Page 63 of Never Enough

The bathroom light is too bright. My eyes struggle to adjust as she hauls me in it.

I’m trying to think, but it’s all choppy.

The tub, it’s full of water. Clear and still.

A chill runs through me as I come to a heavy realization. Mom has been planning to hurt me for a long time.

“Mom?” My shaky voice comes out small. Hope on top of hope, I pray that me reminding her of her parental bond with me will pull her out of her current state of mind.

Then, she starts to sing, and for a pathetic moment, I think she’s coming to.

“Light she was and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine. Herring boxes, without topses, Sandals were for Clementine.”

She doesn’t think. I twist in her arms, trying to bring her out of whatever fog she’s under. I don’t understand. “What’s going on? Mom, please!” I’m begging, but my heart races with fear. She struck me, dragged me, and now we’re in a cramped bathroom, with her blocking my only way out. This isn’t good, and I’m not near my phone.

Rather than respond, she continues the next verse. “Oh my darling, oh my darling. Oh my darling, Clementine. You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine.”

“Mommy you’re scaring me.” The words tumble out between sobs.

There’s a twisted satisfaction in her tone now. Hurting me gives her pleasure. My pain makes her happy. “Drove she ducklings to the water. Ev’ry morning just at nine. Hit her foot against a splinter.”

That’s not the end of the verse. Then, she grabs my shoulders and shoves me backwards into the tub. My calves smack against the end, and my back hits the wall.

“Fell into the foaming brine,” she finishes.

We struggle. My back bends as I try to stand, but she manages to punch my stomach, which makes me double over in pain. Then, she painfully grabs my hair from the back. I’ve always keptit long because it reminded me of my grandma’s hair—long and flowy—but right now, I hate it. I wish it was short.

My torso bends over the lip of the tub. Seconds before my head dunks, I scream,“Mom!”

Water.

Cold.

Everywhere.

“Oh my darling, oh my darling. Oh my darling, Clementine. You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine.” The words are muffled, especially as I scream under the water.

I pull up, yanking and thrusting my head backwards. Now, I can only hear portions of the song as I fight, but unfortunately, I’m battered and weak, so she easily overpowers me and dunks me again.

“Ruby lips above the water. Blowing bubbles, soft and fine. But, alas, I was no swimmer. So I lost my Clementine.”

My head submerges, and I can’t breathe. Panic claws at my chest. Legs kick. Arms flail. She’s strong. Too strong.

“Mom.”It’s a gurgle. Useless and only making my lungs burn as I swallow water.

Cold seeps into my bones. I’m fighting, but the strength is slipping away. Mom’s anger, a tangible force, pushesme down, down, down.

“It’s time to go home,” Momsays as she brings my head up, only to dunk it under the tub water again. My lungs burn as I open my mouth to breathe, taking water into my mouth. I’ll do anything for even the quickest of gasps. I’m not ready to die, so I fight.

I claw at Mom’sarms.

I scream inside the bathtub, bubbles floating to the surface in desperation.

I even dive further in, going from hanging over the tub with just my neck and head in to submerging my entire body. This way, Momhas to extends her arms further, and at five foot four, I’m already taller than she is. My arms are longer. If I can just pull away enough, she’ll have to exert more energy.

It’s amazing how much and how little is going through my mind during this. All my brain is processingis how to survive. I’m ignoring everything else, like the chill of the water, how Momis wearing all black to prepare for my early funeral, and the cruel words she’s sputtering at me as I claw and fight my way to my next breath.

She submerges my head back into the tub, but this time, I hold my breath. She’ll tire out faster if I just hold on.

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