Hello and welcome to a new Thursday Taster,
the day when awesome writers all over the blogosphere come together to
give you tasty bits of their last fiction. You can find the list here.
"Frederique," my father said.
"I told you it was a bad idea to invite her, I told you this would happen. She can't respect her own word, I'm calling the guard, I want her out," I said.
I was shaking. I could feel my nerves breaking down. I had spend seventeen years with her telling me that I couldn't do anything kids my age did. I spend days and weeks on an hospital bed when there was nothing wrong with me just for her to be able to show to the world what a carrying mum she was. When you have a sick child and you are raising her alone you have everything you want. People help you with daily needs. The neighbor helped her with shopping, she could take a day off work to take care of her sick daughter whenever. She could even pretend to be working from home or from the hospital. She made it sound like it was so hard for her when really she had only taken me as an excuse.
I was her favorite excuse. She wanted to be a nurse but she had to become a secretary because she couldn't do nurse training because of me. She wanted to travel but she couldn't because I was born and then things became so complicated because I was so sick. She wanted to do this and that but I was always in the way. Well, I wouldn't be in the way anymore. I was giving her her freedom back, now she could go and do all the things I deprived her off.
I could feel the hysteria raising. Amy was looking at me as if I was crazy and so was my mother.
"Frederique, you have to calm down," my father said.
My hands were trembling so much that I couldn't even press the buttons on my cellphone. I made a mistake and had to do it again.
"See, if something happens, she won't even be able to call anyone," my mother said.
"I hate you," I said.
"What did you just say?"
I dropped the cellphone on my wooden desk. I was unable to use it anyway.
"I said, I hate you," I repeated looking at her this time.
She seemed shocked, for the first time she registered something I had said.
"Frederique, don't talk like this about your mother," my father said.
"I hate you, all you care about is yourself and I hate you," I said.
"All I ever cared about is you, I sacrificed everything for you," my mother said coming closer.
"You used me as an excuse, you used me so that people would pity you then you would play brave to show them what a wonderful mother you are. All you care about is yourself and what they will think of you, your colleagues, the other mother at school meetings, the teachers, the people at the hospital, grandma, that's all you care about, what you look like in their eyes. I'm not going to take it away from you if you leave now," I said.
She slapped me and I slapped her back.
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That was a long time coming.
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