Page 73 of The Time It Takes
Present
WhenIopenmyeyes my first thought is that my head is pounding. It takes me a few minutes to fully wake up and realize the sound isn’t coming from my head at all. It’s coming from across the hall.
Ben’s room.
I throw off the covers and swing my legs off the side of the bed. It sounds like someone is banging on something. When I hear glass shatter, I take off in a sprint. I fling open Ben’s bedroom door and I gasp at what I see.
The covers that were on the bed are now on the floor. The cotton from inside the pillows is everywhere as if they’ve been ripped open. Dresser drawers are tossed, and all his clothes have been flung across the room. The nightstand and desk are toppled over. Every picture of Ben and I is crumpled on the floor. Another sound of glass shattering comes from the bathroom.
I can’t breathe anymore.
I hear a sob and I immediately know it came from my mother’s lips. I can’t move. I spot the empty pill bottle lying on the bed. I swallow and force my feet to go.
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.
I look down at the label. My father’s name is on it. She must have found it in one of Ben’s drawers. I shudder and beg the tears filling my eyes not to fall. I walk into the bathroom just as my mother brings the bat down onto the mirror. Glass shatters and sprays the room. She shuts her eyes on impact and I feel shards hit my skin.
“Stop it!” I yell. “Mom, stop!”
My vision goes dizzy, and I can hardly process what’s happening. She doesn’t even look at me before her scream cuts through the air and she’s swinging the bat again. I charge her and grab the bat just as she pulls it back to swing it again. I yank it from her grip, ignoring the sting on my skin.
She swirls around and slaps me across the face. Shock overruns my bones and I drop the bat onto the floor and stare at her in bewilderment. In all my life, I have never seen her like this—rabid and feral. I realize at this moment that I don’t know my mother at all.
She takes a step toward me, fist clenched. “Why did you let this happen?” Her voice, her eyes, everything about her is unrecognizable to me. I’m shaking so hard that I can’t help the tears that escape this time. She pokes her finger into my chest as hard as she can. “It’s all your fault!” She stabs me with her finger again. “He tried to call you and you didn’t pick up! Where were you?”
I can’t understand where this is coming from. My mind races to find an answer. I’m overflowing and I’m coming up empty-handed. It’s breaking me to see her like this.
“I know,” I choke out softly. I look down at her clenched fist to find blood seeping through her fingers and realize she’s holding onto a shard of glass.This isn’t her.This is her worst.
She balls her other fist as tears stream down her face and slams it into my shoulder. I wince at the pain. “You didn’t pick up!” Again. “You didn’t pick up!” Again. “You didn’t pick up!”
“I know!” I yell back at her. She opens her palm and I hear the piece of glass clatter on the floor. She brings her bloody fist to my chest, hitting me again. I block it out, letting myself go to that safe place in my mind—the one where nothing can touch me, nothing can hurt me.
“You were supposed to look after each other!” She hits me harder. “You did this!”
I don’t think I’m breathing anymore. I’m frozen in time. I’m seventeen again and she’s hitting me where it hurts. I needed this reaction from her back then, but all I had gotten was her silence. Now I get her blame.
“I hate you for it!” she admits as both fists slam into my chest. “I can’t even look at you!” Slam. “I hate you!” Slam. “I hate you!” Slam.
A sob finally breaks free and the only thing I can do is wrap my arms around my mother, holding her tightly to my chest.
“I’m sorry.” Her fists beating against my body eventually become soft and I can feel her falling more into my embrace. “I’m sorry,” I say as I stroke her hair. “I’m so sorry.” I glide my back down the wall until we’re both sitting on the floor, her body cradled in my arms.
“Shh.” Her fists clench my shirt, and it doesn’t take long before I’m covered in her blood. I don’t stop stroking her hair and soothing her by rocking back and forth. I hear footsteps racing up the stairs and a moment later, Frank pokes his head inside the bathroom.
Where in the hell were you?I want to scream at him.
I watch him work on a frantic swallow, shaking his head at what he’s seeing.
“Frank,” I say to draw his attention toward me. “I need you to call an ambulance.” His eyes look between us as he nods, digging his phone out of his back pocket. He pulls the phone up to his ear.
“What do I tell them?” he asks.
“Tell them you think she just swallowed an entire bottle of antidepressants.”
