by Marie Snow
I knew that I needed to talk to Matthew first. I needed to sort through the chaos in my head before I reached out to my mother. I didn’t feel I was in danger. There was a fragility to Matthew that clung to him like a second skin, but there wasn’t anything that told me I should worry about him causing me harm.
Maybe I was fooling myself, but no matter what, the truth was I felt safe with Matthew. That had to mean something… didn’t it?
“Jenny.”
I looked up to see Matthew. He stood in front of me and the worry on his face was clear. I hadn’t heard his car approaching, too lost in my own thoughts. And as I stared at him, there was also something else there that I could see on his face and I doubt he knew that he projected it. But it was there.
He cared about me. The worry and strain was as clear on his face as if he’d shouted the words to me.
I didn’t know if that helped or confused me further, but it felt nice all the same.
“I need more time to think, Matthew,” I murmured before he actually said anything. The pain and guilt that hit me with those words were hard to explain. I felt like I was letting him down, even though I knew there was no way to change things.
“Think about what? Did I rush things giving you the bracelet? Did I rush things by giving it to you?” he asked with this sort of panic in his voice, one I’d never heard from him before. His voice sounded so earnest. The hurt and confusion was thick in each syllable and it fed my guilt.
“No, you didn’t rush anything. I love my bracelet, Matthew.”
“So, tell me what’s going on? What’s wrong Jenny?” He took a small step forward, as if he were almost afraid to.
I took a breath as I decided to just tell him exactly what I felt.
“Who is Sofie, Matthew?”
I watched his body tense, his eyes widen, and his breath stall. “Sofie?” As he asked his question, I literally saw his complexion go white.
“Who is she?” I pushed, even though a large part of me didn’t want to.
“How did you hear about Sofie?” he asked. I heard the harshness and anger in his voice, but for some strange reason, it never felt as if it was directed at me. “You talked with my mother about me? Why, Jenny? If you wanted to know about Sofie, about anything, why didn’t you ask me?”
My body jerked backward from the anger, that I knew was because of me. I pushed my hand out as if it were a shield from the verbal attack that I was afraid might come.
“I didn’t ask your mother anything. She called and told me she had changed her mind on cleaning and had me meet her for coffee.”
His body was so still after I spoke, his eyes trained at the ground for long moments. “Fuck,” he hissed, and my forehead crinkled in confusion because until that moment, I had never heard Matthew talk like that. I didn’t think he was capable of it, to be honest.
“Matthew,” I murmured, and I felt this large ball of panic unfurl in the pit of my stomach.
“She had no right,” he gritted. “None. It was my story to tell. It’s my life. I should have gotten the choice of when I told you about my past, Jenny. Me!” He was talking to himself and that panic was growing faster and harder.
“That’s what I told her,” I admitted softly, trying to diffuse the situation with my gentle tone. Maybe I was self-consciously hoping to calm him. I wasn’t sure, I just knew that right now he looked sad, and I hated it.
“I am sick of feeling like I don’t have one say in how my life—” He suddenly stopped talking. I watched as a look of surprise covered his features. When he lifted his head up and our gazes clashed. “You told her that?” he asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
I licked my lips and nodded anxiously. “I told her that I would rather learn about your past because you told me, not her—well, basically that’s what I said.”
“What exactly did my mother tell you, Jenny?”
I swallowed nervously. I barely noticed the fact that I was twisting my hands worriedly in my lap. I was too busy thinking back to the strange confrontation with his mother—not that I was even sure it could be labeled a confrontation, not really.
“Nothing really. I mean, I guess I didn’t let her. She mentioned you had, that you…” I broke off, stumbling over my words. I had to search for the right way to say this, because I didn’t know how to tell him any of this without making things worse—for both of us.
“She had to tell you something, Jenny. If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be asking me about Sofie.”
“She said that you had been sick. That you spent time in the hospital.” I whispered the words. I hated that I had to say them. I hated that they created a distance between us. I felt it so thickly right now. It was a foreign stranger in my life, in the relationship we’d been building.
And I hate the pain in his eyes, the pain I am causing, that his mother caused.
“I would have told you. Eventually, I would have told you,” he said. “I knew you deserved to know, but I wanted to give us time,” he muttered. His hand came up and pushed through his hair in agitation.
“I can understand that. But—”
“But?”
“I know now, and I’d like for you to tell me. If not all of it, then at least some. Who is Sofie and... did you hurt her?”
He was once again silent for long moments. But I could tell he wasn’t trying to think of a lie. His expression told me he was… afraid to say the words. “No,” he whispered, but he sounded tortured. “At least I don’t think I did.”
Confusion filled me and my eyebrows pulled down low. “I don’t understand, Matthew,” I responded. I hated seeing him like this--hated knowing I was making it worse. But at the same time, I had to know. At this point, I just had to.
“I would have these blackouts, Jenny. I haven’t had one in a long time. But each time, something horrible would happen. I don’t know if I did them. I mean, I had no recollection of doing them, but I was the only one there, so realistically, I’m sure it had to be me.”
I tried to listen closely, tried to understand. My heart stuttered in my chest because for the first time I felt a tingling of fear, wondering if the Matthew I thought I knew was the same man who stood in front of me.
“I don’t understand.”
“When I was little, I would blackout and wake up and the cover on my bed would be cut up in small pieces—shredded. I don’t remember doing it. I don’t remember getting a knife from the kitchen or the scissors, but I must have,” he said helplessly.
“Keep going, Matthew,” I encouraged, needing to hear it and having no idea what I was going to do.
“It was just things like that, Jenny, I swear. I was doing everything I was supposed to and going to therapy. I withdrew from everything and everyone but my mother and tried to be… normal. I thought I got a hold of it. I really did. I began breathing easier. I went years without one incident, Jenny. Years. My therapist encouraged me to concentrate on the present and stop living in the past. Sofie wasn’t like you. She wasn’t sweet or gentle. She wasn’t understanding. She was bossy, loud and even demanding at times, but she was my friend—probably the only one I ever had. She gave me a chance and didn’t look at me differently because of my past or where I came from. She didn’t care who my father was. She encouraged me to finish school, to get an apartment. We didn’t have a relationship like you and I, Jenny, but I cared about her. I really did.”
“I believe you, Matthew.” I breathed out the words, because they were painful. My head felt heavy because all I could hear, for a minute, was the fact that Matthew spoke about Sofie as if she wasn’t alive.
“Do you?” he asked, and his eyes pleaded with me as much as his words and voice did. He took another step closer.
“I do. But you have to tell me, Matthew. What happened to Sofie?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Jenny. I know you may not believe me, but it’s true. I had a fight with my mother. She found my acceptance letter to Diamont College and there was a big
blow up. She said I wasn’t ready to live on my own. I disagreed. Sofie came by to pick me up. We drove around and ended up in a field and drank too much wine. I’d taken my medicine earlier—before the fight with my mom, hoping to calm my nerves. I wanted to stay focused. Drinking was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. The wine was more potent than I imagined because soon Sofie and I both were almost out of it, watching the stars float above us, laughing and talking about stupid, confusing things. I don’t remember much during that time.”
“And then?”
“I blacked out. And when I woke up, the police were there.” He paused for a very long time before whispering, “And Sofie was dead.”
“Oh God,” I cried. I felt sick to my stomach. My heart was racing, and I could barely breathe.
“I cared about Sofie, Jenny. I did. I don’t think I hurt her. No one would believe me, but I don’t think I did. I couldn't have,” he insisted, as if he were trying to convince himself that he had no part of this heinous crime. His big body sank down on the bench of the picnic table. It looked almost as if his legs had given out on him. I felt his hands flatten out on my leg and when I looked down, our eyes locked. It felt like a physical energy was pulling me to him. “You have to believe me, Jenny,” he practically whimpered. I felt my head nodding as if I was in agreement.
“I believe you,” I whispered.
Matthew laid his head down on my lap. I knew he was crying because his body was trembling. I put my hand down to slide my fingers against the side of his head. I sifted through his hair in what I hoped was a calming motion, almost petting him.
“I believe you,” I repeated as he held onto me as if I were his lifeline, the only thing connecting him to this world.
And all I could ask myself was...
What if I was lying?
17
Michelle
I saw the flash of headlights through the kitchen window as I washed the dishes, a small smile moving across my lips because Matthew was home.
I focused on the soapy water, running the rag over a plate, and then dipped it into the second basin of hot, clean water. The soap moved away from the ceramic as if repelled.
I set it in the drainer and grabbed a dry rag, wiping off my hands and making my way toward the front door to greet Matthew.
He’d sent me a text earlier today that he was picking up a few more hours at the gas station tonight, and so I was anxious to have him home, to talk to him, to hear how his day was. I wanted that safe and comfortable feeling I’d always had around him to return.
I loved that he was doing things for himself, but I missed having him around. It had always been the two of us.
Us against the world, it felt like.
It was the sound of the front door opening and closing that had my smile rising. When I rounded the corner and stepped into the foyer, I saw Matthew standing by the door, his focus on me. His expression was unreadable, but anger radiated out of him. It all focused directly on me and I felt my smile faltering.
I gripped the washcloth in my hands tightly, my knuckles cracking as he kept staring at me with this coldness I had never seen before. I knew what this was about. I knew Jenny had told him what we’d talked about without Matthew having to say the words.
It was clearly written on his face.
“Matthew?” My voice was threadbare, a whisper that barely carried in the air. “Is everything okay?” I wasn’t about to tell on myself, not when I could be wrong, even though I knew I wasn’t.
“No.” He let that one word hang in the air between us for so long I didn’t think he was going to speak again, but then he said, “Everything is not okay.” His jaw clenched. “You had no right.” And then he was walking by me, the coldness that came from him like an ice pick to my chest, digging out my heart piece by piece.
I stood there for a second not moving, not even breathing. I knew this wouldn’t end well, but it had to happen. I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend like I hadn’t told Jenny what I had. Maybe he’d understand that I’d done it because that’s what was best.
Maybe he’d see I’d done it to help not only Jenny, but himself as well.
After all, he had told me about his reservations, his worries.
So, I turned and walked into the kitchen, following him, but stopped as I stared at his back. He stood by the sink, his hands braced on the edge, looking out the window. I could only imagine the thoughts running through his head, the confusion and hurt. Probably the betrayal he felt.
But I hadn’t done this to hurt him. I’d done this to help him.
And I was about to open my mouth and tell him just that when he turned around, causing the words to freeze in the center of my throat
“It wasn’t your place to tell Jenny about anything, not me, my past, nothing.”
I was still holding onto that rag, twisting it in my hands so tightly that the fibers were rubbing my skin raw. I licked my lips and looked down at the linoleum flooring, tracing the patterns with my eyes, trying to think of how best to explain any of this.
When I looked back at Matthew again, I was just going to tell him the truth. I’d deal with any fallout after. I was his mother. Surely he’d understand I only had his best interest at heart.
“You didn’t have to work extra, did you?” He didn’t respond. “You went and spoke with her?” Again, silence. I cleared my throat. “She needed to know, Matthew.” He crossed his arms over his chest and as I stared at my son, I saw his father.
My breath caught.
The build. The hair color. The piercing, almost cold, blue eyes.
And the worst part of it all was the mental capacity. Matthew was so smart and calculating. He’d been a genius in school, every subject was almost child’s play to him. But that made no difference when disease took hold and ruined everything. Deteriorated you.
“You freaked her out,” he said in a monotone voice.
“That wasn’t my intention.” Yes. It was. She needed to be freaked out in order to know what she was getting into.
He exhaled and stared at the floor for so long that I wondered if he’d speak again. When he looked up, I saw a flicker of real emotion. It was a stranger to me, this emotion that I’d never seen from my son before now. It had pain igniting in my chest.
“I’m done with this, Mom.”
I felt my heart stall in my throat. “W-What do you mean?” I whispered the words. They were barely audible over the beat of my pulse in my ears.
He ran a hand over the back of his head and exhaled. “I want to be more independent, Mom. I want to stand on my own two feet.” He looked at me with bright blue eyes, ones that brought me back to the past, to the memory of identical ones that had made me feel like I wasn’t alone.
How things had changed.
They’d changed so much that I felt like I was in this repetitive cycle that would never end.
“I need to be present.” He stared at me and there was this thickness in the air, this moment where I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I realized I hated that phrase.
Be present.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and… I think it’s time I lived on my own.”
I was frozen, motionless as I let those words penetrate me. “W-What?” I stuttered out those words. “I mean, we just moved here, Matthew. You haven't lived on your own.” Not with being in the hospital. “It’s expensive. Bills. Rent. All of that.”
He just shook his head slowly. “I think it’s time I lived this life as an adult, independent and learning from my own mistakes without my mother there picking up after me.”
I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t think words would have come to me even if I had found my voice.
“We both need our independence.” He started pacing. Back and forth, his focus on the floor, his brows pulled low as if in concentration. He suddenly stopped and looked up at me. “I need to control my meds, my therapy sessions.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m a grown adult, yet my mo
ther still puts my pills in a little dispenser for me like I’m a child.” I glanced down at the way he flexed and relaxed his hands at his sides. “I’m doing this, Mom, and you can either accept and support my decision or…” he let that last word hang between us.
Or I won’t be in his life.
He didn’t wait for me to respond, just walked past me. After a second, I followed him to his room. He stood in the center just staring at the wall.
“Sweetheart, you’re just upset,” I whispered, still holding onto that damn rag. “I overstepped bounds where Jenny was concerned—”
He spun around and gritted out, “Yeah, you did.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled as if he was trying to gather his control. “But that isn’t why I decided this. It was going to happen one way or another. I guess the situation with Jenny just tipped the scales and sped things up.”
I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt. God, was I having a heart attack?
I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say. I’d make things worse, no doubt, so I just nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to, because it certainly wasn’t Matthew leaving. I didn’t feel he was ready for that. Not mentally. Not financially.
Was this Jenny’s doing? Did she push him to leave?
I gritted my teeth as anger mixed with my sadness at that thought. She didn’t know him, not even after I told her about his past and troubles. She had only scratched the surface where he was concerned, yet she was inserting herself into his life like she had always belonged there.
I felt panic seize me. I had to get out of here.
I had to breathe and get space and… think.
18
Michelle
A slow death.