I think she loves me

The lights flick on with a blinding flash. It takes me longer than I'd care to admit to shut my eyes. When I open them again spots drift across my vision. Then there's that constant fluorescent hum. The buzzing that serves as an alarm clock in this otherwise isolated room, the only constant I have until the lights are once again shut off and I'm left with nothing but my own faults and thoughts. The soft buzz is punctured by the achy groan of a wooden door followed quickly by the steady approach of footsteps. Her heels clacking against the concrete floor of my room. It's Mother. It must be time for breakfast, or at least I believe it's breakfast. Truth be told it all blends together so much that I can't recall when I last ate. She steps into view and my eyes light up. It's what little movement I can muster since the accident. But I always thought the joy in my eyes would give her some hope. A silent comfort, just something to meet her own sweet, empty gaze and tell her it's going to get better, get easier.

"Open up Katy, you need to eat."

She always says this but I haven't regained movement of my jaw, I can just about twitch my lip and I assume she's taken this as a prompt to feed me.

"Open wider Katy."

She fishes the spoon out from the bowl, it looks like porridge again. I understand I'm a burden for her but at least she has taken it upon herself to look after me, I imagine not everyone is so lucky. She quickly jams the spoon in my mouth. The porridge is cold and the metal clanks off my teeth. It's quickly thrust to the back of my throat. I do my best to swallow. I swear I'm getting better at it. Mother seems to think so as she hurriedly shovels more between my lips. At least she's diligent. Her gaze is focused solely on my eating, those sweet, cold eyes seemingly fixed to my lips despite my own gaze trying to catch her attention. She is just busy though.

I swallow down the final heap of food, the muscles in my throat desperately squeezing and contracting. I don't want to cough. I don't want to upset Mother like before. The sharp drop of the spoon back into the bowl marks the end of breakfast and Mother, ever conscientious, quickly turns to leave. I listen out for a goodbye, a 'Love you Katy,' but between the buzzing lights, heels on concrete and the slow groan of the door opening, I hear nothing. The lights flick off and shortly after the comforting buzz slowly fades away before finishing with a slam of the door. I'm alone again, in the dark, still trying to swallow the rest of the porridge stuck in my throat while my eyes gradually adjust to the darkness. The paper on the windows seems to be tearing. From the far corner of my eye I can just about spot a beam of light penetrating into my room. No doubt Mother will come fix it soon. She had told me it's so I could sleep even when the sun's out but I'll admit I miss seeing my friends on their way to school. I guess for all the sacrifices she's making, I have to make some of my own.

That's why I'm here and not in 'my' room.

Mother said it was becoming hard for her to climb the stairs every day, that the garage will be much better for both of us. It saves her knees and I can't really do anything with my stuff anymore, that it'll be better to sell or toss out my things because 'cleanliness is next to godliness' and clutter is not clean. She always was a stickler for keeping everything spotless. Before the accident we'd spend hours and hours cleaning. Mother would point out the missed corners and the spots under the furniture, and I’d follow with my little dustpan and brush, dutifully sweeping away any speck of dust until my knees were red and my back ached. I miss being helpful and I'm sure Mother misses it too, I just hope she can get those corners without my help now.

I'm lost in my thoughts for a while longer, thinking about the better times when I could help with the cleaning and cooking, only for my little daydreaming session to be cut short by another blinding flash. Has it been so long so soon? I'll admit it's hard to keep track, but this feels early. More so, I forgot to close my eyes again. I blink rapidly to beat away those colourful spots in my vision, that droning buzz once again humming in my ear. Then the same footsteps, heels clacking against the concrete floor. It's Mother again, she has another bowl and some cotton swabs. I guess it's time for a bath.

These clothes have always been a bit awkward. Mother struggles with them as she shakes me around vigorously trying to undo the buttons on my shirt, then pulling me a good few feet down the bed when tugging down my joggers. My pillow slips, I can feel myself slipping too. Yet just as I'm about to fall, Mother grabs me, yanking me back into place. I feel something pop in my wrist and a dull ache lingers, slow and deep, but thank god she caught me. I feel so helpless. I can't even catch myself when I begin to fall. My arms want to move but instead I have to watch Mother let out an exasperated sigh as she does all the work for me. My eyes plead sorry. My vision clouds as tears well up but I can't grab her attention. I just want her to know how much I appreciate her, how much I love her for all she does for me.

But Mother does what Mother has to do. She's focused on cleaning me. The water is hot this time. While pleasant at first, it's painful as she flips me on my side and starts to clean over the bed sores. I can hear her hiss in disgust and I feel equally as revolting for letting myself end up like this. Soon I'll be better though. I can't wait for the day I can stand up on my own two feet and have a shower. I can help Mother and go back to how things were, just like before where she'd look me in the eye.

I slump back down into the bed and my clothes are quickly pulled back over me again. She doesn't do the buttons up on my shirt this time. It makes sense, she really had trouble getting them undone just now so at least it'll be easier for her next time. The steady clack of her heels fades further and further as she leaves. As always, I listen out. If it wasn't for those lights, her heels and the groaning door, I know I'd hear her...

The lights flicker off, the buzzing wanes while the door slams shut. I notice the pillow is still on the floor and I find myself slightly uncomfortable in this new position. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust once again. A single tear slips down the side of my face and for a moment I hang onto its warmth, its caress. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like. The tear reaches my ear and for a brief moment I imagine this warmth is me being embraced, being comforted and held.

I don't want to be like this anymore...

I love her,

I think she loves me too.