Brainstorm

Through her tears, she looked up at the small lumps in the hotel bed. It was their third day in the motel, and her kids were starting to ask questions. Well, they weren't asking but she could hear the questions. Monica had been holding it together for so long but without her escape, she was starting to slip. She kept writing, though their dreams were starting to make her cry. Haven was running through a park with her, dancing with the daisy crown that Monica hid in the trees. Fallon was dreaming he was in a chocolate river and little Sophie was playing with elephants in a forest. Such happy children. She couldn't provide that happiness for a long time.

Monica took the pad into the bathroom and went into the bathroom. Outside, she could hear someone coming. I'll quit one day, a gruff voice was saying. Maybe one day. Monica crossed the words she was writing out and tried again. A woman's voice pulled her away this time. What if I never see them again? What if I get in the car and just start driving and don't stop? What if I hit a tree or a pole or--

"No, stop," Monica murmured as she wrote.

The pen was piercing the paper, carving her words into all the pages below it. The woman had moved on and some children were passing. She could hear them, calling for their dad, thinking of a vacation in New Orleans. First stop, Houston. And when we get there, I'll get to see the biggest alligator in Louisiana. Her children never got to take trips that were longer than an hour on the bus. She tried to get to Atlanta once, convinced she could start over there, but the state was investigating her for Haven--

Monica stowed the notebook behind the toilet, grabbed a razor blade from the cabinet, and went out of the bathroom. Her kids were all still snoring. She pulled on her hoodie and stepped outside. The humid April air swallowed her up, but she deserved to sweat. She deserved it. She deserves this, a woman's voice invaded. It's been three days. They aren't leaving.

"I am too!" Monica screamed at no one.

The wind blew around her. Unknowing people went to their cars. Monica pulled a cigarette out with a shaky hand and went down the motel steps. She turned into an alley and knelt down next to a dumpster. A person walked past, whistling and thinking of how they get such large tunas into such tiny cans. Monica lit the cigarette, rolled up her sleeve, and pressed it to her forearm, biting her lip. The cigarette fizzled and Monica relit it and pressed it to the other arm. She repeated for a few times, then noticed something glimmering in the faint light. She dropped the cigarette and crawled over to it.

A syringe. Without thinking, she grabbed it and retreated back into the room. She went into the bathroom and was taken aback to see her young son looking up at her. He smiled at her.

"What are you doing out of bed, Fallon?"

"I had to pee pee. I think I forgot to lock it."

Monica smiled. "Yeah, you did. Did you have a bad dream?"

Fallon nodded. What happened to your arm, mommy?

Monica rolled her sleeves down and hugged her son tightly. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Mommy will protect you from the bad stuff."

I'll protect you from the bad stuff too, Mommy. Monica clicked the light off and carried Fallon back to the bed. She laid him in the bed and tucked him in.

"Don't worry Fallon. Everything will be better tomorrow. I love you, sweetheart."

"Goodnight Mommy. I love you too."

I have the best mommy in the whole world. Monica went into the bathroom and closed and slid down the door. She sobbed silently into her knees, clutching the syringe so that it was sticking into her. He thinks she's the best. Kids are so naive. They have no idea that they live with evil. Only Monica did. She knew from the time she was two that her mother didn't want her and wished she'd been aborted. She knew that her mom had been a cheater since she was seven, and found out the man she'd known as her father wasn't her father at ten. She'd always known. She'd hoped to be better for her kids, but she couldn't. She'd never be better. She could never give them their dads. Haven's dad wouldn't even be eligible for parole until she was twenty-five. Fallon's dad was there but wasn't the family man that he needed in his life. And Sophie's dad chose his wife. She tried to be better than her mother but turned into her. And now she was stuck under a cloud of her children's dreams.

Monica sobbed as she slammed the toilet seat lid on the syringe, shattering it. She climbed into the bathtub and pulled out the razor. Her sister had inadvertently taught her to do this, she reminisced as she sliced down her arms until both arms were leaking blood. she scraped at her thighs and neck until she was being drained. She turned the water on and took her belt off. Her brother had contemplated doing this once. And he called her weak. She wasn't weaker than him. She could at least do what she started. She wrapped it tight and buckled it. Barely able to breathe, she stabbed herself repeatedly with the broken syringe until her abdomen was pouring blood. She was getting sleepy but the voices were getting fainter.

Finally, she would be able to have some silence. Peace. If only she was able to give her kids some peace. She stabbed the syringe into her stomach again but was too week to pull it back out. Her eyes were drooping and she heard one of the kids getting up. No. They couldn't see her like this. She closed the curtain and tried to get the belt off of herself. No avail. She flailed in the water, trying to unbuckle it. It was hopeless. She was only managing to slide herself deeper into the water, and her splashing would alert her kids. She tried again, but couldn't. She couldn't stop it. It was too late. Too late for her to save herself. Her body was shutting down and her head was falling underwater. Softly, she heard, Mommy must be taking a shower. I'll leave her alone. I know she needs alone time when she gets sad.

Then silence.