Mom laid there, her frail body barely making a ripple in the bed's sheets. The illness burrowed itself into her skin, causing it to look deathly pale and almost translucent. Her skin clung to the bones of her face, yet her high cheekbones still held a remnant of the beauty she once was.
Her hair, once a vibrant auburn, was now laid in silver strands against the pillow. Her lips, also pale, were slightly parted, struggling for breath, but her eyes, dimmed by the illness, retained their twinkle, the spark of her mischievous nature.
I sat on my knees by her bedside and watched her silently as she watched me in turn. I was struck by how fragile she looked as if a single breath could break her. Her fingers, thin and trembling, rested atop the blanket before they reached out to me. I took her cold hand in mine and felt her squeeze my hand weakly.
I didn't know what to do anymore.
"You are so beautiful, you know that? My very own handsome boy," she murmured, her eyes filled with love.
I felt a heavy ache in my chest and a rawness in my throat as I listened to her words. I hardly ever heard her speak like this. I could barely even remember the last time she told me she loved me. We just didn't have that kind of relationship. She either scolded or teased me relentlessly, nothing in between.
"You used to tell me I have a face only a mother could love," I scoffed, yet smiling as I tried to hold back tears.
She let go of my hand and trailed her fingertips across my cheeks. "I think that Liesel girl at the market would strongly disagree with the way she's been eyeing you up. Besides, I do love this face. So I'm about half right."
I leaned into her touch for a moment, allowing the sensations to flow through me before turning my face away. I couldn't allow myself to feel it; I couldn't stop the tears from flowing if I did.
She took hold of my jaw lightly and turned my face back to her. "Don't look away from me, baby. You need to listen to what I have to say now more than ever." I nodded my head slightly but avoided eye contact with her. "I know you're a shy boy, but you need to go out and find yourself a pretty wife and give me beautiful grandchildren. The girls love you. They always have. You just need to give them a chance; talk to one at least."
Still avoiding eye contact, I said, "I don't have time for women right now; I need to work the land, make as much from it as I can, and take care of you."
"You should sell the land after this bag of bones has finally expired. The crop yield has turned up less and less each year. It's not going to get any better. It probably won't be much, but at least you'll have enough to venture out into the real world and leave these Godforsaken lands behind. It certainly never brought us any good fortune."
I allowed her to finish, feeling my anger simmer the longer she spoke. I wanted so badly to scream at her, shake her, and tell her to shut the hell up and not to speak like this. Like she was preparing me for a life without her. I didn't want to hear it. But before I spoke, I allowed myself a moment to calm down. "Like I said, you are my top priority now. I need to make enough coin to get the best doctors to take a look at you."
"Engel, look at me. Look at your mother," she said sternly.
I could feel her eyes bore into me, but I kept my eyes averted until I couldn't anymore. And once my eyes met hers, I couldn't stop it anymore. My tears started flowing freely, my lips quivering. "I can't lose you, mommy."
"Come to mommy, baby. Come on, you are not going to hurt me. Cuddle up to mommy like you used to." I started sobbing as I got into bed with her. As I embraced her, pressing myself against her tightly yet trying to be as delicate as possible, I felt the coldness of her body against my skin. I never noticed she was shivering slightly, but now I could feel it. And it made me sob even more. "It's okay, my Engel; mommy's got you. I'm here right now." She cooed in my ear as she stroked my hair and back.
I felt terrible for being the one to have to be comforted.
We stayed like this for several minutes, just holding each other. After a while, my sobbing ceased, but she didn't stop her murmuring, nor did she stop touching me. I could feel her shivering stop, and I almost imagined seeing some color returning to her skin the more I held her.
"Tell me how I can make this stop; tell me how I can make this all better," I whispered.
I felt her body stiffen slightly in my embrace, and she became silent, her face now a picture of contemplation.
I looked at her intently, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't, her expression turning into one of uncertainty.
"Mother," I said, hope rising in my chest.
"No, I can't, we can't," she muttered to herself.
"Mom, what is it? I'll do anything. Anything that will make you better."
She let go of me completely and shifted away from me slightly, yet kept her gaze locked on me the whole time. "My son, I want to tell you something, but I don't know if I should. It is deeply personal, and you might not look at me or your father the same way after I tell you this. So I ask again. Are you sure you are ready to hear this?"
In hindsight, I probably should have thought it over a bit more, but at that moment, I didn't give it a second thought. I was willing to do whatever it took to save her. "Just tell me, please."
She let out a deep sigh before she revealed, "I've been dealing with this sickness my whole life ever since I was a little girl."
"Then why have I barely ever seen you sick before?" I interjected.
She gave me a stern look as a response, making it clear I wasn't to interrupt again. "That was until I met this older man who claimed he could cure me. At first, I didn't believe him; I even convinced myself I had made peace with the fact I was dying, but I wasn't, far from it. So, eventually, I prodded him for information. Asking him how he was planning to cure me and what I had to give him in return. But he was tightlipped about it, never revealing how he was planning to cure me, but what he did say was that if I wanted to be cured, I had to marry him. As you might imagine, this came as a massive shock to me. I was still a young girl; I didn't want to marry this old man. So I just gave him a disgusted look and walked away. But what you need to understand is that I came from a poor family; we had nothing. And here was this man who wanted to marry me and take care of me. Now he was by no means rich. But he had enough--a lot more than we had. So after some time, I agreed. And I couldn't tell you how ecstatic he was. He promised me I wasn't going to regret it. So we got married and consummated our marriage. And a few weeks later, I was cured."
I furrowed my brow in confusion and asked, "Wait, so how did he cure you then?"
"And that's exactly what I asked him, and his answer was, 'My seed, dear, my seed." Those were the exact words he used.
My face twisted in disgust for a moment before I said, "And you believed that bullshit."
"Language son," she warned, giving me a pointed look.
"Sorry, mom," I muttered.
She blinked in acknowledgment. "Well, I didn't get sick again, not since he died 5 months ago. So I have to believe that his presence had some effect on my health.
"I guess that makes sense, but to insinuate that his cum could cure..." Then it dawned on me. She believed that my cum could cure her. "Mom, no... I can't."
"Son, your language," she repeated half-heartedly. But this time, there was sadness in her eyes. "I understand, my boy, how could we ever do something so sinful, so deplorable? It's just... I'm sorry for even bringing it up. The truth is that I'm afraid to die. And that's the true reason I married your father, clinging to any hope. And that's why I even entertained this idea. I'm just a foolish woman trying to cling to her life. But the difference this time is, I've actually got a reason for living now. You. My sweet, beautiful boy. You."
"Mom, I don't know about this."
"It's okay, baby. I don't expect it from you. But what I do expect is some grandbabies." She tried to smile, but it immediately faltered. "I'm sorry, son; I just need some time alone. Why don't you make me some soup?"
I hesitated a few moments before I spoke, not knowing quite what to say, still a bit in shock. "So, um, you'll finally eat something. I never thought I'd see the day again." But my attempt at humor fell completely flat. She just looked sad before rolling over on her side and turning her back to me. "I'll just take a quick nap," she mumbled.
I felt awful. I knew at that moment she wanted me to do it. But I wasn't ready. And I didn't know then if I ever would be.
So I slipped out of the sheets and headed toward the kitchen. I sat down on the cold stone floor and just cupped my hands over my face. I felt like screaming.
Did I love my mother? Of course. Did I love her enough to actually... I didn't even want to finish that thought. I felt sick.
Then I stood up and started pacing around the kitchen, up and down, up and down.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to lose her, but the thought of defiling my sickly mother was just, well, sickening.
But she wanted it. She very clearly wanted it. Who was I to deny her, the woman who gave birth to me, the woman who gave her life for me?
And if I was going to be completely honest with myself, I wanted her too. I think I always did. I just had to suppress it because what kind of sick freak wanted to fuck his own mother?
I was going to do it; I had to do it.
So I got to work and made her soup, knowing that after I fed her I was going to inseminate her.
"Mom," I said, shaking her lightly as I placed her hot bowl of soup on the nightstand. "Time to eat." I could feel the tension in her shoulders; she was awake, but she didn't turn around or say anything. "Mom, please, you have to eat something." Then her shoulders started trembling. "Mommy, please look at me."
"I'm sorry I made you make soup. I just needed an excuse to be alone. You know I can't keep that shit down." She continued to tremble as she spoke.
"Language, young missy." I tried to sound lighthearted, but I couldn't keep the concern out of my voice. "Why are you shaking so much?" When she once again didn't reply, I repeated, "Please look at me."
"Just go," she muttered.
"Mother I--"
Mother moved faster than I had seen her move in months when she turned around and shrieked, "I said get the fuck out!"
