Amber
Just for the calm quiet peace of nothingness, Amber wished and prayed that she could sleep forever. She wanted to fall under the covers of her bed and stay huddled within white sheets on a cold day where rain spilled neatly upon the recesses of chipped pebbled asphalt.
She longed for undisturbed rest, for worriless dreams and for solitude.
She wanted to be alone.
But time flowed through her like the roaring rapids upon a stone lodged within the river. It moulded her; wore her down; and polished her into numbed perfection. Eventually, she found herself wishing her soulmates good luck at the door with Rumiko in her arms on the day of their concert.
Time was not kind to her soul.
Her daughter did not scream bloody murder and shriek like a banshee that night; she was instead a picture of sweet perfection. Rumiko was blissfully quiet for her fathers; the gentle breeze before a storm as they waved goodbye.
And for once Amber felt as if she could do this; for once the great fear that was lodged in her throat vanished from her body as if it were never there in the first place. There was a brief sense of hope in her heart. The feeling of being able to do anything grew in her chest.
She could do this.
So much hope lurched and spread through her system that she almost forgot about it—the fear. The fear that drenched her skin and turned her clammy and wet with sweat when she roused from scream filled slumber. The fear that left her always needing water to quench the dryness in her throat. The fear that made her want to leave and run away from everything.
The fear that consumed her and turned her into a person she could not recognize.
Rumiko's compliance for their big day released some of the tension that knotted and weighed on Amber's shoulders. And for once Amber was not melting into the floor, nor was her body sweat stained with oily hair plastered to blood-less skin. She was clean, well-scrubbed and sweet smelling, and had laughed at least once that day to her soulmates' antics.
She didn't smile much anymore.
But she tried to smile for them; tried to ignore the bone deep exhaustion that clung to her from the lack of caffeine; tried to pretend she wasn't on the verge of blanking out and drowning in numbed exhaustion. She tried to swallow down the retch that stirred in her belly—nausea that came with the lack of sleep and the fear of being alone with her daughter.
She tried her best just as she always had, and just as she always would.
They'd kissed both her and Rumi on the cheek, played a little with their daughter before promising that they would be back as soon as they could. Handwritten numbers were laid out on the table, hotlines if she needed them. They promised that staff would come if she needed help, swore that they'd have someone check in on her too.
Like a child in a school.
Her body had recoiled at their words; her heart tightened and twisted. It felt strange to hear them speak as if she weren't capable enough to care of Rumiko for a day. It felt worse to be told that she couldn't do it when she was already trying so damn hard.
Their concern came from a place of love, but their words translated to a form of insult, a chink against her armour, a sword upon her door. It resulted in thorns that popped over her skin, prickling all that came close.
Our manager will come check on you. He'll bring someone with experience.
Translation: We know you can't care for Rumiko for more than ten hours, so we'll get someone who can.
I don't need someone to check in on me, she'd burst out, shaking her head. I'm her mother, we'll be fine. You belittle me. She'd scoffed, hot laugh that trembled out of her throat. There are mothers out there with no one to check on them. I'm not that weak—She'd caught herself before her words grew too poisonous, darted her tongue out to wet drying lips. Don't worry about me. I've got this.
They'd looked at each other, quick glances that spelled out the words they didn't have to say. God, she knew them well enough to understand that they thought her incapable of caring for her daughter like the mothers of the rest of the world. Unlucky mothers with only one husband and no one else but themselves.
Amber was lucky.
She'd spent the afternoon pacing as she always did, the usual shaking of her body as she circled the room with her daughter in her arms. She was bouncing and bouncing as her baby squirmed and wept on the towel tossed over her shoulder. Rumiko was crying on her body, but Amber's mind was elsewhere.
Always, always on her soulmates.
Would they fuck up their steps? Forget lyrics? Would they pass out from exhaustion? Faint on stage because their bodies weren't at its peak? Would they come home, proud of themselves or crying and tremendously disappointed? Would they worry for Rumiko? Did they trust Amber enough to take care of her?
The selfies they'd sent in the waiting rooms were quick shots of relief, the live streams from fans in the audience were gemstones in the darkness. Their faces had been chalked full with foundation; concealer heaped on so thick that none of the exhaustion shone through. They'd been exquisite, beautiful and otherworldly as they performed just as they always had, and just as if nothing had changed.
So much happier.
She longed to be in that crowd; longed to be backstage celebrating their achievements; longed to have them hold her like how they once did without a child assigned to her breasts. She smiled when Hikaru aced his high notes, chuckled when MinJae managed a difficult flip, smiled when they doused each other with bottles of water and played catch on stage.
They appeared young, wild and free.
Rumiko's screaming grew in pitch as she struggled in her arms; her back arched and Amber's phone slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the ground. It laid at her feet as her baby struggled and wailed with discomfort. Her yells didn't stop, the scream went on and on like a siren that could not end.
Fuck.
Bitterness poisoned her throat along with a great sense of frustration. Her feet tapped on the floor as she jostled her child into thousands of positions that critics online claimed to be the best for colic, sobbing babies. She had her hands on Rumi's body, crossed her little arms over her chest. She had Rumi on her shoulder. Rumi on her belly. Rumi in her arms.
But her daughter cried so hard it seemed as if Amber were torturing her with a hot burning poker that melted skin; as if she had slammed her repeatedly onto the ground; and as if she had slapped and pinched her already reddening skin. Rumi cried as if Amber were hurting her.
It was impossible to calm the baby at this point and the sadness that followed was a truck against her weak, meaty flesh. It slammed into Amber; sorrow that was hard and foreign. Her breath escaped her in short pants through her nose; heart pounded, irregular and strange in her chest.
There were moments when she couldn't speak, moments when her sides ached and oxygen did not enter her lungs. Moments when her heart squeezed so hard it hurt her. It felt as if someone had wrapped large fingers around her smaller frame and squeezed so hard that her organs were constricted and her bones popped beneath a monster's fingers. It felt as if someone had ripped out her lungs and now, she was left gasping and floundering like a fish out of sea.
Still, she continued.
She'd closed her eyes, breathed and pushed through like she always had with determined zombie-like power. She tended to Rumiko's needs and prayed that her attempts would strike gold. For a few times that night, she'd prayed for strength.
Somehow, she made it through Rumiko's impossible screeching and her soulmates arrived with bright smiles and loud chatter. They entered their temporary home when their daughter had finally worn herself out from all that terrible screaming and was suckling pleasantly on her calloused, swollen nipples.
They arrived when the storm had passed and a light rain followed in a fussy baby that needed to be burped and swaddled. They arrived when everything seemed okay. They arrived when things weren't breaking at the seams, when things weren't falling apart, when the darkness didn't conceal her baby in a monstruous, demonic light.
She left the baby in their arms; her soulmates were more than eager to cuddle and grace Rumiko with much more affection than they did to Amber. They pressed their cheeks against hers, kissed her little toes and fought for a chance to hold her first. When Amber sat down and watched them banter from the kitchen, there was coldness in her heart.
Months ago, they'd reacted the same way with her.