Work Text:
“Simon,” I hear in the doorway. “Someone is here to see you.”
I let my head loll to the side a little. The medication I’m on makes me groggy. The doctors say it’ll wear off once I get it in my system, but right now, I feel like everyone is a little farther away than usual, like I’m inside a glass cage separating me from the rest of the world.
I don’t have time to ask who it is before she walks in.
“...Mom?” I hate how my voice pitches up a little.
“Hi, Simon,” She says, voice controlled, a tight smile across her face. Even after months of her absence, my body reacts to that face. I feel my stomach twist a little and my chest clench. I remember thousands of times she’s looked at me that way.
“I… Um, hi…” I don’t know how else to respond. I feel sick. The nurse smiles at us both, blind to what I’m feeling.
“I’ll be in the hallway,” She says, a gracious offer of unwanted privacy.
My mother smiles at her back and turns back to me as soon as her back is turned.
“Why did you come here?” I ask. I glance down at my lap. My fingers are splayed, digging into my thighs. The pain used to ground me, but now there is none. I don’t know what can ground me now.
“I just wanted to see you. Is that okay?” She sounds hurt. I don’t bother asking her why she waited – we both know why.
“I… Yeah, that’s fine.” I swallow despite my mouth being bone dry. “...How are… how are you?” I ask it like I’m asking it for the first time. I never knew how to talk to my mother. I sure as hell don’t know how to now.
“Well…” She trails off, looking around at the white tile wall. “They could be better.”
I don’t respond. I don’t want to know about her life. I don’t want to know what things she’s told to her coworkers. I don’t want to think about how many times she’d said my name while I’ve been away. I start to wish she’d just never showed up at all.
“It’s really tiny in here, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine,” I shrug a little. “I’m okay with it.”
“How are things here?” She asks it a little quieter, leaning in, looking at me with obvious discomfort. Her eyes go from the stubble along my jaw to the bandages on my fingers to my legs. I can’t tell what disgusts her the most. I saw the same expression as soon as she heard me speak. She resents how different my voice sounds now. With that same disgust, she narrows her eyes and asks, “Do they give you hormones here or something?”
I let my jaw clench for a moment. I panic inside. It’s silly, really, because I’m 19 years old and my mother can no longer control me, but I know she hates it. That alone makes me feel nauseated. I don’t respond.
“I don’t know if they know what they’re doing.”
“I… Mom, it’s fine, they… They’re good to me.”
“I just don’t think you should be in here,” She insists. She looks me up and down again, her gaze lingering on where my legs dangle limply off of my bed. “I told you not to go out so late.”
I remember the first night in the hospital and how I spent it alone.
I told you something would happen to you.
“I can’t change it now,” I manage to spit out.
“I hope they don’t let you go out by yourself late here.”
“They don’t,” I bite out. It’s mostly true. I’ve been here for months and the doctors still don’t trust me not to do something drastic.
“You never listen to me.”
You never listen to me, either. I bite my lip and stare at my lap. This is the only time I’ve had a visitor in so long. I try not to break down.
My mother never knows when to stop. She pushes me until I break. When I break, it’s my fault. I’m too fragile. I’m too emotional. I’m unreasonable and hysterical. I hope the nurses didn’t tell her anything about my medical history. God only knows how cruel she would get if she saw the laundry list of diagnoses I have. I feel sick about it alone, too – an itemized list of every way I’ve been broken.
They must not have, though. She doesn’t mention it and I know she’d mention it if they had told her.
“I mean, what if the man had a gun? What if it was a trap? You could’ve been kidnapped.” She shakes her head. “It’s like you think the world is so nice when it really isn’t.”
I clench my teeth and try not to lash out. “I… Well, it wasn’t.”
“No, you just got hit by a drunk on the road… and look where you are now.” She motions toward where I’m half-curled up against the pillow at the head of my hospital bed. “It’s a disgrace.”
I don’t know what she means by that in particular. I don’t know what part of my body she finds most disgraceful. I know she finds me repulsive now, more so than before, but I can’t pin down what draws the most disgust.
“Well, I’m fine now,” I force out.
“I know that.” She says it flatly. We both know I’m not ‘fine’, not by any means. I’m still dazed by the knowledge that this room will become my life. I find myself even more dazed by the knowledge that I have more freedom in a residential facility than I did in my mother’s home.
“Well, let’s talk about something else.” I finally work up the courage to request it. I’m terrified of disappointing her, even now. I know it’s too late for that.
“I just can’t wrap my head around it.” She says.
I stay silent.
“I mean, God… I always worried about you.”
She worried about me like lost property instead of a son.
“I always worried that you might hurt yourself.”
I remember the first time I hurt myself. I was lonely. She didn’t want me going out without her, even at 13. I remember slicing my forearm open. I watched blood trickle down my arm from the gaping cut and being more afraid of how she’d react than of the blood itself.
I remember waking up feeling like I’d been sawed in half, lying bloody on concrete six years later, and feeling the same way.
“I just never thought you’d hurt someone else.”
I didn’t think I would either. I didn’t want to.
“Sometimes, I just wish…” She trails off. That same tight smile reappears. “I just wish I was right. I just can’t stand looking at you knowing you killed two people.”
She stands up to leave. I stare at the floor. My vision blurs from how long I go without blinking. I wonder if I could force myself to leave them open like that until they dry rot out of my skull.
“I’ll see you, Simon.” My mom asks.
“Mom…?”
She stops but doesn’t look.
“I – I love you,” I choke out.
She turns and leaves the room.