Page 67 of Under the Waves

I hated myself inside this body,I hated myself and I wished it would all just stop.

My cheeks burned. I hadn’t even realized she’d slapped me.

“I lost my son because of you,” she cried.I could smell the alcohol on her breath. It danced a mockery over my skin. “He punished me nonstop becauseyoulived. You worthless child, all you do is cause pain!”

“Is that why?” I shouted back. I wanted her to hear me. I wanted her to see me over the empty pill bottles and spilled wine staining the carpets a deep crimson. “You hate me because I’m the only child left who isn’t in a grave?”

She didn’t slap me again, but I still felt her phantom touch on my skin.

Picture frames shattered. Lips screamed. Doors slammed.

“Mom,please,” I begged, watching as she broke, and broke, andbroke. She screamed and mumbled, and I didn’t know what to do. I froze. I watched as she destroyed everything.

It would be down to me to fix it. To put everything back together again.

If only I could’ve pieced our family back together.

If only I could’ve stopped him that night.

I knew… Iknewit wasn’t my fault but I’d heard the words so much that I started to believe them.

I trailed after her as she moved around the room, picking up shards of glass, smashed glasses, empty bottles. My fingers were bleeding but I couldn’t really feel the pain. She tore up the notebooks I had left sprawled out across the sofa last night when I fell asleep.

That was my fault—I never should’ve left them there.

I picked up the old photo frames and went to place them in the trash when she stole them from my hands, cheeks glistening just like the crimson crime scene scarring my hands.

“You ruined them!” She cried, reddened eyes piercing into my own.

Her words were her weapon, and I scarred each time she opened her mouth.

“How could you?” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as the stinging sensation fluttered across my skin like a butterfly. “He was my son!”

AND I WAS YOUR DAUGHTER.

I kept my lips shut. I swallowed the words. And Ibreathed.

“All you do is ruin, Poppy.”

You did that, mom. You did that all by yourself.

Not me. It wasneverme.

She suddenly paused, swinging her head in my direction. Those ghost-like bloodshot eyes found mine and locked onto them. “Where’s your surfboard, Poppy? You didn’t have it when you came back in.”

I was surprised you even remembered that, mom.

“I—” My fingers crept up to the back of my neck and pinched the skin there and until little red droplets coated my fingertips. I rubbed the evidence away and didn’t stop.

Rub. Rub. Rub.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

Over and over and over again.

“I l-lost it…” The words fumbled their way out of my mouth, my feet subconsciously taking a step backwards. My cheeks burned as her palm connected with my skin, heat blossoming in the absence of her vicious touch.

Again and again and again.