Guardians: The Fallout (Book 2): Guardians, #2

I am lying still in Thomas Case’s arms. Outside, the sky is gray and mirthless. The wind sings a chilling song as it hurls large drops of rain onto the street below. The rain is heavy and strong, it pounds and claws at our window, demanding to be let in.

It’s only two in the afternoon, but given the shady out-of-the-way motel we’re in, I’m certain we’re not the only ones in bed. But we are probably the only fully clothed ones. Well, mostly clothed. We have both unbuttoned our shirts. Or rather we had unbuttoned each other’s.

Ameana, it’s been raining for six days, Thomas says in an accusing tone.

He’s right; the weather is my fault. Angels can’t make it rain but once it starts, our misery can keep it going. He knows I’m the angel who’s responsible because any time I focus on something other than my ex, the rain stops.

You’re going to flood New York City, he complains.

One less place to save.

What an un-angel-like thing to say.

I roll my eyes and look out the window. The gray sky seems to go on forever.

What angers you more, that Marcus didn’t fight for you or that he chose her? he asks.

I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said that to you before. I hate repetition, so don’t make me say it again.

Whatever, we don’t even need to talk, he says, pulling me closer to him.

He kisses me aggressively. I kiss him back with overwhelming need. We are locked in a full embrace when he suddenly pushes me off of him and sits up.

Damn, you can’t stop thinking about him long enough to kiss me? he barks. I sit up beside him.

I wasn’t thinking about him, I lie.

Then why was it raining harder just now?

I’m not the only angel with worries.

Yeah, whatever, he says, irritated as he lies back down.

I lie back down as well. This time we aren’t touching. A few moments pass by. There is no sound other than the relentless rain I’m bringing down on the city.

He did fight for me. That’s how I knew it was over. He never had to fight to make himself want me before. But then…

Then he met Emmy, Thomas concludes.

He tried to hide how he felt about her, I say with disgust.

I guess he didn’t try hard enough.

All of his efforts were pointless. I knew he had stopped loving me even before he did. I recognized the look in his face; it was the same look my mother gave me.

When?

Right before she killed me.

As I tell him my Core (the story of how an angel spent their last few minutes on Earth before they died), Thomas seems to melt away as does the motel room and even the storm outside. The only thing I see in my mind’s eye is the life I had before I had wings, back when I was human. Back when there was only one person’s love I wanted, my mother’s.

I know everyone says that their beauty is a hindrance, but for me it was more than that.  Beauty was the reason my family fell apart, it’s the reason I was never happy, and eventually, the reason I was killed.

My mother was born in the back alley of an all-night laundromat in Savannah, Georgia. The girl who gave birth to her didn’t stick around longer than the time it took to gather her things and crawl into the night.

A customer heard my mother crying and came to her rescue. The doctors later said that my mother nearly froze to death. She spent a few weeks in ICU. They named my mother Trisha, after one of the nurses who cared for her.

Trisha spent her life thinking that had she been prettier, she would have never been abandoned. Many people tried to tell her that she was, in fact, very beautiful, but she just couldn’t or wouldn’t see it.

In her mind, the only reason to abandon a child was if that child had somehow disappointed you. And how can a baby disappoint anyone? The only way is if the mother had taken one look at the baby and decided she wasn’t pretty enough to be a part of the family.

It didn’t help that she spent the first few years of her life going in and out of foster homes. She always had to compete for attention against the other girls. Finally, at the age of fourteen, she and another girl, Kathy, were both adopted by the Sewell family. They were very good to the girls. They never felt left out or unwanted.

But a year later Mr. Sewell was laid off from his job. They could only afford to keep one of the two girls. My mother dreaded the thought that she would have to go back to being a ward of the state. For the next few weeks she tried to be the perfect daughter. She worked around the house, did extra homework, and stayed out of the way. She was certain that if the Sewells could see what little trouble she was, they’d choose to keep her.

But when it came down to it, they chose to keep Kathy. It broke my mother’s heart. She decided that they chose Kathy because she was prettier. So, once again she had lost something precious because she wasn’t the best looking one. And for the next four years she focused on one thing and one thing only: looking good enough to steal any and every spotlight.

But it wasn’t enough that she looked good; she had to look better than every other woman in the room. If she got a job in some office and there was a woman who was even slightly more attractive, she would manipulate and torment the girl into quitting the job.

Despite what many thought, my mother didn’t settle down with a flashy, super rich guy. She settled down with my father, Earl, who was an accountant. He had money, but not as much as the other guys she could have married. I think the reason she chose him was because under all of the flash and fashion, she just wanted to be loved. And my father truly loved her.

The two of them lived in a nice neighborhood in Connecticut with manicured lawns, SUVs, and high-tech alarms. And every function they went to, Trisha was hands down the best looking. Finally, my mother had the happiness she had long sought.

Two years later, quite by accident, she had me. She took one look at me and went into self-protective mode. She thought that I was pretty; too pretty. She had to step up her beauty routine so that I wasn’t the main focus. No one should look better than her, not even her own child.

My mother thought that when I hit puberty I would go through an awkward stage and that she would once again have the spotlight. That was far from the truth. I only grew more into my looks. Everyone, without exception, found me profoundly beautiful. This hurt her deeply.

She would even accuse my father of loving me more than he loved her. He would deny it. His denial only fueled her rage and paranoia.

If my dad complimented me on a dress that I was wearing, the next day she would accidentally spill bleach on it. I worked on an art history paper for two weeks because my dad said we could all go camping together if I got it done. After I finally finished it, she went to my laptop and erased it. She said it was written poorly. I found a backup copy of it later and handed it in; I got an A-.

There was also the time I accidently ate food that contained peanuts. I was horribly allergic and my throat closed up. After calling for the ambulance, my friends called my mother to tell her that I was on my way to the hospital. It was the night of their twentieth anniversary. She neglected to tell my father because they were having such a good time and she was determined not to let me ruin it.

When she finally told him, he ran to the hospital, his wife reluctantly behind him. When she came in and saw me lying there, I saw something that I never thought I would see in my mother: concern.

That’s when I realized that there was a war raging inside her. She loved me because I was her child, but I was also everything she had trained herself to feel threatened by: I was beautiful, loved, and wanted. That made me the enemy; how could she love the enemy?

I smiled to let her know that I knew she loved me.  And she did, she really did. It’s just that sometimes she forgot. I kept asking myself, How do I get her to see that I’m her little girl? What do I have to do to get her to remember that she loves me?

Over the years I had tried everything. I tried to be Mom’s little helper when I was in grade school. She said I was incompetent and that I was slowing her down. She would inspect my face to see if I had gotten pimples like other thirteen-year-olds, but my face was always flawless. That seemed to disappoint her. Finally, at fourteen, I tried to gain a lot of weight. I thought that would make her like me more; I even failed at that.

But three years later, lying in that hospital bed, I realized she did love me. All I needed to do was keep trying to figure out a way to get close to her. I wanted to make her happy more than I ever wanted anything else in my life. If she was happy, she’d be more like a mom; she’d treat me like her daughter and not a rival.

A few weeks later, my father and I had a stupid argument. He grounded me for a few days and said he was very disappointed in the way I had disregarded the rules. He was so upset he barely spoke to me for a whole week. That was the happiest week of my mother’s life.

That’s when I realized the only way to get close to her was to alienate him. And although it was hard, I kept a cool distance from my father for weeks.

But my father saw right through my plans and accused my mother of putting me up to it. The two of them argued back and forth for days. I tried to make peace in the house but it was beyond my control; it seemed everything was.

I hated my life. I wanted to be unremarkable. I wanted dull parents who never fought. Or at least parents who fought about normal things like bills and taking out the trash. Instead my mother would fight with my dad because he spent ten dollars more on my Christmas present than he did on hers.

I thought about the other girls in my school that got picked on because they were considered unattractive. I wondered if my mom would have liked them better. I wondered why the heavens would punish me with this face, this horrible face that evoked fear, rejection, and loathing from the one person who was supposed to love me the most.

One night during a huge blowout about her wanting to send me away to school, my dad asked her point-blank.

Trisha, she’s your daughter. Why do you want to send her away?

Why do you want to keep her?

Because I love her, for goodness’ sake. Don’t you?

She didn’t answer with words but rather with her silence.

I can’t do this anymore, Trisha. I’m taking Meana and we’re leaving.

No! She lunged at him. He restrained her until she calmed down. She began to weep.

Earl, I can’t lose another family. I can’t. Please, please don’t leave me. This is all that bitch’s fault. I wish she was never born! She wailed for hours. I watched from the hallway and my heart broke for her.

It’s not her fault that she didn’t like me. It’s not her fault she couldn’t bring herself to love me fully. Maybe some people on this Earth weren’t meant to be loved and I was one of these people. It’s my fault. I am unlovable.

I ran to my room and scratched out every picture I had of myself. I looked in the mirror and cursed my face. She’d love me if I was less pretty. She wouldn’t feel threatened. I wouldn’t be breaking her heart. My father wouldn’t have to take me away.

She spent the next few days refusing to get out of bed. I’d come home and climb into bed beside her.

Everyone’s parents came to the award ceremony. I got two of them; one for art class and one for my science project.

Okay.

I wish you had come. You would have been the most beautiful person there.

Only if I locked you in the closet, she said darkly. I sighed and sat on the floor and waited. I waited for her to remember that she loved me. It was just a matter of time before she remembered again.

For the next few days, she begged my dad not to go. He refused to stay. He asked me to go with him, but I wouldn’t go. I had to stay and look out for my mother. I loved her and she would love me again soon. No matter how cold or dismissive she was right now.

So, my dad took off. He moved to a hotel until he could find a permanent place. My mom tried to stop him. She literally clung to the man she loved. But he left anyway. The next day I came home and my mother was in the kitchen. I said hello and she actually answered me back.

I’m glad you’re home, Ameana. I have been acting like a fool. You’re just a kid. You can’t help what’s going on between me and your dad.

I’m so sorry, Mommy. I want things to work out. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Please tell me. I held her tightly. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to belong to her. I sobbed over and over again. She held me close. I wanted to stay in her embrace forever.

Your dad’s coming back home tonight, we’re all going to talk as a family. I think I can get him to change his mind. I think I’m still attractive enough to make a man change his mind, don’t you?

You’re the most beautiful woman in the world. You can get Dad to do anything.

I think I can too. She smiles and gently pulls me off of her.

Go, get ready for dinner. I’m making your father’s favorite: five-alarm chili.

Can I taste it? I asked.

Not yet. I’m all out of seasoning salt. Can you go across the street and get some from Mrs. Parker? she asked.

Yeah, sure. I headed out the door. Mrs. Parker lived just a few houses down but I had to turn back; it was way too cold. I needed to go get my scarf. As I approached the back door, I saw my mother through the window. She was stirring the pot and adding pepper. As she went into her purse to take out something, I couldn’t help but be hopeful; maybe we would end up being like a real family.

She went back to the pot and poured clear liquid from the vial she had gotten from her purse. Then she put the contents back in her purse. I knew what it was. I told myself that I should go. I should call my father and have him pick me up. But I couldn’t get myself to truly believe it: my mother just poured peanut oil into the food, knowing that it would kill me.

No, she would never do that. She loves me. She will remember as soon as I walk into the door. She’ll see my face and remember that I’m her baby. Trembling and frightened, I walked into the kitchen. My voice shook as I spoke.

Mrs. Parker wasn’t home.

It’s okay, it actually doesn’t need any more salt.

What time is Dad coming?

He should be here in an hour or so. Sit and try the chili. Tell me what you think.

Sure. Her face had profound sadness in it. I was certain it was peanut oil she had poured into the bowl. I looked in her eyes as she scooped the poisoned chili into my bowl.

Till this day I’m not completely sure why I accepted the bowl from her. Maybe there was a big part of me that felt that the love she had for me wouldn’t allow her to actually go through with it. Or maybe I believed that this was the only way she’d ever find peace.

But I didn’t want to die. I hoped with every fiber in me that she’d remember that she loved me. She loved me. She loved me.

Suddenly, she took it back from me. Wait, Meana, she said.

I wept with relief.

Yes, Mom?

You forgot the spoon. She took a spoon and placed it in my bowl. I nodded, on the verge of tears, and took a seat at the table. I stirred the poison in my bowl as my mother waited for me to eat it.

You know who you resemble? she asked me.

Who?

Kathy.

From the group home?

Yes, you have her eyes.

Mom—I love you.

"You two have the exact same eyes."

Please remember you love me. Please remember I’m yours.

She took away the only family I ever had.

You have us now—me and Daddy.

Your father and me, we never argued before we had you.

You can send me away if you want. Then it could be just the two of you again.

I don’t want to die…

He’d never let me. He loves you. That’s why this whole thing is happening.

She’ll remember she loves me; she’ll remember.

If you ever find love, run baby; it will just break your heart to know the things you are willing to do to keep it all for yourself.

Mom, please…

Try the chili, baby.

I took a spoonful and tears fell freely down my face. She remained removed and stone-faced as I swallowed. As the hot liquid made its way down my throat, I yearned to see it travel down inside of me.

Not that I needed to see it to know what was taking place inside my body at that exact moment; my dad and I researched peanut allergies when I first learned I had it. Soon I would go into anaphylactic shock, my immune system mistaking the harmless oil for poison and attacking it. In a matter of seconds, I’d be nauseous, my abdomen would be ripped apart by waves of pain, my pulse would race, and my throat would close up.

As the poison began to take effect, I felt an emotion that I didn’t think I could ever feel towards my mother—fury. Why couldn’t she fight to love me? Why couldn’t she just try and be like a normal mom? I could see she was conflicted about what she was doing, but why wasn’t she strong enough to stop herself? I hated her at that moment. I hated her for being weak. I wanted to throw things. I wanted to throw her.

But I was already too weak to hold my head up, let alone throw things. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. She wiped my face with her cool hand. I leaned my head back. The room was spinning. The pain ripping through me held me captive. I couldn’t speak for fear that I would vomit and choke on it. I could only look at my mother and plead with my eyes. As my airway began closing, I choked out my last words:

Mommy, you love me.

Then right before I closed my eyes, I looked in her face once more. And there I finally saw the truth: she hadn’t loved me all those years, she’d been trying to love me. Those are two very different things.

I would have gone away with my father. Maybe I would have stopped trying and accepted my mother for who she was. Maybe if I had faced that fact I would have lived longer. Maybe.

None of it mattered. It was too late to do anything but close my eyes. The last sound I heard came from my mother. She was sobbing loudly. At first I thought it was because I was dying. But as I listened closer, I realized her cries weren’t those of sorrow and regret; they were that of a woman who had finally, finally found peace.

The sound of Thomas’ voice pulls me out of the vivid memory and back into the bleak present before me.

You think they arrested her? he asked.

Trisha was a lot of things but she was never dumb. I’m sure she gave them some story. You want to know the stupid thing about all this? I miss her all the time.

You think she misses you, don’t you?

Of course she does. She’s on Earth being eaten alive by regret.

You actually think your mother’s sorry for what she did to you? he asks.

My mother made a mistake.

She made a choice.

As you may have guessed, Thomas isn’t the kind of guy to sugarcoat anything. I’m the same way. But that doesn’t mean I want to hear what he has to say; at least not about this. I kiss him to get him to shut up. Several intense, fervent kisses later, he pulls away and says, I need to go.

He doesn’t give me an explanation; which is fine because I don’t require one.

He gets up, buttons his shirt, and puts his coat on. The look on Thomas’ face as he heads out the door says we are back to business. In an official tone he says, Bye, Guardian.

My reply is equally official.

Good bye, Rage.

As soon as Rage left, my cell phone vibrated. I reached over