Chapter Text
My mother never loved me.
Sure, she'd take care of me and provide for me. If I was lucky I'd get a kiss on the cheek and a 'See you later sweetie!' as she dropped me off for school. Never meant it though. I'm sure it was an empty reassurance, she didn't want to see me as much I wanted to see her.
She'd only ever say the word 'love' to me when she was shit faced and I had to pick her up off the kitchen floor. Love was taboo in our house. Most of the time she wasn't even talking to me. And I can't ever forget the thinly veiled threats of what she would do to me if she ever got a hold of her bottle again.
It used to scare the shit out of me, but now I realize that fear had never compared to the fear of dying unloved and unwanted.
I never really noticed until I was thirteen and our school had a Valentine's day festival. The project was to get a parent/guardian to write you a love note and tape it to the outside of your locker. Some bullshit about 'knowing someone was there for you at all times'.
Well, when Valentine's day rolled around I had nothing to show for it. Well, I did have something. A shitty store bought Hallmark card that had 'Get Well Soon!' scratched out and in it's place written, 'Happy Valentine's Day!'.
If I wanted the grade I had to hang that disgrace on my locker.
I was constantly mocked for the remainder of the month until we took the cards down. For more than a month I refused to talk to my mother all though I doubt she minded, or even noticed.
That was ten years ago and in that span of time I happily let my connection with my mother die off by separating myself as much as I could from her. I moved in with my brother as soon as I turned eighteen and I kept all conversation with her as short as possible.
Now I'm standing in my nicest black clothes at my mother's funereal. Sadly enough it wasn't raining like how I always imagined it would.
My closest friends, Jade, John, and Dave surrounded me. Jade was crying uncontrollably, easily matching the others of my family that crowded the casket. John was looking down trying to avoid eye contact and apologizing for my loss every five seconds.
They barely even knew her. I'm jealous of that fact. I'm jealous, bitter, and angry over the only reason that I can't cry at my own mom's funereal is that I knew her too well.
The weird thing about death is, that after that person's died they are instantly idolized. Cries of 'Oh she was such a good person!' and 'Why do the good die young!?' ring out and I can't help but think that if they really knew her and her habits, they would think differently.
Or not, it's not my problem what they think anymore.
As I watched my mother's fine, purple, casket be lowered into her grave, all I could feel was detachment. The women that raised me died today and I can't even shed a single goddamn tear.
Pondering more on what the fuck was wrong with me, Dave put a hand on my shoulder.
It felt warm, a strangely welcome and comforting feeling that contrasted with the mid winter weather. He did nothing else, just gripped my shoulder.
Dave barely knew my mom either, his dad took him and moved to another state soon after I was born. He must've mistook my silence for sadness.
My name is Rose Lalonde and my mom just died.
I'm heartless to not feel a thing.
I'm useless to not be crying.