Mom opens her mouth to talk again, spluttering more blood that dries in the cold air on my cheek.
One trembling hand grips my wrist, the other attempts to smear away the stain, but puts more blood on my face.
Words still hide behind splutters.
Her neck still bleeds horrifically.
My chest heaves—hurts.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like germs.” She’s so hard to understand, but her mouth moves in familiar ways.
Dollie, I mouth, taking Mom’s hand in mine.
Dad voices the words she can’t. “Your sister isn’t well. She needs help. We should have listened. We should have seen the signs.”
I almost ask what he means, but he continues.
“She said she was seeing shadows. Things that other people couldn’t. Hearing voices. We thought she just wanted to be with you.”
Another glance at Mom, and her pitiful state.
Dollie did this?
“She’s unwell. She didn’t even know who we were. She just kept talking about clowns wanting to hurt her.” Dad clutches his stomach tightly, blood leaking through his fingers, organs that he tries to keep inside, putting pressure on his slashed skin. “We let her down. We let you down. It’s not on her. She isn’t what hurt us. There’s something wrong with her.”
Mom’s grip clutches me tighter, her other hand desperately locked back around her neck. Blood stains all around.
I scoop her into my arms, leaning her back to my chest. I wrap my bigger hand around hers and feel her struggle as she tries to talk again.
Failing there, her hand leaves her neck. I tighten my grip, trying to force her blood to stay inside her body.
Her hands move, weak and slowly, spelling out the words,I’m so sorry, baby.
Her glassy eyes angle up to me as the sound of my heartbeat echoes in my ears.
Her hands move again,for everything.
Her paling image turns blurry as I blink, tears falling from my eyes and landing in her hair.
One tear, two tears, three…
Lucky number three.
Don’t leave me.I tuck into her face, holding her as close as I can, fearing with everything in me that this will be the last time, but hoping that it won’t.
All those years, I denied her hugs, wouldn’t let her near me, yet in this moment, I can’t let her go.
I love you.Her hands drop, the movements too much for her weakening body.
I nod into her hair, every falling tear letting her know I love her too. Guiding her face to mine, I mouth the words to make sure she really knows. Then I tell her,I forgive you.
She raises a hand once more, her fingers settling around my wrist.
Her breathing slows as my heart speeds up.
“Gen,” her name on Dad’s lips, is as sad as the red-rimmed stains around his eyes. “Don’t go, Gen. They need you.”
My father himself looks like he’ll go any second, fade into another life, leaving me here in the bloodstains with my dying mother.
