I Still Love Her

My stepdad has some nieces whose biological mother had Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome and when I looked it up to learn a bit more about it, I found out that the majority of children abused in this manner are preschool, though they are a few who are abused as old as 16.  So, I wrote a story about an older child going through this.  MBPS is when a caretaker of a child purposefully makes them sick.  And here's the story.

            I sat in the emergency room for the third time in two weeks.  My face and throat were swollen and it was hard for me to breathe.  I was sixteen at the time and my mother was at it again.  I’ve known since I was about thirteen that my mother suffers from Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome.  This means she makes me sick on purpose.  She’s done it ever since I was young.

            Why?  I honestly don’t know.  I know she had an abusive family and apparently that’s a common factor in most people with MBPS.  Why don’t I tell anyone?  It’s simple; I love my mother.  She loves me too.  I know she does.  She just doesn’t know how to show it.

            Once she slipped a little bit of bleach in my drink and when I was barfing it up at the emergency room I saw the look on her face.  Complete horror at what she’d done.  I also remember that when we got home she was crying and crying and saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry, Danny!”

            This time, she had given me a Nutella and peanut butter sandwich.  I’m allergic to peanut butter, which is why I always eat Nutella sandwiches.

            “Don’t tell!  Please, baby, just don’t tell!”  She pleaded with me, running her thin hands up and down my arm.  Her eyes were sunken deep into her eyes, her lips quivered and her thin frame shook.

            I had gotten to the point where I felt I had to tell someone.  Because of her MBPS, I was sickly and missed more days of school than I liked to, so, basically, I homeschooled myself.  It was kind of nice, because I’ve always been more introverted and when I was home alone, I could work ahead as much as I liked.  But I also wanted to make friends, which was something I couldn’t do at home puking out my guts.

            I was scared to tell anyone though.  She was basically abusing me, in fact, when I’d googled, ‘parents making children sick on purpose,’ I found out that it was a rare form of child abuse…and when parents abuse their children, these children are taken away and put in foster care, then the parents are put in prison.  I didn’t want foster care and I didn’t want my mother in prison.

            The pretty blonde nurse—my favorite—came and took me back to the room to give me the shot, shaking her head the entire time, “Mr. Bois, this is the third time in two weeks.  First you have trouble breathing, then that shellfish problem, and now you’ve eaten peanut butter.”  She continued shaking her head as I felt the swelling go down.  “How do you manage to do all this?”

            No, don’t ask me that!  I screamed.  Although I felt the need to tell someone what was going on, I wasn’t sure I actually wanted the option to tell on my mom.  I felt a sense of obligation to her.  She had fed me and clothed me since birth.  My father had been around for the first two years of my life, then bolted.  I have no memories of him.

            My hesitation made the nurse suspicious.  “Mr. Bois?  Are you alright?”

            “Do you know what Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome is?”

            She looked startled.  “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t remember what it is.  Why do you ask?  Do you know what it is?”

            “No, I just heard someone talking about it.”  The lie spilled from my lips before I had a chance to think about what I was saying.  I had become my mother.  She constantly lied to people.  Especially the ER.  There was one time she dropped my out a second story window, just I would break a bone, then said I’d leaned on the screen too hard and fallen out.

            “Oh?”  The nurse sat down on a stool and looked at me.  “Are you sure?”

            I shook my head slowly.

            “So you do know what it is?”  She raised her eyebrows at me and I nodded sheepishly.  “So, what is it?”

            “It’s a rare form of child abuse when the parent purposefully makes their child sick.”

            “Okay?”  She looked puzzled, until it registered what I had said, then her face registered shock.  “Oh.”  She lightly rested her hand on my arm, “How long has this been going on, Daniel?”

            I felt my forehead wrinkle as I tried to think about when it hadn’t been going on.  “I guess my whole life?”

            Her body went stiff and I worried I had upset her.  “Your whole life?”

            I nodded awkwardly and she got up and walked out.

            Crap.  Oh crap.  I thought.  She’s going to go ask my mom.  She won’t believe me.  I should have known better.  But instead she walked back in with a doctor, who asked me to repeat what I had already told the nurse.

            That night, I talked to several people.  Nurses, doctors, policemen…my mother.  There was a lot of crying going on, especially from my mother.  I just wanted to tell them to forget about it, that there was no reason to continue with this, my mother hadn’t done anything wrong, I made it all up for attention…but I didn’t.  I guess I was just sick of it all.  Sick of being sick for no reason.

            Of course, I was removed from my home.  I tried to tell them it would be okay, that I would be able to fend for myself, she wouldn’t make me sick on purpose again, but the cops didn’t believe me.  I honestly don’t blame them, because I didn’t believe myself either.

            “Daniel, how is your relationship with your mother?  Other than the MBPS?”  A friendly looking, red-haired, green eyed, policewoman had a legal pad open, pen poised, ready to write down anything I said.

            “I have the right to remain silent.”  I told her.  I didn’t want to incriminate my mother by accidentally saying something that would cause them to take me away for good.

            “Daniel,” the policewoman looked startled, “you aren’t the criminal here.”

            “Don’t call my mom that!”  I exploded.  “She’s not a bad person!  She just doesn’t know how to show her love, okay?  She does love me.  She’s a good mom.  She just has some flaws.”

            “Do you think good parents purposefully make their sons sick?”

            And of course, I hadn’t exercised my right to remain silent.  There was no way to answer her new question.

            “Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”  She asked quietly.

            I narrowed my eyes at her.

            When she finally realized I wasn’t going to answer her, she flipped her legal pad shut and slipped her pen in her chest pocket.  “Stockholm Syndrome is—”

            “I know what it is.”  I interrupted her.

            “Oh?”

            “Yes.  It’s when someone who is captive feels feelings for their captor.  My mom loves me.  I know she does. I just know she doesn’t know exactly how to show it.  And she’s not my captor.  Don’t come in and act like you know all about my situation.  And don’t you dare write any of this down either.  If you expect me to talk to you about anything, all this needs to stay off of the records.”

            She sighed and sat down on a nearby bench.  “Alright.  I can do that.  On one condition?”

            “What’s that?”

            “Anything I tell you right now stays off of the records too.”

            I know I gave her a wary look before I gave a quick sharp nod of agreement.

            “I lost my virginity to my father when I was thirteen.”

            I gave her a startled look.

            “I know, my situation isn’t the same.  But I loved that man.  It wasn’t until two years later when I got pregnant with my own sibling and was forced to have an abortion, that I finally told someone.  I understand loving someone who abuses you, okay?  In that case, I was removed from my home and have had no communication with my father, who is now in prison since then.  I’m twenty-six.”

            “Where are you going with this?”  I asked suspiciously, concerned she was going to say I could never see my mother again.

            “In my case, being removed from my home and never seeing that man again was the best thing for me.  In your case, you will probably removed from the home for a short time and your mother will be taking psychological treatment.  I’ve spoken to your mother and she’s told me over and over that she loves you.  She seems to mean it.”

            “Then why can’t I just go home with her now?”

            “Because the fact remains the same—she abused you and we cannot take that lightly.  You will, however, most likely be placed back with her, providing the treatment she takes helps.”

            “I wish I’d never said anything.”  I muttered, scuffing the toe of my shoe on the concrete sidewalk.

            “I’m glad that you did.”  The policewoman put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “It will be okay, Daniel.”

            They let me see my mother before I was sent to my foster home and she wrapped her arms around me tightly in a hug.

            “I’m so sorry, Danny.  I’m so, so sorry.  Please forgive me, babe, please!”

            I squeezed her as tightly as I could, “I love you, Mama.  I love you.  Don’t worry about a thing.”

            I didn’t want to let go of her, but I finally did.  I sat in the back of a police car, and was escorted to an emergency foster care family.  The whole way there though, all I could think was, It’ll be okay, Mama, we’ll figure it out.  I’m so sorry, Mama.  Maybe she had abused me, but she was still my mom, and I still loved her.  I always had.  I always would.

©2015 Katie Holm

Xena and the Haircut

A fanfiction I wrote for the Xena: Warrior Princess fandom.  Do enjoy and please leave a comment when you're done reading!

            Xena threw her chakram in the air, letting it fly, hitting walls, rocks, and finally cutting the rope that suspended the little baby in his basket, before returning to her hands.  “Gabrielle, get the baby!”  She shouted to her sidekick, doing a fantastic backflip backward, kicking Hayden, the wicked, baby-killing judge in the face.

            “Curse you, woman!”  He growled, clutching his bloody nose and glaring at the fearless woman standing in front of him.

            “Judge Hayden…too long, you’ve ruled these people with fear and intimidation,” Xena gestured toward the group of townspeople that had gathered to watch her kick-butt, “I think they can decide what to do with you now, you coward.”  Then she walked away, signaling for Gabrielle to follow her.

            She knew what was going to happen to Judge Hayden, he would be thrown in prison by the very townspeople he had before ruled with an iron fist.  His deeds had been brought to the open and no one would trust him with the position of judge again.

            Gabrielle walked beside her on the road, cheerily talking about how happy she was that the villain had been taken care of and that the villagers would be safe now, without him.  Xena was only half listening, lost in thoughts of her own, and when Gabrielle asked her a question, absent mindedly nodded her agreement.

            “Wait, seriously?”  Gabrielle stopped in her tracks and gaped at Xena in amazement.

            “Yes, seriously.  My mind is made up.  And you know I won’t change it.”  Xena had no idea what she’d agreed to, but it made Gabrielle speechless, which was something Xena would appreciate for a while.

            They’d walked a while longer before coming upon a town and Gabrielle pointed toward a barber shop.  “There’s one.”

            “One what?”

            “Barber shop.”

            “I see that.  Do you want to get a haircut?”

            “We should both get layers in our hair.  It would be so beautiful, especially with your hair.  I’m sure that you’d have even more guys following you around.”

            Xena laughed dryly, “Just what I need, more annoying admirers.”

            Gabrielle laughed, “Well, maybe I would get some guys other than Joxer following me around.”

            “Go for it.  I’ll stay out here with Argo.”

            Gabrielle crossed her arms.  “You’re getting layers with me.  You’re the only reason I’m even actually getting a haircut.”

            Xena raised an eyebrow.  “Gabrielle, there is no way I’m going to layer my hair.  I like it just fine the way it is.”

            “Oh, just come on!”  Gabrielle huffed at Xena.  “You have to.”

            “And why do I have to?”

            “You told me you would!”

            “I am not responsible for anything I say in a dream you have, Gabrielle.  I’m not layering my hair.  I’m not even cutting it.”

            “Xena, this wasn’t a dream, it was when we were leaving that last town.  I said that we should get a haircut sometime and you said sure.  Then I asked if you wanted to layer your hair and you said definitely!”

            “That’s what I was agreeing to?”

            “Yes.  And you can’t break your promises.”

            Xena sighed discontentedly and Gabrielle crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

            “You said you would.”

            “Can’t you just drop it?  You know I’m not that kind of person!”  When Gabrielle kept staring her down, Xena finally rolled her eyes.  “Fine, I’ll get it cut, but nothing crazy.”

            Xena glared at her reflection in the hand mirror the barber handed her.  “Gabrielle.”  She growled.  “I told you nothing crazy.”

            “It’s not crazy!  It’s just feathered layers.”

            Xena blew a bit of hair out of her face and gave Gabrielle a ‘what have you done to me, go die’ look.  “Not crazy?  Not crazy, huh?  I liked my bangs.  I liked my straight hair.  Now it’s…uncontrollable!”

            “Well, at least it looks good on you!”  Gabrielle gestured madly toward the new hairdo.

            “Gabrielle…looking good on me is not something I worry about.  Manageable is something I worry about.”  Xena clutched the air in her hands, strangling it the way she wanted to strangle Gabrielle and the barber.

            Gabrielle looked at her for a moment before huffing and walking away shouting, “Excuse me for trying to help your fashion!”

            It wasn’t long after that, that Xena and Gabrielle were back on the road, neither one speaking to each other and Xena often blowing newly feathered bangs out of her eyes.  It was driving her insane.  Almost as much as when Ares had called the Furies in to curse her with madness.

            “Well, well, look what we have here….”  There was a slow, sickly sweet voice from behind, “two pretty dames, all alone, without a defender.”

            Xena turned to face the man, who was well built, a seasoned warrior, looking for some fun after a quiet day.  “You assume women can’t defend themselves.”  She mused.  “So sweet.”

            The man laughed, “They can either be tough or they can be pretty, and you both are very pretty.”

            Xena raised her eyebrow, “Is that so?  Come ‘ere, just try me.”  The corner of her mouth was lifted in a smirk and the man, laughing, came nearer.

            When he reached to grab her shoulders and pull her in for a kiss, she kneed him, sending him to the ground, but he was quickly on his feet, chasing her.  She spun around, ready to whack him in the head with her fist, but she couldn’t see him.  All she could see was a feathery, ebony mass of hair.

            She heard the clunk of skull on wood and pushed her hair out of her eyes just in time to see him land on the ground, Gabrielle’s staff poised above his head, ready to strike if he moved.

            “Why didn’t you do some crazy awesome punching trick on him, Xena?”  Gabrielle demanded.

            “Well,” Xena looked her dead in the eye, “I might have, except someone made me get this blasted haircut!”

©2015 Katie Holm

The Other Woman

This is a story that stemmed from one of my many unreasonable fears.  Enjoy.

Tyler was the best guy I had ever met, both in looks and attitude.  He was taller than me by half a foot and both that as well as the well-defined muscles he had acquired from weight lifting made me feel safe when I was in his arms.  We hadn’t ‘done,’ anything, in fact, I had made it quite clear to him on our first date that I was a virgin and that I planned to stay that way until my wedding night.  He didn’t push, which was something I appreciated, as well as something I couldn’t say for a vast majority of my exes.

            That morning, when I arrived to the daycare, there was a bundle of flowers with a note card saying, I love you, I’ll see you tonight ;)  I was really psyched for our date that night, and the flowers he had had delivered to work had really made my day.

            I was not prepared  for what happened when I took my lunch break.  I had gone to Braum’s and had just ordered and found my seat, when a tall, thin, blonde woman walked up to my table and slid in the seat across from me.

            “I’m sorry, do I know you?”  I took a sip of my Dr. Pepper and examined her quizzically.

            “No.  But you do know my brother-in-law.”  She crossed her arms and smiled a pinched, fake, smile.

            “I do?”

            “Tyler Anderson.”

            My heart stopped and I nearly choked on my pop.  Tyler Anderson.  My Tyler.  I started shaking my head, “No, no, no, you must be mistaken.  He’s my boyfriend.  He’s not married.  He can’t be anyone’s brother-in-law.”

            “Aren’t you funny.  He’s my brother-in-law.  Don’t act like you’re innocent.”  She tapped long, red painted fingernails on the table.

            In the background, I heard my order number being called.  444.  The Chinese number of death, three times.  I didn’t get up.  I couldn’t get up.  “But, he’s my boyfriend.”

            “Oh, I never said he wasn’t.  I just said he’s married.  Do you know what that makes you?”

            My whole world crashed.  That made me the other woman.  A slut.  A ho.  A whore.  I felt the blood drain from my face.  “I…I didn’t know!”

            “Do you seriously expect me to believe that?”  Her eyebrows raised.  “He wears a wedding ring.”

            I shook my head.  “No, he doesn’t!  He never has!”

            She gave me a look that could kill someone.  “Do you have proof?”

            I didn’t.  Wait.  I did.  Thank God for smartphones!  I got out my phone and scrolled through all the pictures I had of Tyler.  In each one that showed his hands, his left ring finger was always naked.  “I had no idea.  I really didn’t!”  I was too shocked for tears.

            “So we have a Two Black Cadillacs situation….”

            I swallowed hard.  He had taken me to the park.  He had taken me to expensive restaurants.  He had lied to me.  The Braum’s lady called my number again.

            “I’ll get it for you.”  The blonde got up and left me alone in my thoughts.

            When she came back, I had shed my tears, and was instead screaming at him in my mind.  “I had no idea.”  I told her.  “I have a date with him tonight.  I’m ending it then.”

            She looked me in the eye and I saw, in the depths of her blue eyes, that she understood how painful this would be for me.  “I see my baby sister bawling her eyes out, I hear her calling me, sobbing, because her husband is lying to her and isn’t showing up when he says he will.  I hear her telling me she suspects he’s cheating.  I see her pain.  I understand yours.”

            That night, I put on the colorful dress that Tyler had always told me he loved. I pulled on the zip up boots that he said were sexy.  And for the last time, I put on the hoodie he had loaned me.  Our date was at the park and I took with me a shoebox with the jewelry he’d gotten me, every picture we’d taken together and printed, all the movie stubs; I was giving them back to him.

            When I got out of my car and slammed the door shut, he was already there, leaning against a tree.  His smile was bright and his dark hair brushed on his forehead.  And he was not mine to love.  I had to remember that or I knew my resolve would crumble.

            I greeted him with a smile, and deflected his hello kiss.

            “I have something for you.”  I smiled at him, like just being by him wasn’t killing me inside.

            “Oh?  I hope it’s a loving kiss!”

            I smiled and felt the fakeness of it on my lips.  “No…not this time.”  I opened the shoebox.  “This is the necklace you gave me on our second date…when you told me I was the only girl for you.”  I handed him the heart shaped necklace.  “This is the envelope with every love letter you ever gave me.  This is a stub from when we went to see that movie you said you didn’t see the point in, but you went to because you loved me.”  I went on and on, handing him everything until his hands were full and things tumbled onto the ground.

            He didn’t understand what I was doing and with everything I gave him, a bit of my already broken heart broke a bit more.  “And this,” I dropped the shoebox on the ground and pulled a ring box from my pocket.  “is a new wedding ring, as you seem to have lost your other one.”  After that, I pulled his hoodie over my head and threw it on the ground.

            Then I turned and walked away from him, gasping with the pain, my body shaking from the sobs.  I got in my car and drove away, to the lake.  I had been cheated on before, I had been told I would never amount to anything and now, after I had finally opened up my heart to someone, he betrayed me.  “Et tu Tyler?”  I whispered, tears streaming down my face.  I wished it was raining.  I wished the skies felt as sad as I did.

            You always hear about the ‘other woman,’ and she is looked upon with disdain, sometimes hatred, but in this case, she was just as innocent as the wife.  And just as broken.

©2015 Katie Holm