My mother's face took on an apathetic look, which I always imagined she had under that mask.
"Do you really think I'm crying just because of my image? Don't you think that's a little surreal? Aren't you the one who over-dramatizes things?" What are you saying? Are you blaming me? For what?
She was facing me. She didn't speak while she looked at her nails, or at the table; her eyes were fixed on my body, on my face, on my eyes, on my being.
"Well, a lot of things, really. You're a lost cause. You think swallowing it all will get you anywhere. You're nothing but an idiot if you think you'll ever get anywhere with all that stuff inside you." …?!
The tone he used to speak to me was the same as when he got angry with me at home. A bitter and completely hostile tone, and in some cases, even sarcastic.
"Do you see yourself as someone better just because I left you behind, and because I can't stand you anymore? How many things do you think you've done better than me?!"
Many, hundreds, thousands! Do you really think that 'doing something' means barking every day that you're sick of being a servant!? If you're not willing to do what you have to do, then die and bring back ^[Ç+? ! Then at least your shitty life will be worth something.
"What you say loses weight when you're the one doing nothing. Before I left, you didn't do the few chores I assigned you. You always blamed your sister, and she was too kind to reject you."
She did it because she wanted to. There were more than a few times when I didn't do things I was supposed to do because she told me she'd do them for me!
She sounded irritated and indignant as she sat in her chair, maintaining that sharp gaze while throwing everything she had to say at me.
The room behind her began to distort, however subtly.
"And the times she didn't want to do it, but still agreed? You have no excuse for that, admit it. We sent you, not her."
…Even so, I did my homework. I studied when I had exams, I did my homework when assigned, and I've always gotten good grades.
They were stupid ideas. Everything he said was nonsense. What do I care about all that now? Do you think that's what's important now?
"But you always left everything to the last minute. We trusted you because you got good grades, but you hardly studied at all. You said you were too lazy to study, or that you had plenty of time. Not even you know how you got such good grades. You'll do badly in the future with that mentality."
But I did what I had to do! My responsibility was to go to class and get good grades, and that's what I've always done! I may not have studied much, but that was because I didn't need to!
"I've told you before. You didn't do what we told you at home. That was your responsibility, one you completely shirked. Just because you've done half the job doesn't mean it's complete! "
That was the only thing I couldn't answer.
"But, well, that's not what bothers me. Although it's also another responsibility you've always had, you haven't fulfilled it."
What are you going to tell me now? That I haven't supported her? That I've abandoned her? I've heard that before. It doesn't have to come from a bitch's mouth for me to understand.
I turned my gaze to the ground, no longer able to look in the direction she was facing. Still, it made me dizzy to look at the ground. Everything looked so pale, as if it lacked color.
"No. What you haven't done is different…"
The apathy on her face gradually changed to pure repulsion. Her tone went from hostile to cold. In short, she became the woman who knew someone completely different.
"You haven't been his younger brother."
…?
"It felt more like a toxic relationship than a brotherhood. She was always the one who supported you, the one who stood by you, but what have you given her besides problems? Besides weight, what else have you contributed?" ...I...
"What? Now you don't know how to defend yourself? So you know you were the first to go to her, but the last to offer yourself to her, right? When you think of ^[Ç+?, you only think of ^[Ç+?, not your sister. You see her as just another person in your life, someone who's done so much for you. But you spit in her face." …
As soon as I tried to speak, she stood up from her chair. Her face began to darken.
She decided to speak to me while standing, without leaving behind that cruel tone, judging as much as she could the person in front of her, whom she continued to look at with contempt.
"Not content with leaving her alone, you've shifted your entire weight onto her. Have you even considered my daughter important for who she is, and not for what she does? "
"Aren't you ashamed to be the first to throw all that in my face, when you're the first one who doesn't have the right to speak with that mouth? All you know how to do with that tongue is talk, not help. You only know how to take, not give. You're selfish. A parasite. Talking to you about anything is like talking to a wall, since you're not going to do anything, much less change. "
The more she talked, the more she seemed to be about to throw herself at me. Along with this feeling, my mother began to approach me, however slowly. I could barely see her face.
"You don't feel sorry for her, you don't feel sorry for having crushed her with the weight you've placed on her, going to her for comfort from time to time, recounting your problems as if they were a novel. The only thing you achieve with such exaggerated and fragile hardships is that she sees you as someone strong, who will try to improve, when in reality you're a piece of glass thinner than paper."
By the end, he was practically right next to me. I could hear his voice clearly in my right ear, and I felt his presence in turn. I didn't have to look up to know he was there. I was scared.
"You make her think you have a worse life than hers, that her life seems like pure glory, and yours a lightless abyss. How can someone with that feeling open up to others? 'There are so many more people having it worse than me,' 'It's just a silly thing, I'll get over it.' No matter how much it hurts, she dismisses it as a deficiency in her conscience, a farce that not even a psychologist deserves to know about. Don't you know the damage a few hurtful words can do?"
"And even worse is that you have more things to brag about. Friends, peace, happiness—you rubbed it all in his face. Everything embarrasses you, but this doesn't?" ... Sorry...
As soon as I uttered those weak words, my mother grabbed me by the collar of my shirt with considerable force. She was forcing me to look into her eyes.
Her face darkened completely, her irritated eyes standing out. She was exhausted from talking to me. I could only respond with a harried and terrified look. The room lost all its saturation, becoming a mixture of black and white tones.
"Do you think saying sorry is going to do anything? Those kinds of empty words should be kept out of the mouths of any bastard who wants to use them! You can't undo what you've already done. No way. No matter how hard you work to 'make up for it,' you'll never fix it. You're just avoiding the problem. You're not helping anyone. Not even yourself. People who can just relax with that should be left with a hole in their chest just like the one they tried to fill."
His voice echoed in my head, making the black lines and gray tones of the room disappear, leaving a bright white predominating everywhere.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get my mother's hands off me, no matter how much I hit them or squeezed them. Even worse. Every time I tried, more hands appeared.
They were black, and they were thin, very thin. They seemed malnourished. They even emitted a faint black mist, which lacked any warmth. These hands weakly grasped every part of my chest.
What prevented me from removing them was the fear of touching them.
"And don't think you're going to fix everything by running away! Just because you don't see the problem doesn't mean it isn't still there. You should be ashamed of yourself even thinking about it! Even if no one wants you alive, including yourself, you have to keep living for the sake of justice. God won't judge your sins because he doesn't exist. You can't punish a rotten, lifeless body, that's why you have to live!"
Every part of me screamed in fear except my mouth, which I clenched my teeth with. My face was a mixture of fear and despair.
The fragile hands kept appearing, even though I'd stopped resisting. They forced me to stare at my mother, holding my head and eyelids, so I couldn't move at all.
My mother's face began to distort as the room lost all its color, with the familiar white tone predominating.
His figure began to stretch and deform little by little, while his voice sounded less and less natural. He increasingly resembled that of a monster.
" Live so that all those affected can punish you! And if you are the only one affected: Suffer! Take the punishment at your own hand and mind day after day until your anger is relieved! Endure those stares every morning, noon, and night, to satiate your paranoia! Live with that burden for the rest of your days, so that it may rest next to you in the grave! You will not suffer to live, nor live to suffer…"
A white place.
"Live to appease all those you have disappointed. Especially me."
I was standing. No one was holding me back anymore. Nothing was going to stop me. I wasn't looking at the person in front of me. My eyes were shaking. I had heard and processed every word they'd said to me, and yet, I still felt confused.
I brought my hands to my face to rub my eyes. To clear my vision. Maybe then I can see who's in front of me. Maybe then...
Several colors collided with my eyes when I opened them, all typical of the living room I'd seen so many times. I was sitting at the living room table.