Thanks for 10k🥰 the mere fact that this book got such views is like Michael being beaten by his mom... impossible...or is it?

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I found a skirt in Madison's room.

A week after realizing Madison was fading away from my memories and those who loved him, I opened his room for the first time since he officially disappeared. The windows were closed, so were his curtains-he never liked the sunlight in the mornings. The first thing I did was open everything up, letting the sun in. The dust in his room was just another reminder that I'm pitiful, this room hasn't been opened for years.

Maddie usually kept the album book in his drawer, the book was easy to find considering it was the only thing in the empty room-- that's how we figured out he ran away, his clothes were gone. The album was dusty, torn, and rusted, a birthday present from dad. I couldn't open it because my throat kept closing up,

Instead, I opened up his wardrobe, a box I've never seen before was at the corner. He's not the type to leave anything beyond-- when we left Italy I remember he took all his belongings in our room, if mom had let him he would have taken the furniture too-- so the box just made me wonder how in a rush he was; in a hurry to disappear and die.

With hands that shook, I opened one of the things Madison left behind and stared.

Floral, rose-colored, and thigh lengthened. A whole skirt. WHY WOULD A SKIRT BE THE LAST THING HE LEFT BEHIND?! Forget that question, why is there a skirt in his room?

A week has passed and I can't bring myself to go back to his room and look at the void he left...and a skirt. After finding the piece of material and staring for a whole two minutes, I grabbed the album book and ran. His funeral is in a week; my birthday is in a week; meeting my dad and grandpa again is in a week; my confrontation with Peter is next week, and Thanksgiving is in a week. Big things just seem to be happening, whether I want it or not.

Sighing, I grab the ice pack and leave the kitchen. Next week's troubles will have to wait because this morning I woke up to a bruised Michael; black eye and split lip.

"Here," I shove it towards the reckless fool I call a brother.

" 'Sank you." He mutters and stares at the reruns playing on the TV.

I gawk at him intensely, waiting for my stare to make him uncomfortable so he can tell me why he slept with such bruises, and how he got them. There were a lot of things I could not control but I would be damned if I let the person who did this to him walk away unharmed.

"Promise you won't get mad..." his eyes drop to the ice pack now in his hands, I do a little victory dance in my head, thankful that I am intimidating enough to scare my brother.

I nod happily-- I'm planning on murdering the person. I look at him eagerly as he gulps. Rolling my eyes I scoff, "What's the big deal? It's not the first time you've been beaten by your schoolmates," but it is the first time he's tried to hide it from me.

"Okay okay, listen," his voice trembles, "it was an accident and it will never happen again." The more he dragged it out the more I got aggressively worried.

He opens his mouth but a thud from upstairs surprises both of us. We look at each other in panic, what could she be doing up there. The continuous noisy thuds make me stand up in annoyance; she hasn't been home for weeks and when she finally blesses us with her presence, she refuses to give us peace.

Michael follows after me, his hand tightly gripping onto my wrist. They shook with every step I took towards her door.

I stop with my hand on her door handle, my back facing Michael I ask the one question I've been scared to ask, "Did she touch you?"

"W-what?"

"Did. She. Touch. You?"

"Of course not," his fingers are vibrating on my wrist, and I grind my teeth.

"...okay." I glance at him briefly, his forehead is drenched with sweat, his eye swollen and blue, and his lips chapped and split. I've never seen him so small in a hoodie, hidden away from this world-- from his mother. He looks like how I did the first time she hurt me.

No more. I draw the fucking line at him being her stress release. So what, I don't come home early and she attacks him? This is why I thought she was unstable, this is why I've never left him alone with her.

"Michael. Go play with Doggie and Kittie."

"Wait, why? What are you-- Mason it was an accident!"

"If you make me repeat myself... you won't like the side of me I've been hiding. Leave."

He hesitates before his hand releases my wrist and I hear the sound of his retreating steps.

I thought she'd have good days, but this entire year she's been a different type of bitch, and I'm sick of it.

Her back is facing me when I open her door, her room is a mess. Boxes I used my precious time to shove in her wardrobe are now on the floor-- probably the cause of the countless thuds; grandma's vintage vase in pieces near mom's feet; the bedsheets shattered on the floor along with few pictures.

She runs a hand through the brown unkempt hair I used to find comfort in, her hands trembling as she looks around the chaos she created. Her eyes finally find mine, first, she is frozen and then enraged.

"You don't know how to knock?!" Her voice harsh, and I swear the windows shook. I nearly cowered away from the death stare she gave me, but the image of Michael's fear last night comes into my mind,

"You don't know how to keep your hands to yourself?" I stutter out, still keeping my posture. The rage I felt outside the room is disappearing, now that I am in the room with her she looks like my true nightmare. She looks like death.

"What?!" She steps closer, "say it louder you coward!"

"Keep your fucking hands to yourself! Find a healthy way to deal with your anger and disappointments!" There's a pregnant pause until she laughs, loud and curt. The type of laugh that caused goosebumps, a rapid heart rate, and a spooked soul; my mom is my nightmare.

"You really--" she rubs underneath her eye with her finger, "are something, Mase. My sweet son, my dearest heart. You can stand there and criticize me? Me? Your mother who carried you for nine months, suffered in labour for ten hours, and raised you with my blood and tears for eighteen years. What exactly have you done for me?! I've given everything up for you, so fucking excuse me for hurting you once in a while." Her breath heaves,

It took me a second to notice that she was fucking serious. If I remember correctly, I didn't ask to be born, and have I not sacrificed for her too. This argument isn't even about me, it's about my innocent baby brother she gave a black eye to!

"Forget me for a minute, ma, you can beat me to a pulp and I'll take it. But Michael, he's off-limits. He's been off-limits since you became a monster," her eyes widen and  I see the beautiful blue eyes I've loved as a child,

She gulps and runs her hand through her ruined hair, "Oh." She looks at me, heartbroken, "Mason... what have I done? I didn't mean to. I swear, I don't know what happened. He hugged me and said he missed me, I don't know what came over me...it happened in a blur and-" tears roll down her cheeks and I clench my fist.

Is that it? She nearly killed him because she couldn't handle his undying love for her. I'm not sure what I was expecting but this lame, disgusting excuse was not it.

"He has a black eye and a split lip. And you can't even apologize for--" I shake my head as the rage in my stomach raises, "What have we done wrong to you?! Tell us-- tell me-- so I can fucking fix it! Is it because I was born? I'm sorry that I'm not what you expected. Is it because Michael isn't your absent husband's son? He's sorry that he couldn't control who his dad is. We apologize for being the ones who give a fuck about you!

We could have left you just like Madison and dad did; I wanted us to, but I would never do that to someone I love eternally. I'm sorry. Okay? Will you stop now? Can you get your shit together and be the mother you imagined yourself to be because this person who just hurts her kids is not what grandma would have had in mind for you. I'm sick of it. I'm tired and exhausted."

Sighing angrily, I watch her collapse into a ball of mess on the wooden floor. By instinct, I walk towards her to left her up from the broken pieces of the vase on the floor. No matter how much I want to hate her, I can't, she's been the very first person to treat me like I'm the whole universe. Maybe it was wrong for me to use my anger for attention, but when she gave it to me... I felt special.

All that has changed now. I'm not a little kid anymore, and my mom is no longer stable. I can't keep wishing for everything to go back to normal because even if by some miracle it did, it wouldn't change the scars on me or the trauma. I need a break, I haven't allowed myself to get one in so long that now my body is burnt out.

I let go of her and step back, "ma," her eyes shine with unshed tears and I feel my heart sink to my stomach. I've never blamed her for anything she's done to me, I always believed I deserved it but Michael didn't. "I think we need a break from each other, I'm taking Michael with me." She shakes her head aggressively,

"No, no, my love I'll change, I'm so sorry. Don't leave me, Mase I'll be good. I love you, so much, both of you. I'll die without you...god please."

Tears hang onto my lashes and I blink them away. "I'll go pack our things..." She grabs me but I shake off her hand.

I reach the door before her fists hit my back, repeatedly, "Why? Why do you want to leave, Mason? I make mistakes too, I'm human, so don't leave. What did I ever do to make you leave?" I nearly believe she is yelling at me until I hear how disembodied she sounds. She isn't in the present, she isn't upset that I was leaving; she's thinking about dad. "I apologized already, and you left me!"

"Do you always see him when you look at me? Do I sound like him that much? Ma, look at me, I'm your son. I'm Mason, not dad or Madison, but Mason... stop trying to drown me out."

She blinks rapidly, coming back from whatever distant pain she was in. She stares at my face, trying to find something that only belonged to me and not two other people. "You won't understand my pain," she finally says and my heart pulls at the thought that she thinks I don't understand....as if I was never here with her.

"Did you ever really care about me?" I whisper, "Did...did you ever once consider me, ma, how I felt in all of this?"

She opens and closes her mouth, her hand presses on my cheek as my tears roll down. All this time she wasn't even thinking about me, but someone else. I knew I reminded her of dad and Madison but I thought she'd remember me once. I only exist to her when she needs to attack someone. I sigh when she hugs me,

"I'm...done. I can't do this anymore," I pull her arms away from my neck and leave her to cry after me.