid bullshit. You need help, Evie.”

“I’m not the one that needs help. He’s sick, and I wish you would step up and be the mother I remember growing up and defend me.”

“Well apparently your memories betray you so maybe I’m one of them too.”

The tears lining my eyes fall at her cruel remark, the wind wiping my hair in every direction, the weather turning chaotic like my uncontrollable heartbeat.

“Either you step up and be my mom and support me or don’t talk to me at all.”

Holding my breath, I wait. I wait for her to choose me, I wait for her to pick me over that horrible man, I wait for her to apologize for being so cruel to me.

I wait and I wait and I wait.

But it seems I’d die holding my breath.