Mothers Instinct

TW: Filicide and mental instability

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Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘face your fears?’ 

I’m sure you have. Or something of the sort. However, have you ever stopped to wonder when a fear is too bold to face? What happens then, if you face that fear?

How many people get hurt?

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I’m sitting in a chair, wrist raw from the restraints that I’d thrashed against. They removed them, when I refused to talk. Now I’m staring at judgemental brown eyes tucked behind horn-rimmed glasses. 

“So, Amy.” He begins. I grit my teeth.

“Yes?” I ask.

“You're here because of the accident.” He said gently. “Can you tell me about what led up to it?”

I wrap my hands in fist. Clench and unclench. Drag in a slow breath and breathe out. One thing I can see. Books. One thing I can feel. The pain of my unkempt nails biting into my flesh. One thing I can hear. The creak of the man's chair as he shifts on it.

“I had a therapist before this.” I say tensely. “I’ve always…” I drift off, mind suddenly going blank. What was I saying again?

“Always… struggled?” He offered.

Ah. This. “Yes. I’ve always struggled. My previous therapist, he said that I should try to face my fears. Small ones at first. Then bigger. He said it was fine to have some, so long as they don’t take over my life.”

“Yes. It sounds like good advice.” The man says.

I don’t like referring to him as ‘The Man.’ It sounds ominous. My eyes scan his desk, resting on a dulled silver plate with the name Dr. Jone carved into it.

Dr. Jone. That’s what I’ll call him.

“Yes.” I say. 

Dr. Jone lets a moment of silence hang between us before he speaks again.

“Can you tell me how this relates to your daughter and the accident?” He asks gently.

He always asks questions gently. So different then the way everyone else asks questions.

“After I had Tilly.” I start. “My fears came back much worse. I stopped some of them, like spiders, but one of them stayed. Tilly. I kept seeing…” I struggle, my words faltering. 

“Take your time.” Dr. Jone says.

I take a breath. Just keep talking. “I kept seeing her getting hurt. Some Mondays I would watch her little baby limbs snap as she bounces down the stairs. Like a ragdoll. A pretty, dead, ragdoll. It didn’t matter how, but I always ended up without her, and it was always my fault. The baby-gate left open. Something left too close to the edge of the counter. A socket I forgot to cover.”

“I see.” Dr. Jones said, writing something down. “How did you respond to this?”

“I would wake up, run to her room. I would see her little eyes, the back of them were so pretty. Her hair too. Such a pretty color.” I sigh. “Then I would walk outside, and I would sit in front of her door. Just in case. Better to be safe.”

Dr. Jones nodded. “Good. You’re doing well. What changed?”

I don’t understand what he means. Nothing changed. Not that I can think of. He looks at me, finding the confusion in my eyes he begins to speak.

“Well it sounds to me like you were putting Tilly in front of your own health. That's true isn’t it?”

I bristle immediately. Who the hell does he think he is? He couldn’t even be subtle about it. What changed? I’ve always put her first. Always.

“Nothing changed.” I snap.

A twinge of sadness plays in his eyes. “Aubrey… I know it's hard to accept, but Tilly’s dead, and something did change. It wouldn’t have ended like it did if it hadn’t.”

I want to leave. I want to wrap my hands around this man's throat and watch life fade from his eyes. I want to kill him. I think I’m going to.

He sees it. Alarm crossing his face, then unease. He glances at the windows where two guards stand.

Too bad it's soundproof. 

Before I can shift he brings a small pager from his pocket into his hand. He softly raises one eyebrow. Then he gently nods to the guards.

Maybe I won’t kill him.

“Aubrey.” He said gently, “you can tell me, you won’t get in trouble.”

I curl my fingers into a fist. 

“I wasn’t well.” I say. “I wasn’t sleeping. The anti-depressants I was taking weren’t an option anymore. And there were the hormones.” I spit the last word out. “I was forgetting things. She was crying. Always crying. I couldn’t make her happy. All because I was so worried that I would lose her.” I’m trembling slightly. “What kind of mother is so worried about losing a child that they forget to feed the damn thing?”

Dr. Jones quietly pushes a box of tissues towards me.

It just makes me angrier. Teases the words out of me.

“I did what I knew to do.” I snap. My voice is rising, gaining anger and traction. “I faced my fear. If Tilly almost died, then I would have faced my fear, and I could be a better mother.” My voice fades off, a shuddering sob racks my chest. “She wasn’t supposed to die. I didn’t want her to die. I thought that if she just stopped breathing for a little, if I left her in the pool for just long enough…”

Tears are running heavily down my face. Snot mixing with them. Dripping onto old unwashed jumpers, orange jumpers. The clothes you put on a murderer. “I didn’t want her to die. I just wanted her to have a better mother.” 

I can see it in his eyes, even through his cool proffesional mask, dissapointment. Anger. Disgust.

I’m feeling weak. I slump in the chair slightly.

“Aubrey, you have to accept that it was you. Even if it was an accident.”

I take a tissue and wipe my face. It doesn’t do much. I drop it in the wastebasket, body still shuddering with sobs.

“Don’t you see?” I whisper. “I was doing it for her.” An angry sob comes out of my chest this time. “Not because I wanted her dead. I didn’t want to kill her. You don’t understand. I didn’t want her to die.”

Dr. Jones sighs quietly. “Can I just… ask you a question? Make sure I understand?” He asks.

I nod. Reaching for another tissue.

“You were trying to confront your worst fear, a nightmare? So you could be more present for Tilly?”

I take a shuddering breath and nod. “Yes. Yes. You see? I was just trying to help.”

He nods. “Thank you Aubrey. I’m sorry that we have to meet like this. I’m afraid I can’t keep you any longer.”

My sobs stop suddenly. I look up. 

He kept me in here for a confession, not because he cared.

I start to spiral, that slow, agonizing spiral. Thoughts speed up, flashing before my eyes. I can feel myself losing control. Feel the twitch as my legs try to stand. I’m watching myself slowly stand up, stare into his eyes with pure, unfiltered rage. Watch as he presses the pager and the door opens as I try to launch myself at him.

I watch as I’m dragged off him, screaming. The same words over and over.

I didn’t mean to. 

I didn’t me…

I didn…

I di-

I…