My Death Was Your Cleanest Mess Chapter 2

By 2:00 AM, the fire inside me had grown into an absolute inferno. It felt as though someone had poured hot coals down my throat.

Drenched in a cold sweat, I struggled to reach for my smartwatch charging on the nightstand.

Mom. I have to call Mom. She won't ignore me if she knows I'm really sick.

With trembling fingers, I tapped her contact. It rang once, twice... seven times before a groggy, hushed voice finally answered.

"Hello? What do you want at this hour?"

Hearing her voice, a sob tore from my throat. I thought I was saved.

"Mom... the disinfectant... it burns so bad... Mom, please help me..."

I waited for her to panic, to tell me she was calling 911. But her voice only hardened.

"Are you still playing this game? We literally just boarded the sleeper train. Stop throwing a tantrum, Maeve! You're going to wake up your sister. I know you're upset about being left behind, but this is the consequence of your own lies and making a mess of my kitchen!"

"No... Mom, please..." I rasped, my vocal cords raw and failing.

But before I could finish, the line went dead. I stared at the dark screen of my watch, tears slipping silently into my hair.

Mom, why couldn't you just love me a little bit more? Why did you have so much warmth for Naomi, but only cold suspicion for me? I hate you. I really do. Why couldn't you just love me?

The wave of raw emotion triggered a violent spasm in my chest. I sat up, choking, and vomited a thick, dark pool of blood onto the floor.

Panic set in. No, no, no. I have to clean it. If Mom comes back and sees this, she'll hate me forever. I dragged myself out of bed, grabbing a handful of tissues, frantically dabbing at the dark stain. But the moment my knees hit the hardwood, another wave hit me. I threw up again. More blood. Dark and hot. No matter how much I wiped, the smear only spread.

Terror seized me. My hands shook so violently I could barely navigate the screen of my watch. I dialed her again. It rang and rang, eventually shifting to voicemail.

Mom, why? Why have you abandoned me? Do you really hate me that much?

I coughed, a wet, rattling sound, tears of pain and betrayal leaking from my eyes.

I don't know how many hours passed, but eventually, the coughing stopped. The fiery pain in my gut began to fade, replaced by a deep, hollow coldness that crept up from my toes.