Reborn Omega; I Refuse To Be Your Substitute

plese skip too

The call with Daniel should have made me feel better. Instead it left me angry, furious, actually.

I sat inside the taxi staring out the window while the city lights blurred past.

One thought kept repeating itself, Victor.

What exactly did Daniel mean?

My fingers tightened around my phone.

Daniel sounded convinced, certain, like he knew something, like he knew Victor had been involved somehow. In what??

And how?

I squeezed my eyes shut. Mom.

The answer always came back to Mom.

She worried about me so much that she could barely let me breathe.

I knew she had people checking on me before, she never admitted it directly, but I wasn't stupid, I noticed things, the timing of her calls, the way she somehow knew where I had been, the questions that were a little too specific.

I had ignored it because fighting about it never changed anything, now I wasn't so sure.

My phone suddenly lit up, MOM CALLING.

I stared at the screen, the call kept ringing.

Usually I would ignore it, tonight I didn't, tonight I was angry.

I answered immediately.

"What now?"

There was silence, then my mother's voice.

"Nora?"

She sounded relieved, the relief in her voice only irritated me more.

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, thank God."

I laughed bitterly.

"Really?"

"Nora—"

"No, let's talk."

My mother went quiet, something in my tone must have warned her.

"Are you alright?"

I almost laughed.

"No."

"Nora—"

"Are you still monitoring me?"

The question came out so suddenly that even I surprised myself.

Silence, complete silence, that was answer enough.

My jaw tightened.

"Wow."

"Nora, listen—"

I didn't waste a second. "Are you?"

"It's not like that."

I closed my eyes.

"Right. It never is."

"We.... We only worry about you."

"We?"

My voice sharpened.

"We???"

Mom hesitated, that tiny hesitation told me everything.

"We just wanted to make sure you were safe."

I laughed again, a harsh sound.

"Amazing."

"Nora—"

"No, really, amazing."

The taxi stopped at a red light, I stared out the window, people were walking down the street, living their lives, meanwhile my family apparently couldn't stop interfering in mine.

"Do you know Daniel?"

Mom froze, I heard it, even through the phone, that brief silence, that tiny pause.

My stomach dropped.

"You do."

"Nora..."

"You know him."

Mom sighed, a tired sigh.

"We met him."

I looked away, of course they had, of course.

Everything suddenly made sense, every promotion, every opportunity, every lucky break, every time Daniel somehow got exactly what he needed.

I felt sick.

"You helped him."

"Nora, please listen—"

"You helped him."

"He cared about you."

I laughed, actually laughed, the sound was so broken that even I barely recognized it. Cared.

She knows about the breakup.

"He cared about me?"

"We thought he did."

My chest hurt, not because of Daniel, because of this, because once again nobody trusted me to handle my own life, nobody.

"I cannot believe this."

"We were only trying to help."

"I never asked for help!"

I could hear her voice cracking now. "You are my daughter."

"I'm an adult."

"You'll always be my daughter."

The words should have comforted me, instead they made me angry.

"Why can't you leave my life alone???"

"Nora—"

"Why?"

My voice cracked, not from weakness, from frustration.

"Why does every decision have to go through you?"

"It doesn't."

"It does."

"Nora—"

"I get a boyfriend and you investigate him."

"We wanted to protect you."

"I get a job and people are watching me."

"We worry."

"You always worry! Always!"

The words exploded out of me.

"That's the problem."

The line went quiet, I knew I was hurting her, I knew it, but I couldn't stop, not anymore.

"I'm tired."

"Nora..."

"I'm tired of being watched."

"We love you."

"I'm tired of being protected."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm tired of everybody deciding what's best for me."

My mother was crying now, I could hear it, small sounds, soft breaths.

It should have made me stop, instead I felt even worse, because I loved her, that was the problem, I loved her, but I was angry too, angry enough that I couldn't separate the two.

"If Dad was alive..."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, the second they did, silence filled the line.

My throat tightened, Mom stopped breathing for a second, then—

"Nora..."

Her voice broke.

I looked away, tears filled my eyes.

"If Dad was alive, he would understand."

"Nora..."

"He would."

My voice shook.

"He trusted me."

"Your father loved you."

"I know."

"He wanted you safe. And....."

My chest hurt now, actually hurt, because suddenly I wasn't angry anymore, I was sad, just sad, the kind of sadness that never really leaves, the kind that waits quietly inside you until something cracks it open again.

"I miss him."

The confession came out in a whisper, my mother's crying grew louder.

"So do I."

For a moment neither of us spoke, the taxi finally reached my apartment building.

I paid the driver, walked upstairs, held the phone the entire time.

"Nora."

My mother's voice sounded small.

"Please come home."

I closed my eyes, not now, I couldn't, not yet.

"Wow. I haven't forgiven you."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm not ready."

"We miss you."

I swallowed hard.

"I...."

"Please."

"I can't."

The words barely came out, then before she could say anything else—

I ended the call.

The silence afterward felt enormous.

I stood in the middle of my apartment for a long time, not moving, not thinking, just breathing.

Then finally I walked into my bedroom, opened the drawer beside my bed, and pulled out a photograph.

Me, my dad, a picture from years ago, before everything changed, before loss, before grief, before life became complicated.

I sat on the edge of the bed holding it against my chest, the tears came quietly, one after another, I didn't try to stop them.

Eventually I curled onto my side, still holding the photograph, still clutching it tightly, as if letting go would somehow make him disappear all over again.

The last thing I saw before sleep finally took me was my father's smile, and for the first time in a very long time, I wished he were here to tell me what to do.