Tyler's POV:
The blonde-haired policewoman offered me a drink, and the cold water helped calm my racing heart. A little bit.
My mom died by suicide. But that doesn't make sense. She never showed signs of wanting to hurt herself or end her life.
When I set the cup back on the table, I looked at the woman and asked in a hoarse voice, "Can I see her?"
The woman calmly looked at me and nodded with a sigh. She pushed back her hair and waved her hand, gesturing for me to follow her into the hall.
I followed her into a room that made my skin turn cold and set my teeth on edge. I looked around and knew it was a morgue like the kind in movies. Haunting. Morbid. There was nothing but a white room with hundreds of cabinets containing dead bodies.
The woman calmly stepped to a drawer and opened it with a squeaking sound.
My heart pounded as I walked to the body that hadn't yet turned white and bluish. The woman lying on the hard board was my mother.
Her black hair was similar to mine. Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping. Her lips were closed but pursed. The white coverlet lay over her body, protecting her private parts.
Before I knew it, the back of my eyes burned. A lone tear slid down my cheek and fell to the floor by the woman's side.
I whispered, "Mom."
But she didn't answer.
I reached out, touching her hand that was peeking out from underneath the white coverlet.
I called again, "Mom, you promised not to leave me alone. Why did you do it?"
I looked at her wrist and saw a long, thin line. The wrist revealed the cause of her death. I slowly touched it. I should've felt disgusted or frightened, but I wasn't.
This was my mother. Feeling the thin, smooth cut in her wrist sent a sharp wave through my chest.
I sealed my lips, holding back another cry. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I bowed my back and kissed her forehead to say my goodbyes.
"Mom, I love you. I will take care of myself for you and me."
I vowed quietly. The atmosphere was deadly silent before the policewoman calmly pushed the board back into its place.
I walked out of the hall and turned back to the policewoman. She sighed and walked to me. She took out a small black card from her pocket that had her name on it.
"If you need anything, you can call me. Anytime. Morning or night."
I looked into her eyes. I could tell she was genuinely sincere. I gave her a forced smile, "Thanks."
***
I arrived home and came to pack my clothes. I am going to stay with my stepfather and stepbrother.
When I thought about my stepbrother, it helped me a little. I used to be close with my stepbrother. He was an adorable kid who loved to follow me around.
He liked to follow me to the park, school, and my friend's houses. At first, I hated it because I didn't want to babysit him, but over time, I grew accustomed to it.
My brother's eyes looked at me as if he worshiped me. Like a god. Like I was a savior.
He would do whatever I said.
Without me knowing, the corner of my lips lifted into a half-smile.
I folded my clothes into my suitcase. I looked at my old room- the walls, the bed, the carpet-everything that helped me become who I am today.
I looked at the walls.
Waves of memories flashed through me like an ocean. My mom and I painted these when I was little. Those were fun and simple times.
And my stepfather was there, along with my stepbrother.
We all had a good time. We were a family.
I looked at my phone as it rang, then placed it next to my ear.
"Hello."
It was that policewoman.
"Hey, I'm just calling to check on you. Don't forget the address I sent you."
I replied, "I won't."
"Alright, good night."
I replied goodnight before hanging up the phone. I had two days left to stay here. All my life belonged here. My friends. Even my dead mother was here.
I moved the suitcase to the end of my bed and crawled under the covers before turning off the lights, sleeping in the dark.
My mind drifted into dreamland. For some reason, I dreamed about the things I said to my mom.
Horrible things.
Guilt tugged at me.
I couldn't help feeling like it was my fault that she died. What if she killed herself because of me?
If I weren't such a bastard, would she still be alive?
***
"Mom, stop bugging me. I told you I don't want to move."
My mother looked at me with a stern glare, her hands on her cocked hip, her voice raised into a high pitch. "Young man, don't speak to me like that, or you can kiss your phone goodbye. I'm not asking you; we'll be moving within two weeks."
I turned around to glare at her. "Why must we move?! Our life is here. My friends are here. My school."
"We've moved so many times over the past year. Can't we just stay here?"
"No, you know why."
" Yeah, because of your precious job that you love more than your son!"
Her face turned frostier. "How dare you?"
My words made me feel guilty, but my anger and frustration kept erupting. Everything I'd bottled up exploded like a raging storm.
She shook her head as if she couldn't deal with this anymore, her lips still pursed. "I have my reasons, and I don't have to tell you until I'm ready."
She pushed back her hair roughly. "Please just do as I asked."
Frustration runs through me, and I open the door, shouting the last words towards her. "I hate this, and I hate you! If you weren't such a bitch hiding everything, maybe I would be so accommodating to your wishes!"
I slam the doors. My words ring in the air like smoke.
I didn't know those words would be the last words I would say to her.