Never Been Loved

by C.M. Kars

  Christ, I just want to sleep.

  “You just can’t have any, all right?” I say through clenched teeth. Matty shuts up, and his shoulders hunch up like a turtle.

  “Okay.” The word is tiny and small, like him, in the face of this thing called diabetes. He doesn’t really understand yet how different he is from the other kids, and I never want him to. How people look at you differently, and how most of them don’t understand what your body’s going through. I rub my face with my hands, trying to wake myself up.

  “Look, I’m not having any cake, either. You know we don’t eat junk, Matty.”

  “Okay.” Now I feel even worse, and it’s his fault.

  “C’mon. Why don’t we go to the park for a little bit? I’ll push you on the swings, yeah?”

  Matty’s eyes are hopeful, blue and bright as he waits to make sure I actually said what I said.

  “Yeah, kid. Wipe your face, go wash your hands, and get your shoes on.”

  Matty sprints to do what I’ve said, nearly tripping in his haste to get to the bathroom, like it’s been moved from its usual place. I smirk, and pull on my boots, cracking my neck. I go to the closet, and get the ratty school bag I use to carry my shit in for shift. I toss the still-damp t-shirts from them, making sure I pack my wallet, making another mental note to go to my car and get my pouch and since Matty’s with me. I put in three juice boxes of apple juice, and some candies.

  Ah, the life of a diabetic – completely dependent on the thing that can kill both of us. This is my penance, being sick.

  Some days I’m okay with that; others, I’m so fucking tired I could swallow a bottle of Aspirin and chase it with Jack.

  Chapter 5

  I can tell by the knock on the door who it is. Three feather-light taps on the simulated-wood door and you have to be ultra quiet, making sure you heard what your brain already knows is there. Three more feather-light taps, and my stomach bottoms out.

  I’ve been good this week. If I were normal, I’d treat myself to a beer and some greasy food that’ll make me want to die come morning. Since I’m not, I settle for a can of Diet Pepsi for not calling Aly, for ignoring her calls and messages, and Christ, the videos. I maybe looked at them twice. Each. All right, three times.

  Matty’s been good all week, too. His sugars have been somewhat stable for a kid, which means that he’s not spiking and dropping and hanging out at either end of the blood sugar spectrum. I’ve been careful with my sugars, too, working out and eating properly. I feel good.

  I glance back at the kitchen table where Matty sits, legs swinging back and forth off the chair so quick, he’s making himself move. He says he’s going to draw me a picture, the first one he’s ever done for me. Matty keeps his eyes trained to the paper while he colours the (it might be) sky orange, making sure to cover the green sun.

  I move to the door, unlock and open it. Mom’s got those giant sunglasses on, holding the key to the lobby in her hand, letting it dangle off her Tiffany&Co keychain that’s worth a whole week of groceries.

  I move back, a silent invitation, and ignore the itch at the back of my neck. Unexpected visits never end well. Even when I was living back home, Mom just showing up at school, or work always meant trouble.

  Usually, it was to drunkenly rant about Dad and his need to fuck around, or about Jules and me, disappointing her yet again. It only got worse after I got sick. The look in her eyes became even more frosty, more detached like I really wasn’t her son anymore. Maybe in her eyes, that’s exactly what happened. Whatever genetic defect I have to make my own body attack its own pancreas did not come from her.

  “Hi Mom,” I say, leaving the door unlocked after I close it. Quicker for her to leave when she inevitably pisses me off.

  “Hunter,” she says with the warmth reserved for the mailman as he hands her a dirty envelope. Her floral scent wafts up my nose, making me sneeze. Hilary MacLaine does nothing half-assed. Mom doesn’t lightly smell of perfume, no, it’s like she’s bathed in it. And the whole fucking apartment is going to stink in the next five minutes.

  “Just checking in?” I ask. Nah, she’s here for a reason. I know it; she knows it. We’re just playing games, circling each other to see who’ll draw first blood in admitting the real reason she’s here. Mom caves first.

  “Of course not. You’re not a little boy anymore.” I want to tell her that I never was a little boy, but I keep my trap shut.

  “You want to see your grandson?” I ask. Mom’s mouth opens and closes, only to do it again like she’s trying to find something wrong with my question. Matty is her grandson, he’s just not my son.

  “Later. I want to talk about you and Alysha right now,” she says, laying it all out there like a fucking battle strategy. I’m the helpless soldier that has to follow orders.

  “Fine. Want something to eat or drink?”

  Mom has been at my place exactly five times before today. I hate the way she looks at the bare walls, left that awful beige that always makes me think my place is dirty when it isn’t. I watch her taking in the scarred leather couch, and the absence of trinkets she hoards back home. I can’t afford shit like that, only the necessities. With that one look around my living room, dining room and kitchen, she cuts me down to the bone and I’m that stupid little boy with a spilled glass of milk.

  Even now, I can’t stand how disappointed she is in me.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Fine, sit wherever you want. I’m going to finish making Matty some lunch.” I busy myself with the frying pan, watching the slice of butter I put in there from before I checked out Matty’s drawing slowly melting. Grilled cheeses are my specialty, or so Matty says, and I want to give him what he wants. I want to make him smile.

  “Hello, Matty,” Mom says, like she’s greeting the man who you’re ordering a casket from.

  “Hi Grandma!” Matty squeaks. I could really love this kid. “Grandma... why do you have sunglasses on inside?”

  She’s pretentious, kid. All about power. Don’t sweat it.

  I unwrap the plastic masquerading as cheese, and plop it on the brown bread. I squish down with my spatula, and wait ’til the cheese melts. The whole apartment smells like burned butter awesomeness, and my stomach heeds the call. Looks like I’m gonna make another three of these bad boys. Anything to distract from my current situation.

  “How was daycare today, Matty?” Mom asks, and I’m surprised she even asked. I smirk. The kid has a way with words, and telling stories with every detail included. I try and fake as much enthusiasm as possible most of the time, the rest I’m too exhausted to fucking care.

  “I have a new friend! Her name is Candace, and her hair is almost white! Isn’t that cool? How come her hair is so different than my colour hair, huh? Did her mom forget to use the right crayon or something?”

  I bark out a laugh while flipping my grilled cheese, getting half the thing outside of the danger zone. I’m chuckling as I plate all of the sandwiches and bring them over to Matty. I snag a napkin for each of us, and settle down to eat.

  I wolf down my food, watching as my Mom settles down in one of my chairs, trying to find a way where her bony frame doesn’t hurt her.

  “Alysha has been telling me disturbing things.” Typical. And completely typical that she didn’t get a kick out of Matty’s take on his friend’s hair.

  I roll my eyes. “Explain disturbing.”

  Mom purses her lips, and back in the day, Jules and I would sit still and quiet while she doled out punishment. Now Jules is dead three years, and I’m all alone. And I’m definitely too old for this shit.

  “She’s told me you haven’t been returning her calls.”

  I chew, swallow. Take another bite. Chew some more. “That’s right. I don’t see how this involves you.”

  I can’t tell, but I’m sure her eyes are narrowing. “Need I remind you that you two will be getting married in the near future.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “No?�
�� Mom has a hand over her heart, mouth slack and eyebrows popped high on her forehead. Surprise, surprise.

  “Hell no. Whatever little scheme you and Alina made up when we were twelve is not going to happen. I have my life, she has hers, and there’s no place for her in mine.”

  Mom purses her lips again, like I what I just said doesn’t matter. “I thought you and her were spending time together.”

  I smirk, put down my last grilled cheese. I notice Matty hasn’t touched his. Great. What else can I get him to eat?

  “‘Spending time’ together doesn’t mean I’m going to buy her a ring and put it on her finger. She doesn’t deserve that from me. I have Matty to think about, too. She’d be a terrible mother.”

  Mom shakes her head slowly. I kind of hope she’s having a stroke. The will money would be mine, and whatever control she has over Jules’ accounts would be all mine, too. Financial security if what I’m seeing is true. But no. Mom would never make it that easy.

  Plus, I’m an asshole for thinking it. Abandonment issues and all that.

  “Without her, you’ll be struggling the rest of your life to provide for yourself and my grandson.”

  I shrug, trying to ignore the hard thump of my heart in my chest. This is it. “Then give me Jules’ share. You’re not using it.”

  Mom’s face pales out and I wonder if all that blood tries to go to warm up her ice cold heart.

  “Absolutely not. I need that money.”

  “Fuck you say.” I expect Matty to ask for a quarter, but I hold a hand up for silence. He seems to listen. “Sell the house, you don’t need something that big for just you. I’m the one that needs that money, Mom. I have a family now.”

  A light, airy smile flits across her mouth. I’ve never seen anything more terrifying. It’s the kind of smile a black widow spider gives a fly once it’s caught in her web.

  “I will not be giving up the house. I will not be giving you Jules’ inheritance, or whatever’s left of it after you ruined her.” She should’ve just stabbed me; it would’ve hurt less.

  “Alina is my closest friend, and Alysha is the right choice for you. If you want to continue living in squalor, then by all means, continue to do so. If you want to remember what it was like growing up when you were home, then we both know what you have to do.”

  Red’s spray-painted over my world, and I have to fight myself to remain seated. Murder will not get me what I want, what I need. I’m too fucking frazzled and pissed right now to even make it look like an accident.

  I need to be alone right now. I bolt for the door, making sure I close it behind me. I want to pace down the hall, back and forth, back and forth, working off my anger in a healthier way. But fuck, she’s here. Right in front me.

  Shorts, showing off her legs. A delectable ass that I want to sink my fingers into while I lift her up to straddle me. Light brown hair loose around her shoulders and down her back that I’m sure’d shine gold when the sun hits it just right. She leans forward to press the down button on the elevator.

  No book this time. I might just be disappointed.

  Instead, her iPod is held up at eye-level, and her thumb swipes up the screen as she scrolls through her music. I wonder what she listens to that has her smiling like that. At this point, she could listen to eighties boy bands and I’d still want her.

  Oh Christ, she starts bobbing her head to the beat as she continues to scroll down her playlist. My palms start to itch, and my legs tremble. I want to move closer to her. I want to know her name.

  I want her to know me.

  I stumble forward and see what shirt she’s wearing. I grin. How do you like them apples? Jesus, she knows Good Will Hunting. Point one for her.

  All right, now I have to say something. Anything. Just don’t be an asshole. Or creepy.

  “Nice shirt.” Genius. I’m a fucking genius.

  I watch a little line form between her eyebrows as she stares down at her playlist. Maybe she’s wondering if it came from the song? I clear my throat to try again. Then her eyes hit me, and I’m not sure if I’m standing anymore.

  Fuck, she’s not wearing her glasses. I wish she was. Dress her up in a skirt and some stilettos, and she’s the sexiest librarian I’ve ever seen. The question is: can she get naughty? I want to find out.

  Careful, careful. Calm the fuck down, you pervert.

  “Huh?” Christ, can she be any more adorable? Her eyebrows are high on her forehead and her mouth (amazing mouth) parts open in surprise. Her eyes, though, they’re not entirely focused on me.

  “Your shirt. I like it. Most people would say thank you.” I grin; she doesn’t grin back. Fuck, I’ve ruined my chance. I just don’t know how to do this, be good, be nice.

  “Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. Again, with that little furrow between her eyebrows. Her lower lip pouts out and I need it in my mouth to taste. “Do you even know what it’s about?”

  Ah, testing my knowledge. Making sure I’m worthy of a smile.

  “Babe.” Damn it, that wasn’t supposed to come out. Just give me your name and I can take it back. I pull in her scent, that smell of a bakery and my mouth waters.

  “Don’t call me babe,” she says, eyebrows popped even higher.

  I smirk. Fine, I’ll show her. I’ve seen the movie so many times, I can do Matt Damon, no sweat. “Do you like apples?”

  She grins. At me. Like I’ve given her a diamond instead of a few words.

  My dick starts getting in on the action.

  “I’m Sera. Nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, wiggling her fingers. I want to pound my chest that I have her name. “Most people shake the person’s hand when it’s offered to them,” she says, wiggling her fingers more impatiently.

  I’m not sure what to do. I don’t think I’ve ever shaken a girl’s hand before, and this is not where I wanted it to go. I look down from her hand, to her face and to her hand again.

  Sera isn’t the kind of girl you fuck and wash off. She’s the kind of girl you fuck, get her smell all over your sheets, take a shower with and go for round two. Then ask her to marry you because you know you’re not going to get anything better.

  Sera’s the kind of woman that could be so much more.

  We meet palm to palm and I swear I nearly lose it. She doesn’t know it, but this kind of respect is rare.

  “HUNTER!” I jolt. What the fuck happened now? Did Matty get a paper cut or something, and Mom can’t deal? Shit, things were going well. I think. Maybe.

  “See you later,” she says, glancing down at her iPod and hitting up another song, maybe. The elevator door opens and she walks in, turning to face me. We’re separated by more than distance now that Mom has ruined everything.

  I want to say something more, something else. Ask for her number, maybe even ask her out to dinner like a normal guy would do. I rub the back of my head under my hood, letting the prickle of my hair tickle my palm, centering me. Then I think of all the shit that’s waiting for me at my apartment.

  I can’t drag a woman like Sera into any of this shit. I stare at her one last time, as the elevator doors start to close on her and turn to go back to my place. At least I got her name. Closing the door, I lean back against it and hang my head down, staring at my socks.

  Money’s just money. It’s fucking paper, man. But shit, money means freedom. I could even get Matty that insulin pump so he wouldn’t have to inject himself so much. Fuck.

  “I think we’re done here,” I say. I don’t know how Mom doesn’t hear it, how close I was to committing matricide.

  “Hunter! There’s something wrong with Matty!” Mom wails. I glance up to see her actually fucking wringing her hands instead of doing something useful. She knows how to check Matty’s sugar. I’ve taught her enough times, but no. She’d probably get blood on her precious designer suit.

  Matty looks up at me with glassy eyes. “Daddy, I’m tired.”

  “Don’t worry, little buddy. Let’s just get Tony and check, then we�
�ll get you something to eat if you need, yeah?”

  Matty just nods in his seat, leaning on the back of it, eyes half-closing. My heart does somersaults in my chest, and pulls against its chains to come out of my throat. Maybe this time, maybe this time I’ll be too late with the food. Maybe this time his sugar’s gonna drop so low, even the ambulance when it comes won’t be able to revive him with glucagon.

  Maybe this time he’s gonna die because I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

  Maybe this time, maybe this time.

  I sprint into Matty’s room, getting his pouch from his dresser. Moving back to the kitchen table, I get his glucometer out, and take his blood.

  When it’s done, I glare at the machine and wait for five seconds. It feels like months fly by where I’m only aware of my heart beating too hard and too fast, and my stomach turning. I can’t look away as the numbers decrease, not even to check on Matty. I feel like if I glance away for just a second, Matty might die. If I glance away for just a second, it all becomes real how close we are to mortality.

  Five, four, three, two, one...

  Fuck. His sugar’s at two point four. I clamp down on the need to vomit and piss at the same time, refusing to let my limbs shake as I move away from the kitchen table and grab my stash of honey from the second highest cupboard where Matty can’t reach. I slather it on a piece of brown bread, and sprinkle some sugar over it.

  God, what if I can’t get him to eat this time? What if he throws it all up? Can I handle having his death on my conscience, too?

  I sit at the table and slowly coax him to eat it. Matty makes faces and he gags a few times from the sugar overload.

  I yell at him and tell him to keep eating, that he has to eat it all or else. I make up threats and tell lies to get him to eat that piece of bread. I pray and scream inside my head for Matty to be all right.

  When he closes his eyes shut, my heart seizes and I end up cracking him in the face with my palm. Matty stares up at me, cheek turning pink with the remnants of my handprint and I want to vomit and laugh at the same time. He’s awake, he’s alert. The honeyed bread is working.