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Everything I've Known	By : SolusNemo Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > MEST Views: 1108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of MEST. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Ten: Blame Me

I’ve tried to talk about what’s really wrong
I see that look of discontent
The volume starts to rise and then it’s on
That’s why I have to go
Dealing with the pain is all that’s left because we cannot get along
You wanna put the blame on me again
I think that we have reached the end.

Abigail twisted the telephone cord around her finger as she waited for the person on the other end to answer. She didn’t really know why she was doing this, for a few seconds she called herself insane for putting everything on the line…But it had to be done. She could open a can of worms and send herself reeling into the past. A hundred bad things could happen because of this, but Abigail knew that not doing anything at all would be worse.

The phone ceased ringing, Abigail’s stomach contorted into a knot. “Mercue residence. Jennifer speaking.”

Panic. “It’s me, mommy. Abigail.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in so long! What’s the occasion?” She sounded happy. Maybe a little bit too happy.

“No occasion, I just wanted to speak to you.”

There was a relieved sigh on the other line. “How are things? Are you still married to Brennan?”

“Fine. Things are fine. And yes, I’m still married to Brennan.”

“Do I have any grandchildren?”

“No. Brennan, he doesn’t like kids so we’re not going to have any,” Abigail explained. She needed a mirror, a rubber band, anything.

“I’m sure that’s for the best. Being a dancer, pregnancy would only slow you down.”

Abigail’s finger was turning deep red. She stared at it and wondered how long it would take before the tip fell off. “I’m not a dancer, mommy, I’m an artist.” First mistake.

There was a silence, then a forced calmness in a sigh. “An artist? Like what? Pastels?” A poorly hidden waver passed through Jenny’s voice.

“Metal. I’ve been in a bunch of shows across the country—and a few over seas. I’ve finally made a nook for myself. Sure you’ve heard of me at least once. You should be proud of me, mommy.” Second mistake.

“After all the money I spent for all those years of dance lessons, and you do this to me? Throw it all away and—”

Her fingertip was purple now. Abigail unwound her index finger and balled her left hand into a fist. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what? Tell you the truth?”

Fist collided with wall. “Don’t push me back there! Quit trying to live your Goddamned life through me, constantly knit-picking even years after I left! You had to control everything and I can’t even stand here now on my own, the way I want to—I’m still standing like how you told me to!”

“Abigail, don’t you dare try to blame your incompetence on me.”

“But it’s your fault! You made me like this. I can’t make a fucking decision. I could be happy, but I’m on the phone with you falsely thinking that I can fix this…when all that’s going to happen is me killing myself all over again.”

“Then hang up the damn phone. Retreat into that weak mind of yours, hang up the phone and make believe that you did the right thing.”

Abigail shook her head, mind racing. “I can’t let you win,” she replied feebly. “If I hang up now I’m going to sit down on my couch and stare at the fireplace for hours, kicking myself for giving up when I know that I can do this. I need to get you out of my head, not keep you there.”

“I only wanted you to be what you were born to be, you were the one who stopped eating.”

“You were the trigger, you still are the trigger! Always, yours is the voice at the back of my head. But I’m letting you go, mother. Instead of just running away I’m finally ending it. I don’t need you anymore. Now I’ve gotten that push to deal with my life, not hide from it. Another coast wasn’t enough, I have to start my life today.”

Jenny didn’t reply, she abruptly ended the call. The dial tone whined in her daughter’s ear.

-

The sky was amazing, so many colors rolled into one. It was like cotton candy only better, the pinks and blues so soft and calming. If he had his camera with him Matt would quickly take a picture, but he was reduced to only watching it before the night rolled in and the stars popped out. He fell back onto the concrete floor of his hotel room deck, putting his hands behind his head. I wonder if Abigail is looking at this, he though with a smile. A breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby tree, like an eerie sign from those cheap horror movies, and a shiver coursed through Matt’s frame. He coughed, an attempt at calming his overactive imagination.

He was the kid who would run around the neighborhood (if one could even call it that), creating hundreds of complex games involving shadows and assumptions and observations of what the neighbors did. Matt still did that every now and then when he was bored; hiding out in the tour bus and peeping out windows, putting flags over peoples’ heads (mobster, serial killer, flat out maniac who any second would turn his head around like an owl and try to eat Matt’s flesh). It helped to pass the time, but it gave him nightmares more often than not.

Now, wheels and sprockets turning, he took the movement of the tree and the shiver still slowly working through him as a sign. He took in the fact that he was thinking about Abigail when this all happened, added a dash of worry, and instantly furrowed his brow: was something wrong with Abigail? Could Brennan have found out about the affair and went insane? Could she have been working on a sculptor, only to have it fall forward and crush her?

“Lovato, she’s okay. Breathe.”

The phone rang, a noise closely resembling a fire house alarm on steroids. He groaned as he stood up; not really wanting to get up from his sky gazing, but not wanting to miss the call if it was the police telling him that Abigail had been gutted like a fish. He slid the screen aside and walked into the hotel room, mind racing like a jack rabbit, the earsplitting racket from the phone stopping when he picked it up. He brought it to his ear. “Yeah?” His voice squeaked like it used to when he was first going through puberty.

“Tell me what you see when you look at me,” Abigail demanded. It sounded like she was pacing in the bathroom, or some other small room, because her voice had an echo to it. Her voice had a ring of urgency to it, like this was a life of death decision.

“Is something wrong?”

Over in her apartment, Abigail stopped walking back at forth and shut the door. She locked it and looked into the mirror. “Please, just do it.”

“Not until you tell me what happened. You’re not hurt are you?”

“No, I’m not hurt. I just called my mother and now I feel like all those years of treatment and therapy sessions have gone out the window.” She laughed dryly.

Matt looked up and stared at the wall across from him. He didn’t need to close his eyes to picture Abigail standing there, he thought about her enough to basically make her hologram show up in front of him. “I see everything good in this world, everything flawless and beautiful, an angel that shouldn’t be here but for some reason is. You’re perfect the way you are, Abigail, it’s not the weight or figure I’m worried about. You could gain two pounds or two hundred and I’d still be madly in love with you. God kill me now if I’m lying to you.”

There was a long pause before he heard her say softly, “If only I could have had you here in the beginning….”
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Everything I've Known