“I never loved you.”
I know she is trying to hurt me, but that is the most genuine thing she has said to me since I was a kid.
“I tried, y’know, I tried really hard, but you- you destroyed me. I mean look at me! Look at what you have done to me!”
I do look at her, and I don’t see any remnants of the woman meant to nurture me. I see a vessel, hollow, empty, and I feel no warmth from her. I bow my head, allowing her to exhaust herself by berating me, as if she is preaching God’s wrath. At this point, this is the only time she ever talks to me. When she is too drunk to stand, and screaming at the TV doesn’t provide her with enough satisfaction because it can’t recoil at her words, she turns to me for solace knowing that even I have some emotion. A connection with fizzled wires that refuse to ever meet.
“I regret a lot of things, but having you has to be at the very top. You are my greatest sin, may the Lord forgive me for bringing such a nasty, vexing, evil woman to life.”
After she repeats the things she said to me last night, and the night before that, and the night before that, she passes out on the couch. I gently lay her down and cover her up with the only blanket that isn’t soaked in wine. I replace the empty bottle with a freshly opened one, so she doesn’t accuse me of stealing it. I look at her once more, and I have half a mind to burn the house down, purifying my greatest sin. I wish I were strong enough to do it.
