Page 22 of The Official Problem
“Liar!” she screamed, snatching the book off the sill and hurling it across the room. It thudded hard against the wall. “Get out, get out, get out!”
Matthieu froze. Should he go to her? Flee into the hallway and let the nurses take over? Before he could react, the decision was made for him. A nurse and doctor rushed in, sweeping past him like he wasn’t even there, eyes locked on his still-screaming mother.
“Get out! Get out! Get out!”
“Sylvie,” the nurse said softly, turning her by the shoulders so she no longer faced Matthieu. She met his mother’s eyes, hands moving in gentle, practiced strokes. “Shall we have some tea?”
The doctor took her wrist, quietly checking her pulse.
She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I was sitting here,” she mumbled, “and suddenly there was this strange man.” Her eyes found Matthieu by the door, narrowing with suspicion. “I’d like him to leave. Will you make him leave? Please. I want to be alone. I don’t know who that is.”
Matthieu made it home just before the hurricane of emotion hit. He’d gotten good at this—pushing the pain down, holding it in, keeping it together until he was behind his apartment door, where no one could see the cracks spidering through his surface. Her illness wasn’t her fault. He knew that. The pain still cut deep. It wasn’t his fault either, but that truth felt like a distant echo. Something he couldn’t quite believe anymore.
His heart pounded as he dug out his phone and opened his chat with Julie, fingers fumbling over the keys.
Matthieu
She’s getting worse.
Delete
Matthieu
I can’t do this.
Delete
Matthieu
I’m not sure I can visit anymore. It’s too hard, and I know that makes me a bad person. I think being there is more damaging than not.
Delete
He remembered when he was the one getting messages like that. The helplessness they brought with them, the guilt. The inability to fix anything. The way it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. It wasn’t fair to dump that on Julie—not after everything she’d already given up for their mother. She needed this time to finish school, to finally have the experiences their mother’s illness had always taken from her.
Just a couple of months.
He could hold it together. He could carry all the broken parts of himself a little longer if it gave Julie the peace that came with not knowing.
Something snapped. One second, all he felt was hopelessness. The next, suffocating rage. It surged, red and hot, flooding his vision, tensing every muscle, grinding his teeth together. His whole body vibrated. If he didn’t get it out, he’d combust.
Before he knew it, his fist slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. The drywall split, leaving a jagged hole. The remnants of his rage crumbled at its edges. Pain exploded, sharp and blinding. He staggered back, clutching his bruising knuckles, cradling them like it might calm the fury still tearing through him. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He’d seen this before. The way his mother used to snap—cold words one second, full-blown outbursts the next. Irrational bursts of rage that left everyone scrambling to avoid the storm. Matthieu had spent his childhood trying to predict them, to calm her before the tempest broke. Now, in the hollow silence of his apartment, he felt the same turmoil inside him, crawling under his skin.
Was he like her? Becoming her?
The thought churned his stomach and refused to leave. The rage, how fast it took over, how quickly it rose and consumed him, terrified him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Just clutched his bleeding hand to his chest, desperate to ground himself. To make the world stop spinning for a second.
Deep breaths. In. Out.Just breathe.
He didn’t know how long he’d been kneeling. He couldn’t remember falling in the first place. When he finally lifted his head, he was hunched over, making himself small, trying to block out the evidence of his outburst. The hole in the wall mocked him, jagged edges a reminder of how fast he’d lost control. How fragile everything was. Another thing he wouldn’t be able to fix.
He picked up his phone from where it had fallen and fired off a message to his sister.
Matthieu
The visit went well. Today was a good day. I miss you.
