Mom POV:
*Pain*
It was 3:20 in the afternoon, a couple of hours since my husband confronted me. He hadn't come downstairs ever since he retreated into his room, and I had remained on the couch the whole time.
I looked down at the ends of my nails. This morning, they had been smooth with a glossy sheen. Now? Jagged and uneven, with sharp edges protruding in every direction.
A sudden, sharp pain jabbed the tip of my tongue. I quickly grabbed a napkin from the small desk beside me and spat out whatever had been cutting my tongue.
I slowly set the napkin on my lap and glanced down. My hair, which I always clipped to the back of my head, had fallen to the sides of my face, slightly obscuring my vision. I didn't bother fixing it.
My saliva was dyed with the faintest hint of pink. Upon seeing that, I noticed the subtle taste of iron that spread through my mouth.
But that wasn't all.
*Pain*
Multiple shards of my nails floated in the spit.
It's… always like this…
I tightly clenched my teeth.
*Pain*
It's always... ALWAYS LIKE THIS!
I crumpled up the napkin and threw it onto the desk. That one action seemed to take all my energy, as the very next moment, I was gasping for air.
Why doesn't anyone understand?!
My hand reached for a manicure kit on the table. Inside were a nail clipper, a toe clipper, an extractor, and a nail filer.
I'm trying my best, so why doesn't anyone listen?!
My hand scrambled through the inside until I finally grabbed hold of the nail clipper.
Why… why do they all treat me like this?!
I brought the nail clipper to my left thumb and quickly, yet precisely, cut off the jagged edges until it was flawless once again.
Why does everyone treat me like I'm crazy?!
I cut off all the jagged parts on each finger, then grabbed the nail filer.
All I want is what's best for my family! Is that so wrong?!
I filed my right index finger—nail shavings flying in the air as my hand strained from the sheer aggression.
So why?...
*Pain*
I checked my work. They were as good as new. Just to make sure, I rubbed my thumbs across each nail. They were smooth and clean, perhaps in even better shape than they'd been before they were damaged.
No one would realize that they were ever damaged at all.
*Pain*
Why... does everybody treat me like I'm always wrong?
Suddenly, my vision blurred, and a warmth streaked down both cheeks.
All I want, everything I do, everything I've sacrificed… is to be a good Wife.
I brought my hands up to my face and carefully wiped the tears away.
And most of all… a good Mom.
*PAIN*
For the first time today, I winced—only slightly.
This whole time, a searing throbbing pain had been coursing through my head, sending tremors through my whole body. This whole time not being 'since my Son left', or even 'since the day started'.
No.
I was thirty-four now, and for the past nineteen years, this pain has been my world.
I pushed myself off the couch and went to the kitchen counter with heavy steps. In front of me were countless bottles of medication neatly arranged, each bottle carrying a different prescription.
Without reading the labels, I grabbed a white bottle. Two pills fell into my hand, and I swallowed them without water. The pills scraped down my throat, but it didn't matter. They barely worked, anyway. They'd last me a couple of hours at most. Then the pain would return.
Even so, I leaned against the counter, closed my eyes, took a deep breath—and waited.
As I did, an image of my Son's back from this morning flashed in my mind.
A small grin crept onto my face, followed by a soft, hollow chuckle.
Like Mother, like Son...
In my memory, my Son slowly opened his mouth.
I did the same.
Just like him…
"I don't care."
"I don't care."
By then, the pain had eased to the point where it didn't hurt with every breath I took, which was good enough.
I opened my eyes and pushed myself off the counter.
I don't care about pain.
I took wide strides towards the couch. My phone lay face down on the cushion. I grabbed my phone and turned it on.
I don't care if I'm hated.
I opened the app that tracked my family's location. My Husband's and my Daughter's icons were at home. My Son, however…
I don't care if I'm misunderstood.
He was at some sort of abandoned alleyway.
I don't care about love.
As a Mom, of course, I had been worried when I first noticed this. I asked my Husband if he knew anything about it, and he told me that Hoshino had discovered this place while he was hanging out with his friends.
I don't need any of that.
If it were a one-time thing, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Our Son hung out in a bunch of different places that I didn't know of.
However…
All I want is…
He has been going there—
Every. Single. Day.
Why would a boy his age go to an alleyway every day to hang out?
All I need is…
He never used to go to places like this before. The answer was obvious if you think about it.
Whatever is best for my kids.
Someone was influencing him. And not for the better.
I was his age at one point, too. I knew what it was like to be friends with people who didn't have your best intentions in mind. And I knew how hard it is to accept that.
So, as his Mom…
I'll do whatever it takes.
It was my fault that things got this far. Maybe if I had looked out for him better, maybe if I had paid closer attention, I would've noticed sooner.
My grip around my phone tightened.
So it's my responsibility to set him on the right path again.
I brought my phone closer, my eyes narrowing as I memorized every little detail from the map. The spot he stayed in, the lines on the street, the details of the two buildings, everything.
I swiped off the app and into my contacts. I searched for a specific name. Someone whom I had kept in contact with for a long time.
I opened our messages.
Then carefully typed my message.
My thumb hit send. It took a while to send since the person lived where Su, my Son and I came from. But once it was finally sent, I collapsed onto the couch.
I lowered my gaze, staring intently at my nails.
Even if he comes to hate me, even if he doesn't ask, I'll still do it.
I dug my nails into my palm.
Because I am his Mom.