Page 72 of Deviant

Watching a person that you love just fade away like this… it’s fucking infuriating.

This unseen enemy she’s fighting all on her own is one I can’t do anything about.

And it fucking sucks.

I’m angry all the time.

All the fucking time now.

And once she’s gone, I fear what I’ll do.

Nora and Mom were the only people who kept my anger and fury at bay.

With Nora gone… and Mom quickly withering away… Aidan and I will be left to our own devices, and that’s not a good thing. I might end up killing the fucker just for breathing funny on me.

Fuck.

I can’t think like that.

Not yet, anyway.

Not while my mom still needs me.

“Shit,” I yell when she starts choking on the soup. “Shit! I’m sorry. Damn it all to hell,” I curse as I drop the soup bowl on the floor in my haste to help her.

This is all my fault.

I can’t be this fucking distracted.

I go to one knee to start cleaning up the mess when I feel my mother’s fingers run through my hair.

I crane my neck back to stare at her gaunt face and repeat, “I’m sorry.” And as I stare at her fragile frame, my anger dissipates instantly.

She shakes her head and frowns.

“No… sorry,” she says breathlessly.

“Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

She shakes her head even more profusely.

“No… sorry,” she repeats. “Just… grace.”

I hang my head down low because I no longer know the meaning of the word. I’m sure she would prefer me to cut myself some slack, but I can’t.

I’m all she’s got, which means I can’t fuck up like this.

If she’s counting on Aidan, then she’s in for a rude awakening.

The little shit already looks at her as if she were a chore instead of the woman who brought him into this world. The selfish fuck doesn’t even try to hide that he’s counting down the days until he no longer has to care for her. But that’s my shit-stain brother for you. If it doesn’t jump on his dick, then he can’t be bothered with it.

Fucker.

Yeah, he might have our mom’s eyes and her blond hair, but that’s all he got. The rest he inherited from our father.

When my mother lightly tugs at my hair, urging me to look up at her again, I do as she wishes.

“It’s… ti… me,” she says, exhausted.

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