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I Hate You, Mom

Author: Janina peters
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-07-13 19:23:26

MIA

The world spins around me. My eyes flutter open and I’m staring at the ceiling of my room in Aaron’s house. The last thing I remember is the biting cold, the relentless downpour, and the heart-wrenching pain I felt as the phone slipped from my hand.

“Mia… darling, it’s your mother.” His voice cracked. “They… they found her. At the office. In her cubicle, Mia. She’s… she’s gone.”

Joe’s voice, broken and unfamiliar, still echoes in the hollow space behind my ears. Gone. My mother. Dead. The word feels foreign, an alien concept that refuses to root itself in my reality. I must have blacked out and Aaron whom I had been arguing with brought me back.

A cold, hard knot forms in my stomach, tightening with every shallow breath. I push myself up, my limbs heavy as if weighted with lead. My eyes scan the room, frantic, detached. My hands, surprisingly steady, move to the backpack. I pull clothes from the dresser drawers, stuffing them haphazardly into the already full bag. T-shirts, jean
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  • THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA    Velvet Seats and Loaded Smiles

    NATALIEThe noise of the city greets me and suddenly I’m missing the quietness of Texas. People are everywhere here, barely any breathing space.My mind drifts to Reese. I wonder if he will be up for one of our mini smoking sessions. He has a good stash. I shake the thoughts from my head. I can’t deal with him right now. Not today. Today, I push the thought away, a sour taste on my tongue. I need distance and time to think even if it’s just for a moment. Instead, my feet carry me in the opposite direction, away from the docks, towards the neon glow of a supermarket. One thing I do need, consistently, is a fresh pack of cigarettes. I reach the checkout, a pack of my favorite brand clutched in my hand. The cashier, a tired-looking young woman, scans the pack, her eyes glazed over. I pay, the crinkle of the bills a small, satisfying sound. The plastic bag feels light in my hand as I push through the automatic doors, stepping back out into the cool evening air. The city noises assault me

  • THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA    "When Power Steps Out of the Shadows"

    NATALIE Mia and I finally part ways and I inform her I’ll be leaving for New York soon. She thanks me again before heading into her house. It’s quiet here, too quiet, very different from the constant noise of New York. My phone vibrates, a jarring sound in the stillness. I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. Reese. My stomach clenches, a familiar mix of annoyance and curiosity. He’s probably calling for our usual meet-up, a ritual that involves cheap whiskey and even cheaper drugs, a momentary escape from reality. I answer, bringing the phone to my ear, already formulating my excuse.“Hey, Reese,” I say, cutting him off before he can even utter a word. “Look, I’m in Texas. Yeah, Texas, believe it or not. So our usual… thing… is a no-go for a while.” Reese’s voice cuts through the line, sharp and devoid of his usual laid-back drawl. “Shut up, Natalie. Listen to me.” His tone is harsh as usual, slicing through my pretense of nonchalance. My eyes narrow, a flicker of irrita

  • THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA    Soft Enough to Slip In

    NATALIE I can’t believe I'm here right now.I stand among the mourners at Mia’s mother’s funeral. The air is heavy with the scent of lilies and unspoken grief, pressing in on me from all sides. A part of me, a small, shamed part, tries to conjure genuine sorrow, to feel the sting of loss for a woman I barely knew. But the truth is that my presence here is to solidify my relationship with Mia. This funeral is not about mourning; it’s an opportunity.The service, an endless drone by the pastor about how life is short and all that shit, finally concludes. People begin to disperse, their hushed condolences fading into the distant murmur. Back at Mia’s family house, everyone is all around talking and eating. That’s what funerals are all about. At least they had someone to mourn unlike me. I watch as Mia enters the house after a tall man in a leather jacket. I barely focus on him as my gaze zeros in on Mia.As I approach, Mia’s gaze lifts, meeting mine. A small, faint smile touches her lip

  • THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA    "Two Weeks , No Mia"

    AARONTrina sits across from me, her usually sharp features softened by a rare, profound weariness. Her dark eyes, typically analytical and piercing, hold a glint of genuine pity. We’re deep into it, going through the details of Mia’s mother’s death, trying to piece together a truth that feels off. I clench my jaw, and the muscles are rigid. God, my chest aches. It’s a physical pain, this inability to be there, to wrap my arms around Mia, to simply be with her. She’s grieving, broken, and I’m here, a world away, trapped by chains I was born into. The image of her devastated face that night and the pictures from the investigator I hired in Texas play on an endless loop in my mind. She needs me, and I’m failing her. It’s not just the distance keeping me away. It's the fear that my own grandfather is somehow responsible for the death. How can I openly offer comfort, offer support, if every touch, every word, could inadvertently draw her deeper into the very darkness I’m trying to prote

  • THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA    I Hate You, Mom

    MIAThe world spins around me. My eyes flutter open and I’m staring at the ceiling of my room in Aaron’s house. The last thing I remember is the biting cold, the relentless downpour, and the heart-wrenching pain I felt as the phone slipped from my hand. “Mia… darling, it’s your mother.” His voice cracked. “They… they found her. At the office. In her cubicle, Mia. She’s… she’s gone.”Joe’s voice, broken and unfamiliar, still echoes in the hollow space behind my ears. Gone. My mother. Dead. The word feels foreign, an alien concept that refuses to root itself in my reality. I must have blacked out and Aaron whom I had been arguing with brought me back. A cold, hard knot forms in my stomach, tightening with every shallow breath. I push myself up, my limbs heavy as if weighted with lead. My eyes scan the room, frantic, detached. My hands, surprisingly steady, move to the backpack. I pull clothes from the dresser drawers, stuffing them haphazardly into the already full bag. T-shirts, jean

  • THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA    The Quiet That Follows

    MIATwo weeks. Two weeks since I got the call, two weeks since I last heard his voice – Aaron’s voice. And now, two weeks later, I stand here, numb, watching the pastor in a black suit drone on about life, death, and eternal peace. My mother. She’s gone. Forever.The small gathering around the gravestone is a blur of black coats and hushed whispers. Close friends of the family, mostly. People I’ve known since I was a child, their faces etched with sympathy I don’t feel I deserve. Not yet. I haven’t cried. Not a single tear since the news. My eyes remain fixed on the polished granite, the freshly carved letters spelling out her name. Mrs. Valerie Brent. My mother.It feels surreal, like I’m watching a movie of someone else’s life. This can’t be real. Mom is just… away. Probably in her office working overtime again. A warm hand settles on my shoulder, a steady pressure that grounds me. I don’t need to look to know it’s Drew. He’s been by my side since he arrived a day after I did. He d

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