I looked up at her smiling face staring ahead of us as we walked down the pathway on a warm spring day. She had no eyelashes. She had no color in her cheeks and her lips were starting to blend into the same color as the rest of her face-pale, pale white.

She'd been dead for close to twenty years, but somehow here we were, walking together. Her facial features were the same as I remembered - ill.

I grabbed her hand in mine which made her smile towards me once more, showing her perfect teeth. As we continued walking down the path, hand in hand, I noticed we were walking slower than usual and it wasn't because I was oddly too short to keep up. It was something else.

I ignored the fact that the trees were forming leaves again and that the weather was actually warm and there was sun peeking out of the clouds instead of the usual gloomy, grey days with rain falling. I stared at her smiling face. And despite the fact that her cheeks were sunken in, showing her prominent cheekbones, despite her chocolate brown hair turning dull, despite the dark purple bags under her light blue eyes, she was smiling. It never mattered how she looked, she's always been beautiful.

When I turned to look back at her, I was no longer outside like we once were, only seconds ago. Instead, I was inside a house that I vaguely remembered, sitting at the breakfast table, eating oatmeal with dinosaur eggs that hatched when heated up.

I glanced over to the yelling and saw her small framed body waving her hands around at him. She wasn't the only one gesturing, as he was also throwing his hands around in what looked to be disbelief. In my eyes, it just looked like he was trying to swat a thousand flies away. I didn't say anything. I didn't think they even remembered that I was still here, listening to them.

"Why are you handing this to me?" He exclaimed. "I don't want this. I don't want to read this." He shook his head and pushed the white papers back towards her.

"I think it'd be useful if you did... You need to think logically. These are my very last wishes after I'm gone, please." She plead. "We have a beautiful child to think about right now. It's not just you and me."

"You know how I feel, Camille. I don't want to do this without you. I can't have this responsibility - This kid... All on my own. I won't." He snarled at her and took a step back.

"What do you mean?" She cried. "You are all he's going to have left! We have no family. It's me and you." She hesitated stepping closer to him and stopped in her tracks.

I was young when I overheard this conversation, but I could remember the details as if it only happened a day ago. Sometimes it felt that way.

Mom and dad, runaway lovers, living in a fairytale. He decided to drop out of high school to chase after a fling in England, where she ditched her family when they didn't support her pregnancy.

"My family doesn't even know I'm sick. He's our son, you can't just bail now, you can't... You-"

"He's your boy." He growled. He took the papers out of her hand and crumpled them up on the floor before viciously storming out of the house and leaving my mother alone, devastated.

I always hated to see her cry. It made me angry to know that anyone had the capability to make her upset when she was the one person who didn't deserve any of it.

I looked down at my hand as it scooped up oatmeal and dropped it back into my bowl.

My mother walked over and sat in the empty chair beside me, petting my hair. She then wiped away the last tear on her face and smiled at me softly which made me feel warm inside.

"My sweet, Elias." She stroked my cheek and stared at me while I looked for all the dinosaurs in my oatmeal. "Finish up, darling, we have to write out invitations to your fourth birthday party."

Moments after her words, I noticed my vision start to fade and suddenly I watched glimpses of my birthday party, where only two people showed up even though I invited my whole class. I felt an odd sensation of deja vu as my mother and my two friends sang happy birthday to me.

Suddenly, the room whirled around me again and I was laying on the floor, watching movies in my sleeping bag with my two friends on the carpet, laughing at the nonsense on the screen.

But that was the only moment I captured before I was somewhere else completely again.

A room with white walls and a window with a tree outside of it, shading the room from the sun. On my left there was a bed with white sheets and pillows, on top of the bed was a woman in a white gown with little blue polka dots spread out all over it. I walked up to the woman who looks almost a stranger to me but felt a sense of relief.

One of my very first visits at the hospital. There wasn't much time left with her...

I turned my attention to the beeping sound that was coming out of what I used to think was a weird machine. My mother broke me out of my thoughts when I saw her hand reach out and touch mine. She gently pulled me close to her and gave a calming smile.

I smiled back and laughed, happy.

"My sweet boy." She said quietly, rasp filled in her voice.

I could stay in this moment forever if it meant that she didn't have to leave me. If it meant I had the chance to stay with her even just a little bit longer. I could hold back every scared feeling and all of my tears just to be able to see her smile one last time.

But the moment was gone. And I was taken somewhere completely different all over again.

Now, laying down on the carpet flooring, playing with my rainbow toy xylophone that I received from my mother for my birthday, listening to the voices of my parents across the room, sitting at the kitchen table.

That was my favorite toy.

It didn't last long, seeing at my father later broke it to pieces after throwing it at a wall.

I kept my eyes focused on my toy because I wanted nothing more than to create a song for my mom.

"Do you remember when we moved out into our first apartment together?" My mom suddenly said, looking up from the papers that were spread out in front of them.

"Two days after I moved out here from Canada." My father said, removing his reading glasses from his face and setting them down on the table.

She laughed, "The place was falling apart and we had a bug infestation."

"Mice too," he replied.

She looked into his eyes and smiled brightly at him. "Aw, I loved those little critters!"

My father gave a short laugh and looked down from her to play with the glasses he only just set down. "Our very first argument was about you wanting to keep them as pets, remember?" He looked back up at her with nothing but pain in his eyes.

"And do you remember what I said?"

"It can be our own little family." They said at the same time. A sad exchange.

"Our lives were so easy back then." He picked up the papers that were sitting on the table and started to pile and organize them together. "All we had and wanted was each other. We didn't care about our families or the consequences. We didn't care where we were going or where we would end up, as long as we were together."

My mother touched my father's arm which made him look down at the ground and sigh heavily. She gave him a light squeeze before turning her body slightly over to face me and softly smiled. "I think we did okay," She said while looking over to me. "We even got our own little family."

My parents started to turn into a hazy fuzzy fog before I opened my eyes to a noise, getting louder and louder.

A whole different setting than where I was just a few seconds ago. I frowned and watched the little boy get out of my old bed with my old small blanket wrapped around his shoulders and walked to the end of the hallway and in front of the stairs.

How could I be standing in front of my four year old self? It was as if I were looking into a window into my old life.

I could hear the yelling louder and more clear, and I noticed that the little boy heard it too, so he sat on the top of the stairs, listening to conversations between my parents.

"He's our son!" I heard my mother say in a distressed tone.

"He's your son, Camille!" My father screamed.

"What does that even mean?" She asked, confusion danced in her voice.

My father took in a deep breath of air and exhaled it loudly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Watching them fight, I felt like a stranger in this house. I could see my four year old self, listening to them, but I was in my twenty-three year old body, watching my dream-state memories as if I wasn't even apart of them.

My young self crept down a few more steps and peaked around the corner only to see my father standing right in my mother's face, almost no distance between them.

"I never wanted him! I said we have options, but you decided on your own with this! Without me."

"You know I couldn't just abort him... Please don't do thi-"

My father cut her off. "You know I'd do anything for you. Anything! I fucking raised a kid with you that I never even fucking wanted, Camille! I let you make all of our decisions. And now what?" He took a step back from her, "You're leaving me alone with this? All I can do is try to support you until the day comes and then what do I do?! You've left me with no options, for fuck sake." He lifted his hand up and touched his temple while he looked at her with a pulled look on his face that gave him forehead wrinkles.

My mother, now with tears in her eyes, tried to step towards him but he only stepped further away from her. "He'll be apart of me. He's my whole world, and he needs you. Through him, you'll have a reminder of me. Wouldn't you want that?" She trembled.

He shook his head and walked towards the door of the house, his shoes already on. "I can't do this without you, Cammie. I refuse to." He bitterly spat and left the house before she could act.

The beeping sound continued to play in my ear and I couldn't get it out. It was slower than it used to be, but it was still a constant noise that I couldn't shake.

Beep... Beep... Beep... On and on.

Everything around me was completely blurred but I could still hear and smell everything.

Beep... Beep...

Followed by background voices that I didn't recognize.

Beep...

My mother's voice perked as she prepared to say her final words. "Take care of my sweet boy."

Flat lined.

Followed by the strong smell of alcohol.

This was it, the start of my own horror show.

My father seemed to fill his stomach with toxic liquids all day and all night until he fell asleep on the couch with the empty bottles in his hand and the television blaring loudly beside him.

I missed her...

I watched him pack the house up. He took everything he thought was most valuable. The whole time we drove, he said nothing to me. Not even a sound, but occasional swerving on the road. We went to an unfamiliar location, but with the little words he muttered to himself, I knew we were back to his hometown in Canada and as far away from my mother as we can get.

While he was busy filling his stomach, I could still picture the glimpses of her coffin being lowered to the ground and the only thing I thought about was that I hoped to go back and visit her so I could tell her all about my days.

I thought about her grave a lot. I always wanted to go back and sit with her.

But I haven't seen her grave since the funeral. Almost twenty years ago...

I backed up and pressed my body against the wall while my father stormed up to me, pounding his feet on the ground with each step he took, making the floor shake. He rushed over to me with an angry look on his face and the smell of alcohol on his breath.

"Elias!" He hollered at me as he got closer.

He raised his hand up in the air and I instantly grew nervous and scared. He swiftly moved his hand through the air with great force and smacked it down on my cheek, making me fly sideways and onto the ground.

Stop!

"No... No..." I jolted up from my bed with a panicky feeling and my eyes bugged out of my head.

I was awake. It was over.

I raised my hand to touch my cheek, my heartbeat was racing so fast and pumping so hard that I could literally hear it. I could feel myself breathing heavily, taking in fast, short breaths in and out, practically gasping for air. My face and body were drenched in sweat and I couldn't move.

Feeling such a rush of fear, I hesitated to turn on the lamp beside my bed and when I did, my room assured me that I was in a safe place and I was okay. I felt the tingles in my cheek and it amazed me how real this nightmare felt. I was taken right back to the beginning of the most traumatizing moments of my life.

I gave myself one last deep exhale out before I removed the covers from my body and pivoted legs out of my bed, letting my feet touch the floor. I ran my hands through my hair, feeling nothing but dampness so I wiped my hands on my bed sheets and sigh.

After scanning the room for my smokes, I found them on the floor by the laundry basket, where a few other articles of clothing were. I grabbed them off the floor which only spiked my craving to smoke even higher. Quietly, I opened my bedroom door and walked past the kitchen and toward the balcony to go outside and breathe fresher air.

The second my body met the outdoor breeze, I felt goosebumps all over from the sweat I've accumulated while sleeping. I was really hoping that because I hadn't slept in so long prior to tonight, that I'd get a full night's rest in but unfortunately I was mistaken. It was still dark out. Pitiful. I walked to the end of the balcony where the rails were and shivered when a raindrop hit my bare shoulder.

When I got out of the facility, I was telling myself that I wouldn't slip back into a habit but I knew that I was bullshitting myself. The second I arrived at that airport, or better yet, the second I walked out of the facility, I instantly bought a pack, needing a part of me back. The ultimate stress reliever was packed into one single stick, and it was just what I needed to take the edge off, especially when I dreamed of her.

As much as I loved her to bits, and missed her so dearly, I despised having dreams of her. I despised that the only thing I could remember of her was when she became ill and that the only face I saw when I thought of her was of someone who was on their final days.

It pained me so much to know that I couldn't do anything to help or be a better son to her when she needed me but I was so young. If I could go back, I'd want to comfort her and tell her everything is going to be okay. I wished I could tell her that I was okay now but I've miserably failed her.

I lit my smoke up, eager to to take the edge off. I instantly felt my body start to relax. My hands were still shaking at the thought but it was always in the back of my mind.

Fucking pig, I swear it.

I breathed out a shaky breath of air and looked out from the balcony to watch the rain fall delicately to the ground. A sudden dangerous thought appeared in my brain. I rolled my eyes at myself and shook my head before taking one last inhale of the end of my cigarette. I looked out once more at the scenery in front of me before I turned my body around, smooshed the cigarette in the tray that was sitting on a small table, and walked inside.

I checked the time and it was only a little after three in the morning which meant that I barely even gotten any sleep. Disappointing. My body ached, telling me that I needed to rest but it was so difficult to do that when I knew my own thoughts would send me into a panic attack. Nonetheless though, I dragged my body back into my bed and lied on my back, staring at the ceiling above me in nothing but total darkness.

Don't think about it. I told myself over and over again until eyelids started to get heavy and once again, I fell back into total subconscious.

I stared at the doorknob of the front door of my house, contemplating if I should turn around and never look back. I kept my hands wrapped around the knob and took in a deep breath before walking in.

I haven't seen this house in years. It smells just as I remember it - dirty. It looks just how I remember it, run down and poor.

I prayed he was passed out on the couch, I prayed he had enough alcohol and smokes that he was happy enough to not go near me, I even prayed that there was a possibility he might even be dead.

All thoughts go away as I walked into the house, with nothing but an eerie quietness in the room.

"Elias?" He called out to me.

"Yeah?" I answered back, nervous.

I approached the couch and when my father saw me, he, with much difficulty, sat up to face me. "Where were you?".

"School."

"It's almost seven." He looked at the time on his watch and frowned.

"I had a thing after school." I tried to stay nonchalant. I looked away because I didn't want to tell him the real reason why I was late.

"Look at me." He growled. "What thing was this?"

I looked at him, and tried to focus on him but I couldn't help but look anywhere else but his piercing eyes that were staring right back at me. "I had a project I needed to work on, that's all..."

My father stood up and stumbled towards me. "You want to know how I know you're lying?" he whispered inches away from my face. I got a whiff of nothing but whiskey.

I stepped back nervously but he followed my steps and got in my face again. There was butterflies in my stomach as he got closer and I wanted nothing more than to run away but I knew that being only fourteen, I'd never survive on my own. If I ever did attempt to run, I knew he'd find me and I can't even imagine what he'd do to me.

He's all I got.

"For starters, poor Elias. Your body language is all wrong. You're trembling, you're scrunching your eyebrows. You're weak." He laughed hysterically before picking up the half empty bottle of alcohol on the ground and taking a sip. "If you're going to lie to me, at least come up with one that's believable. You don't excel in school, it's evident."

I didn't react to his comment referring me as illiterate.

I said nothing.

"Come here," He said with a wicked smile on his face.

I could feel his breath on my face.

I leaned even closer to him, nerves coming over me because I knew what was going to happen. He suddenly lifted the bottle he was holding and threw it right past my head, letting it smash against the wall behind me, broken glass and alcohol flying everywhere.

I flinched and held my hands above my head in a protective state but I didn't last long in that position. He gripped my arm tightly and dragged me to the door I just walked into moments before. I could feel little shards of glass prick the bottom of my feet from walking through the mess he created but I knew that's the least of my troubles.

My father quickly threw me up against the door of our house and placed both of his hands on my neck, slamming me against the door again. He tightened his grip, making it difficult to breathe. I wanted to beg him to stop but I couldn't get the words out.