The things
I have done to avoid writing this Update, dear readers. I worked overtime, I
stayed out late and went on a killing spree – I’m now wanted in three counties
even if they don’t know it’s me – I took Casey out for a girls’ weekend, spent
way more money than I meant to, drank about as much as I meant to.
It was like
I knew the end was coming and I was trying to fill as much of my time as
possible with the things I love. I garroted a man on a subway platform, stole
his coffee and walked onto the approaching train like nothing had happened. I’ve
never felt sexier or more powerful in my entire life. And I could do that
because I’d done my research and cased the platform over the last few weeks,
found the blind spots, found the regulars who would be noticed if they went
missing. I picked a business man who clearly wasn’t used to taking the train to
work. His shoes were definitely not made for public transportation. He was so
quite when he died. I almost wasn’t sure he’d completely succumbed but there’s
no mistaking the weight of a dead man in your arms.
Normally, I
wouldn’t have put so much work into the premeditation unless it was a special
project but without James to have my back, I need to be careful. I’ve grown so complacent
that in his absence, I’ve had to rebuild the muscle – the instinct – to protect
only myself. And Casey. But she’s more self-sufficient that James and the kids
so I rarely worry about her these days. Maybe I should worry about her more.
Or maybe I
shouldn’t be a mother. I never wanted to give birth and I am so grateful that
is no longer something I need to worry about. But the children who came into my
care were no less my children. I’ve said as much a thousand times. The closest
people in your life don’t have to be related by blood – in my case, hardly any
of them are. At this point, I think it’s just my sister whom I haven’t heard
from in months, I don’t even know if she’s alive or if she’s safe. I probably
would have heard on the news if she’d been arrested again but other than that,
I don’t know how or where she is. I don’t know how I’m going to get word to
her.
Mother is
dead.
James
called because even if I didn’t tell him where I went, he always finds me.
Apparently he was the closest thing to a relative that they could get a hold of
so they told him. The doctors said something vague about heart failure – which I
find hilarious because it’s well documented that my mother never had a heart – and
assured him that she barely suffered. And now I have a choice: I can go to the
funeral on Friday, undoing all of the work I’ve done to leave my life behind,
or I can stay here and I can leave my mother to rot in peace knowing she got
the last word.
She named
James as the executor of her will. Not her daughter, her son-in-law. There’s knowing
my mother didn’t care about or trust me and there’s finding out that the
husband you’ve been separated from for two months is responsible for carrying
out your mother’s final wishes.
She barely
liked James, always said that his profession was beneath me, and yet he gets
this distinguished honor? I don’t even know why I want it.
I think I
wanted to know that somewhere, deep down, she loved her daughters – despite everything
she did to us over the years. But now I know the truth. And I don’t know what
to do. I guess I have two days to decide how I’m going to bid my mother
farewell.
It’s over.
As always,
dear readers,
Stay Safe
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