Kayleigh’s eyes danced across the enormous dining room, sitting across from him at the oak table that must have been at least fifty feet long. Relentlessly, she watched him as he moved his fork oh so slowly through the thick substance of yellowish cream corn.
Scrape. Scrape. Gulp. Scrape.
She wanted to puke at the sight, but she knew that she couldn’t. Instead, she just sat across from him, one leg carefully situated under her small frame, while the edge of her other heel rested on the edge of the chair. Her chin was resting on the top of her raised knee, and she sat patiently, silently while he ate.
Finally, she got sick of the silence. “You didn’t tell me I was going to have to stay here, Trace. And more so, you didn’t tell me that he was going to pick me up,” she stated cautiously. She had to say something, the silence was killing her.
Minutes passed. Nothing. He just sat there still, his head staring down at the bowl as he continued to stir.
Scrape. Scrape. Silence. Scrape, Scrape.
His face was unmoving, tilted downward as he stared at his hand. This was killing her. He wasn’t eating, and he definitely wasn’t talking. She was about to remove that spoon from his hand and feed it to him like he was a little kid, airplane noises and all.
Her sigh was audible as she continued to watch the moving spoon, transfixed by the movements and the sound that they would make, especially since there was nothing else to focus on. What to say,..what to say?
“Trace...?” she trailed off again, hoping he would take the bait and answer her. He grunted in response.
“Trace, sweetheart,” she continued. “I didn’t travel 2,000 miles to watch you play with your food. A webcam would’ve been cheaper,” she stated. She was trying to bring humor to the situation, but it obviously wasn’t working as he just made a disgruntled noise.
She watched nervously, painfully, as he got up. He looked angry. She turned her head away and closed her eyes as she heard him throw the bowl into the sink, the spoon and cream corn flying throughout the area where the sink was. She took in a shaky breath. Was it really this bad?
Her feet seemed to slowly untangle themselves from her position as she moved to get up. Her eyes took in his form, seeing his elbows lean over the corn covered edge of the sink, his hands moving to cover his face. She thought she saw his body quiver, perhaps from crying, but she wasn’t sure.
Her feet moved her to his body more quickly than she had imagined, and in no time, she was standing next to him. Her arms wrapped slowly around his waist, her lips moving to his trucker hat covered head, shifting it slightly so that she could kiss his temple. She felt him quake in her arms, and soon, she heard the sobs come.
This was not going to be easy.
“Shhh,” she comforted. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Unaware of their silent watcher, she slowly helped him stand up straight, reaching over to grab a washcloth to rid his forearms of the icky cream corn. She then slowly reached up to pull his cap off, resting it slowly on the counter, staring up at his face. His eyes were bloodshot already, probably from nights of restless sleep, and they were starting to get puffy from his crying. She hadn’t seen him cry in years.
“Ohh....Trace, sweetie,” she uttered. “C’mere,” her voice whispered silently. She felt his strong arms wrap around her tiny waist, his nose slowly nuzzling against the soft skin of her neck as his body continued to shudder with tiny sobs. Standing there, her hand slowly caressed his back as she silently swayed with him, trying her best to comfort him. “It’ll be okay, Trace. It’ll be okay,” she finished.
Her eyes traveled up his frame as she saw his body slowly pull away. He must’ve grown a few inches, as he was much taller than her now. Slowly, her hand moved to take his as she led him out to the living room, away from the owner of the house that had been watching them silently from the doorway without any of their knowledge. Her frame slowly sank into the cushions of the leather as she helped him move to lay his head in her lap.
Inching slowly, her fingertips traced little lines through his hair as she stared down at him. Her free hand moved to caress his arm and his back as she watched his features silently as he continued to sob. “Are you ready to talk about this...about your mom?” she asked slowly.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be melodramatic,” he uttered. His body would go in and out of sobs as he stared off into space while basking in the feeling of her hands on him, the comfort enveloping him. “I just don’t know how to deal with this. For the first time, I feel lost, confused, and alone.”
She nodded. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked curiously. It was a simple question. She didn’t want to jump in too quickly and make him a wreck again, but she knew that she needed to get him to talk about his mother. She was totally in the dark. She wanted to know what was going on, but not if it risked making him feel better. That’s what really mattered.
He seemed to struggle with his words before finally starting to talk. “I don’t know. The doctor’s don’t know. She’s been losing weight like crazy. She’s lost 40 pounds so far, and she looks like death. She went to the doctor for it, but it was just a treatment of the problem instead of solving it. She’s getting worse. All she does is lay in bed all day and cry. She can’t get up, she can’t do anything,” he continued, tears again coming to his eyes with every word. He tried not to let the sobs get to him, but his words would be broken up every once in a while by a sob.
She continued to caress his body as she listened. “Oh, Trace...” she trailed off. She didn’t know what to say. How was she going to make him feel better? No matter what, she wasn’t a superhero, and she couldn’t fix his ailing mother. All she could do was sit there with him and caress his sobbing body. She was glad when he started to talk again without her having to provoke a response from him.
“This is just difficult,” he sighed. “I’m so alone and depressed right now, mostly because I can’t talk about it with very many people. I’ve tried to talk about it with Justin and with Gabriella. And I want to keep talking about it with them, but I’ve been so angry and so depressed and so scared. Every time I mention it, I lash out, and I take everything out on them. It’s not like I mean to, I just...I can’t help it Kayleigh. Now they’re both avoiding me--they don’t want to talk to me at all. It’s like they’re skittish little kittens stuck out in a thunderstorm. I’ve lost my best friends in the whole world and I’m losing my mother,” he finished softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Wow. She was breathless. What he laid on her was heavy, and she knew that his words were sincere. She could understand the lashing out part, as she saw him throwing his bowl of dinner at the sink, but how was this going to be any different with her? At least she got him to talk to her, right? Maybe that was more than what he had done with the other two, or maybe they were so busy or uncaring that they forced him to lash out. Whatever the circumstance, she was unaware of the situation between the other three. All she was concerned with was him, her, and what was happening right now.
“Of course it’s difficult,” she continued. “She’s your mother. She’s been there for you all of your life, through your mistakes, your troubles, and through all of the good times and the memories. I know it’s hard, Trace. I know that. I can see it written all over your face and from everything I know about you. But I also know this. You should be thankful that you’ve at least gotten to know your mother. She’s lived a fairly long life. Sure, she’s not 80 or anything, but she won’t have to suffer with the pain of getting old, her joints and bones aching, or even losing her memory,” she stated gently. She was always one to look on the bright side.
He sighed, her words sinking in, but instead of taking them to heart, he started to get angry. “What do you know?” he started. “You’ve never lost anyone in your life. You don’t know how it is to lose someone that you care about, to have the whole world crumble around you. You have no idea how...how it feels to have your heart shatter, to have to watch the one person who’s ever cared about you whither away to a tiny piece of matter,” he continued, his voice raising as he sat up, the hot tears burning down his face in steady streams of tears. “You don’t know anything,” he finished, throwing the blanket on the floor as he started to get up. She had never seen him like this, but his statements made her angry.
“Trace Alaya. Stop, for one fucking minute, turn your white ass around, and you listen to me. And I want you to listen to me good.” She slowly stood up, glad when he stopped, but noticed he didn’t turn around. She continued her advancement to where he was standing, grabbing his forearm near his elbow as she turned him around. Her eyes were narrow, and her breathing was calm and even. She was angry, but she wasn’t going to yell.
“If you think for one fucking minute that you’re the only person in the world that has ever felt the pain of losing someone, then I’m sorry to report that you’re sadly mistaken. People die everyday Trace, and I’m sad to know that your mother is dying. I love your mother, and you know that. Unfortunately, it’s a fact of life, and it’s her time. You need to come to grips with that. We’ve all seen our share of people withering away. I’ve seen too much of it, to be honest. I hate sitting here, watching you sob and cry while your mother is withering away somewhere, and all that you’re doing is sitting here and complaining about her dying. You should be there, with her, instead of sitting here crying to me. Spend the time you’ve got with her before you don’t have it,” she finished. She slowly turned, preparing to leave to go back up to her room.
Before she got to the stairs, though, she realized she needed to say one more thing. She turned, paused halfway up the stairway.
“Oh, and before I go, remember this. You haven’t talked to me or heard from me in over two years, Trace. Don’t even give me that shit about I don’t know how it feels, because you know nothing about my life or what I’ve gone through. So rethink it before you tell me what I’ve done or what I haven’t done, okay?” She sighed, staring at him for a few minutes before heading to the stairs. “I’ll be in my room if you decide you’re ready to really talk.” Soon, her lean frame had disappeared up the hallway.
Story Tags: celebrityj justinandtrace college
