I definitely did not expect pillow talk or such a personal question. And asking about my mother was personal. Whether he knew that or not remained to be seen. I wondered if it was some kind of test. If he already knew things about me, then he was doing this to see whether I’d lie. Whether I’d refuse to answer his questions just like he’d refused to answer mine.
But I didn’t want to be like him, closed off. And I didn’t need to have control of this. I didn’t have control of this, us. I never would. So I would approach this differently. All in. I’d cut myself open before he could, willingly exposing my insides before he started digging. That was the only power I had.
“My mom is a paranoid schizophrenic,” I admitted, saying it quickly, ripping off the Band-Aid. “She had me in her late twenties, just before she started having symptoms. We don’t know if the pregnancy made things happen quicker or if it would’ve happened anyway. Not that it matters much. It’s not like it was my fault she started seeing demons hiding in our freezer, under my bed and eventually behind my eyes. Sometimes she likes to tell me that, though. When she’s feeling scared or angry or bitter. Which I understood. It’s not her.”
Jay moved slightly, reaching over to turn on the light beside the bed. The action surprised me. I figured he was at home in the dark that surrounded us, favored it even. I was not someone who was happy in the dark, but in that moment, I preferred the inky blanket of night that partially hid me from his scrutinizing gaze.
From allowing him to see too much of me when I had already exposed far too much. The light was dim, soft, but despite that, everything seemed hard around the edges. Especially Jay, his features even sharper as they emerged from the dark.
I paused, looking in Jay’s beryl colored eyes, searching for his disinterest. For a sign that he wanted me to shut up, be the woman who obeyed him in bed and didn’t drag him in to her childhood traumas.
But there was none of that. Jay wanted to know more, about my traumas. He wanted to know my weaknesses. Most likely so he could exploit them, which meant I should shut up. Right now. Close myself off and create some kind of shield to protect myself from this man.
I didn’t do that.
I kept talking.
“She’s sweet, really,” I continued, smiling slightly as I thought of my mother. “She’s creative. Brilliant. Kind. Just remarkable.”
A memory of my mother dancing to the Beach Boys in a red kimono came to me, clear and stark. I couldn’t have been more than five, but that day had been burned in my mind. Not for any remarkable reason, just because my mother had been happy, dancing. She’d pulled me up to dance with her. Then we ate strawberries and cream. I could still taste them. The happiness too.
The next day was not like that.
“But her illness has stolen that from her,” I sighed. “At first, it was hard to know whether she was just having a tough time being a new mother. My dad was working a lot in order for mom to stay at home and look after me. I know he beats himself up for not noticing sooner, but isn’t it always the ones closest to us who are the blindest to our faults?”
I shrugged, or tried to from my position in Jay’s arms. It wasn’t about the gesture itself, but what it portrayed. A kind of jaded acceptance to it all. I wanted so badly for it to seem that talking about my mother wasn’t opening up barely healed wounds and prodding at deep buried fears.
“As I said, it doesn’t matter,” I continued, fearing that my efforts were for naught. Jay was still staring at me in that intense, knowing way. “It wouldn’t have changed much, and I never blamed my father. And I definitely don’t blame my mother for her illness. It’s cruel. Horrifically so.”
I swallowed, trying not to let other memories rush in. Dark ones. Prickly. Those recollections were blurry too, my mind trying to protect me from the traumatic details. Even if I avoided revisiting those events, I’d forever remember how I’d felt. The fear. Confusion. The heartbreak. I still tasted all of that on my tongue just like those strawberries and cream.
“I’ll spare you the details,” I murmured, doing my best to chase those memories away. I was glad Jay’s arms were around me. Holding me together. “But it eventually got bad enough that my dad noticed. First he took her to a doctor who gave her pills that seemed to work for a while. Then they didn’t. They went back to the doctor. More drugs. The cycle continued for a long while until Dad decided it wasn’t going to work. There wasn’t a way to ensure that I’d be safe with her. So he left her. For me. For himself a little bit too probably. It broke his heart, watching all of this happen to my mother and not being able to do a thing.”