Page 115 of Obsession

“Mom?” I murmur as she looks at me.

It takes half a second for her to take me in, and I am close enough now that I see the hate in her eyes. The rage, the despair, the blame.

“Are you an apparition?” she asks.

I swallow. “I’m real.”

Her mouth sets in a familiar way. Looking back, I can’t think of a single memory from my childhood where my mother wasn’t frowning at me. This frown is the one she gave after I told her I finished my chores. It means: she doesn’t believe me.

“Come to mock me?”

For a few beats, I say nothing, surprised by the accusation, hurt that she hates me so much that she thinks the sight of me is a punishment from Hell. What’s harder to look at, me or the monster?

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I finally got away from you,” she says with rising intensity, “and you’ve clawed your way back! Everywhere I turn, there you are. My failure.”

Something cracks in me at that word… probably because it’s so accurate, cuts to the crux of my insecurities.

“I’m not a failure.”

She stares at me for a moment, says nothing, then raises her hand.

My cheek burns, tears unwittingly coming to my eyes. My head has jerked to the side from the force of her blow and I keep it there for a few seconds.

“Do you think I would be here if it weren’t for you? Do you think I would suffer? You are an evil girl,” she spits.

Evil.

I shut my eyes briefly, and decide in that half of a second that I’ve had it. That I’m done with her and the things that she tells me.

“And I guess you aren’t at all responsible for that,” I say, rubbing my cheek.

Her eyes narrow, but her chin dips, brow furrowing; she looks almost confused by the strength in my voice. “What do you mean?”

“You raised me. Everything that I am, everything bad and wrong, comes from you.”

“You were born wrong,” she counters.

“Let’s say I was. For argument’s sake, we’ll agree that I’m evil and messed up. Don’t you think that you could’ve fixed that, or that you could’ve at least tried?”

She stares at me, face twisted with disgust. I thought my words would’ve had some kind of an impact, but she looks like an addict when you try explaining that what they’re doing is wrong. Maybe she is aware, at least on some level, but she doesn’t care. She will never listen to me, because this isn’t about me; this is about her.

It’s not an easy realization. I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, I’ve rehearsed this conversation so many times. I’ve thought of so many different ways to try to earn her respect and love. She’s part of the reason why I accepted Jaegen’s bargain in the first place. But I realize now that, even if I had succeeded and Aris was gone, she still wouldn’t like me. She will never like me.

The disappointment is nearly debilitating, and I must lock my knees to keep myself from collapsing.

My mouth opens on its own accord to ask about my dad—does he feel the same way? Does he have a room in this hallway, too? But my lips press together before I form the words. I am afraid of the answer.

“You ruined everything,” says my mom, voice trembling. “I hate you.”

“I know,” I say, and turn away from her. For a moment, I worry that she will attack me, pull me by the hair and pin me to the floor, but this fear is twice removed, almost numb.

All I want now, is to go.

The devil makes itself known in the corners of my vision, its crooked, massive grin fixed right on me. I stare back at it. I know somehow, innately, that I could ask it for mercy for my mother. Whatever is being done to her, I could request that it be lessened. This thing would listen.

I step off of the stage but look back as my mother lets out a furious cry. She leaps at me, only for invisible strings to catch and keep her fixed in the air. She stares, immobile, shaking with rage, and I look at the devil. It has its claws raised like a puppeteer.

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