Nothing could save me from this. The thought of her so sick, fighting to keep the light she beamed so bright from fading, destroyed me.
Arriving at my house, I stared across at the window that had captivated me for twelve years. I knew she was on the opposite side. The house was in darkness. But as I moved my feet forward, I slowly ground to a halt.
I couldn’t … I couldn’t face her … I couldn’t—
Turning on my heel, I rushed up the steps to my house and burst through the door. Tears of anger and sadness were ripping through me, both fighting for dominance. I was being torn apart from the inside.
I passed the living room. “Rune!” my mamma called. I instantly heard the catch in her voice.
My feet drew to a stop. When I faced my mamma, who was standing up from the couch, I saw tears tracking down her cheeks.
It hit me like a hammer-blow.
She knew.
Mamma stepped forward, her hand outstretched. I stared at it, but I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t…
I rushed for my bedroom. I smashed through the door and then I just stood there. I stood dead center and looked around, searching for an idea of what to do next.
But I didn’t know. My hands lifted to my hair and gripped at the strands. I choked on the sounds leaving my mouth. I drowned in the damn tears tracking down my cheeks, because I didn’t know what the hell to do.
I took a step forward, then stopped. I moved to go to my bed, then I stopped. My heart thumped in a slow, lurching beat. I fought to drag air through my clogged lungs. I fought to not fall to the floor.
And then I broke.
I let the waiting anger free. I let it infuse me and carry me forward. Reaching my bed, I bent to grip the frame and, with a loud roar, I lifted it with all my strength, overturning the mattress and the sturdy wooden frame. I moved to my desk and, with one swipe, cleared the top. Catching my laptop before it hit the floor, I spun where I stood and hurled it into the wall. I heard it shatter, but it didn’t help. Nothing was helping. The pain was still here. The gut-wrenching truth.
The goddamn tears.
Clenching my fists, I threw back my head and I screamed. I screamed and I screamed until my voice was rough and my throat was raw. Dropping to my knees, I let myself drown in this grief.
Then I heard my door open and I glanced up. My mamma stepped through. I shook my head, raising my hand to ward her off. But she kept coming.
“No,” I rasped, trying to move out of her way. But she didn’t listen, instead she dropped to the floor beside me. “No!” I spat out harder, but her arms stretched out and wrapped around my neck.
“No!” I fought, but she pulled me to her, and I lost all that fight. I collapsed into her arms and I cried. I screamed and I cried into the arms of the woman I’d barely spoken to in two years. But right now, I needed her. I needed someone who understood.
Understood what losing Poppy would be like.
So I let it all out. I gripped on to her so tight I thought it would leave a bruise. But my mamma never moved; she cried with me. She sat quietly, cradling my head as I lost all strength.
Then I heard movement from the doorway.
My pappa was watching us with tears in his eyes, sadness on his face. And that reignited the flame in my stomach. Seeing the man that took me away, that forced me from Poppy when she was about to need me most, it snapped something inside.
Pushing back from my mamma, I hissed at him, “Get out.”
My mamma stiffened and I pushed her back further, glaring at my pappa. He held up his hands, shock now etched across his face. “Rune…,” he said in a calm voice.
It only fueled the flames.
“I said get out!” I stumbled to my feet.
My pappa glanced at my mamma. When he looked back at me, my hands were clenched. I embraced the rage burning inside me.
“Rune, son. You’re in shock, you’re hurting—”
“Hurting? Hurting? You have no damn idea!” I roared, and stepped an inch closer to where he stood. My mamma jumped to her feet. I ignored her as she tried to move into my path. My pappa reached forward and pushed her behind him and out into the hallway.
My pappa closed the door slightly, blocking her out.
“Get the hell out,” I said one last time, feeling all the hatred I had for this man boiling to the surface.
“I’m sorry, son,” he whispered, and he let a teardrop fall to his cheek. He had the audacity to stand before me and shed a tear.
He had no friggin’ right!
“Don’t,” I warned, my voice cut and raw. “Don’t you dare stand there and cry. Don’t you dare stand there and tell me you’re sorry. You have no damn right when you were the one who took me away. You took me from her when I didn’t want to go. You took me from her while she got sick. And now … now … she’s dy—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I couldn’t bring myself to say that word. Instead, I ran. I ran at my pappa and slammed my hands on his broad chest.