Paid Boyfriend Brother Ketos

3. I Hate This Life

Kimaya

"Maya, are you home?" There was a faint sound from inside the main room.

I exhaled slowly. After making sure the front door was tightly locked, I immediately headed there. From the door that was open, always open, the mother's body was lying on the bed.

Mother.

My mum.

Is she really my mother?

I doubt it because .. the woman who laid the aats on my parents' bed didn't look like Mom. My mother is not thin, her body is densely packed. His face was thin, but not without flesh like this. His skin was yellow, not pale white. There was a lot wrong with the appearance of the woman on my parents' bed.

Even so, she is my mother. Mother who has fought the attacks of chronic diseases she suffered. The mother is still battling cancer cells that insist on taking over her life. Mothers who ... after undergoing twice 6 cycles of chemotherapy and one surgery Mastectomy now choose to wait.

Waiting for who will come first; whether the death or the miracle to heal.

I hate that's.

"Hi, Honey. You're home yet?" Mom repeated the same question when I didn't answer her question the first time.

Well, what else do you want to answer? He saw me standing in front of him. He asked me directly. Automatically my existence becomes the answer to his own question, right?

I hate this thought. I immediately removed the evil thought from inside the head.

I then put a smile to taste towards Mom. As he continued to walk closer to her, I replied, "Udah, Mom."

"Where's father?" She tried to raise her head to look outside the room. The head that was closed with the scarf was raised even a little.

That's a reflection of how weak Mom is.

That's why I still can't accept that the figure lying weakly on top of my parents' bed is my mother.

Once again I forced my lips to form something that looked like a smile. "Dad's still at school, Mom. There's a meeting."

Hearing my answer, Mother sighed. "aaah. Ja. It's the first day of school, huh? I forgot."

Mother's voice really sounded like a gust of wind. Because, that's how it is. When you talk, most of what goes out of your throat is air. While the rest is just a sound that can be produced by a worn vocal cords hit by drugs and other treatments.

That's very scary. You sound like a creature from another world. You sound like a ghost.

Even though my mind was saying something else, I kept trying to keep a smile on my face. Even though I was really angry with the reality that our family was facing now, I still tried to look sincere and accepting in front of Mom.

Angry like this, I still love my mother very much. Very, very, very loving Mom.

I smile at him again. "It's okay, Mom," I said as I sat in the plastic chair that Dad had placed near the bed. "Mom ate?"

"It."

"Much?"

"Lumayan."

"okay." I'm nodding. I put a sigh and a breath behind a smile. I know, Dad knows, we all know what that pretty word means to Mom.

Not bad is when the mother's stomach can not accept the food that is put there. It was good when I was hard to swallow. Not bad is when you barely eat at all.

Damn. I realize I sound pretty good at this for a second. But that's me. Sok knows.

Can't be quiet.

Must find a solution immediately.

Uncurdling.

What can I do?

"If it's not the same Dad, then you've gone home to take an angkot, huh?" Mother asked again. Look for materials to keep the conversation going.

I think I can understand Mom's attitude. He's been here all day. Although there are BunPika that accompany, of course the taste and conversation material are not the same. With Bu Pika, the topic of their discussion will revolve around the story of Indian soap operas that aired on Indonesian television to thousands of episodes. Things you'll never experience if you're with me or Dad.

"Yes, Mom." I'm muttering. "And before I ask again, yes, maaih. The cost is still the same as last semester. Five thousand dollars."

Mom immediately laughed without making a sound. Not that I don't want to, but more to be unable. Talking is hard, especially laughing.

Not long ago, Mom's ripple turned into a choked breath interspersed with small coughs.

I immediately leaned forward. I clasped the hand that was the bone-wrapping skin, I kneaded slowly to tell Mom that I was beside her. I waited until Mom could control her airway again.

After that, I handed him a glass filled with water. Mother sipped the water through a pipette. All the movements were done very, very, very slowly.

Shxt. My eyeballs are starting to heat up.

I cleared my throat to clear my throat of the stuffy flavors. "Hm. Ma'am. Maya's going to the room first, huh? Change clothes and do pe-er."

"Oh?" lirih Mommy with a little surprise as the mixture. From the eyes that had begun to lose the light, I could see disappointed. "OKAY. Okay." Okay." I added in kalakian.

It's not by chance that I don't admit what I saw there. Not coincidentally I ignored him. I chose to behave like that because .. I don't want to burden Mom with my own feelings. I don't want to make the situation that Mom is going through as something about me. I won't be that selfish.

I gently kissed Mom's forehead before standing up and turning around. I give extra strength to every step I take. I don't want Mom to see me wobbly.

In the kitchen, I found Ms. Pika drifting in a reading on her phone screen. I knew the middle-aged woman was engrossed in reading from the serious expression on her face. Also reading glasses are peeked at the base of the nose.

"Hi, Miss Pik," I said using a nickname I gave that woman.

"Hi, Maya." He nodded while removing the lens of the maid from the front of his eyes. "How's your mother doing?"

Standard questions after I visited Mom. "He ... well, I guess," I replied as I put my shoulder around.

Ms. Pika gave me a smile full of pity.

I hate that smile.

He stretched out his hand, reached out to my hand which I had placed on the kitchen counter, and landed several small sympathetic pats there.

I hate that pat.

I gave Ms. Pika the same smile I gave Mom. I pulled my hand off the table. Then I stood up and said goodbye using the same sentence.

I hate living like this.

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