2 SUFFOCATION

I press my hand against the glass door of the store to push it open but stop when I see 'PULL' written on it. 'Every time' I think and roll my eyes.

'Yup, you prove you are mindless every time' my mind says back.

'You see how that is ironic' I inaudibly say.

'Yeah whatever' it shuts up.

I wrap my small fingers around the silver steel handle and pull so I can enter the store. I enter an aisle on the starting of which a wooden board is hung that says 'BAKERY' in golden letters and pick out a bottle of vanilla essence from the vertical section that says 'FLAVORS' on it. I toss the bottle from one hand to another while I leave the long, narrow aisle. I keep the bottle and money on the desk when I reach the checkout. The short girl behind the desk greets me with a smile but immediately turns her attention back to the boy standing beside me. He blinks twice and turns his face sideways to look at me. The corners of his mouth lift to form a crooked smile. Correction. A cute boy who is approximately my age is standing beside me. His hair is black and ruffled, his eyes are alert, and his face is flushed. He quickly picks up a brown packet from the desk; however, not before I get a peek of the condoms in it. He stuffs the packet in the large pocket of his cargo pants and pays me a glance before half running out of the store. Appreciative; he is careful because some people forget and a few months later results like me pop up.

"Thank you," the short girl smiles and hands me the change. I nod and smile back and leave the store after again almost pulling the door when it clearly said 'PUSH.'

I put my hands in my oversize jacket's pocket and exhale loudly while watching the ruthless black winter sky hovering over me. If my parents had used protection that day; I wouldn't be able to admire the trees, the birds, wouldn't have met Isla. But I also wouldn't have to see mom crying, wouldn't have my every breath burdened by pure suffocation.

'Sure go ahead, you have every right to be ungrateful' my mind taunts me.

'Sorry' I rest my eyes on the ground beneath me.

I enter my house and quietly walk to the kitchen. Mom and Isla are standing beside each other with their arms interlocked. Mom is holding an electric blender which is hovering over the mixture of, from what it looks like, of milk, egg and vegetable oil. I paste a smile on my face and clear my throat to announce that the third wheel is back.

Isla turns around and smiles widely at me, but I know it isn't genuine as her eyes keep dodging my gaze. "You are the best" she takes the vanilla essence from my hand and pours exactly half a teaspoon of it in the incomplete mixture. Mom turns on the blender, and a displeasing sound replaces the silence hanging in the air.

I stand near mom to get a glimpse of her face. The corners of her lips are turned downwards, and a frown has creased the skin on her forehead. I remove my eyes from mom to look at Isla; her expression isn't that different. "I am going to my room," I pause and continue when Isla looks at me, "come bore me."

She lets out a laugh and follows me to my room. I search for my pajamas in my closet while Isla carefully places herself on the bed. She presses her lips as she looks at me but then looks away. I slip into a cozy grey sweatshirt and sit beside her, "out with it," I say.

She breathes deeply and drops her face, "is everything okay?" she begins, instantly pushing me far away into my defense cover, what does she know?

"Yeah, why?" my eyes grow wide, and a frown appears on my forehead at which she shakes her head and replies, "nothing, just found your mom to be a little upset, everything okay with you two?"

"Yes, why did she tell you anything...did she?" I blurt out, terrified.

"She didn't tell me anything, but I felt it," she eases out my panic.

I cautiously exhale, not wanting her to know I didn't breathe in the last two minutes. I purse my lips and nod, "I will talk to her." I have felt it too; the smile I saw on her face before I left was the first I had seen since this morning, but the truth is I am not going to talk to her; it won't help, not after all these years. That time where I could talk to her never came and never will.

Isla leaves an hour later after kissing my cheek and telling me she will meet me in school tomorrow.

I lay on my bed but am unable to sleep. I shift from left to right and then right to the left more than a dozen times before my anxiety forces me to sit up while similar dreaded thoughts continuously attack me. I throw the blanket off me and stand up, taking deep breaths. I walk toward the door of my room and extend my right hand to twist the knob. I pause when I touch the cold doorknob, fist and relax my left hand five times, open the door and walk straight to mom's room. I know what she would be doing, I have seen it hundreds of times when I shouldn't have and this night will be one such where I won't lock myself in my room... like I should.

I stand outside the slightly opened door of her room. I peep inside, moving just my neck forward and see her sitting on the edge of her bed. Her long fingers hold two photographs close to her chest while her eyes wet her face with a stream of saltwater. I purse my lips tightly to eliminate the sound of my fastened breathing as I watch mom successfully cover the sound of her desperate crying using the television.

'What have you done to her,' my mind says.