Chapter 316
“My mother is not a whore.”
And for the first time in my life, I felt powerful
And completely out of control.
I didn’t remember the walk home.
The blood on my sleeves had dried into sticky patch it itched
They told me to bring my fathef tomorrow, or I’d be suspended. I told them I wouldn’t, and I meant it. So they suspended me.
Fine. Let them.
I didn’t care.
I just wanted to go home. I wanted Mum to still be there. I wanted–God, I don’t me. Maybe to say I didn’t do anything wrong. That I wasn’t a monster.
know what I wanted. Maybe for her to hold
That she was proud of me for once for standing up for myself and not being a
a coward.
I wanted to run into her arms and bury my face in her chest, even if she didn’t want to hug me back. I didn’t care. I’d wrap my arms around her waist and hold her tight, and maybe–just maybe–she’d remember I was her son.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be loved. The feeling of being loved was slowly fizzling away along with my childhood memories.
The whole place was silent the moment I stepped into the gate.
No guards. No staff. Not even the driver’s annoying humming. The house was silent.
Way too silent.
Dad gave some of the staff days off every now and then–but all of them? Never.
My feet moved faster.
“Mum?” I called out, my voice shaking. “Mum, are you home?”
No answer.
I stepped inside. “Mum?”
Still nothing.
My chest tightened as I climbed the stairs. The door to their room was halfway open. I didn’t care to knock. I just instinctively pushed.
But I shouldn’t have
I should have turned around, gone straight to my room, taken a long pull from Mum’s favorite whisky–the one that had somehow become my favorite too–and passed out, praying the whole day would start afresh so that I could do some things differently.
Because when I stepped in, the world–my world–ripped apart.
There were blood stains everywhere. On the bed, the floor, everywhere.
My feet froze.
I didn’t breathe. I sincerely couldn’t.
at the
Dad was sitting with his head bowed.
“Dad?” I whispered.
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He didn’t look up. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands tangled in his hair like he was trying to rip the thoughts out of his skull. His whole body shook like he’d been crying so hard he forgot How to stop.
“Dad… what’s going on?” I asked, softer this time.
He didn’t answer.
I swallowed. My throat burned. I took a slow step forward. My shoes made a sticky sound against the floor. I didn’t dare look down at the blood. I couldn’t. If I looked, I’d see. And if I saw, I’d know.
“Where’s Mum?” My voice cracked. “Where is she?”
His head jerked a little like my words physically hit him.
Then, slowly, he looked up at me.
His face was blotched and sunken as if someone had taken a torch to it from the inside. His eyes… They were red, but not from rage or drink. It was from crying.
I had never seen my father cry. Not once. Not even at Grandpa’s funeral.
His lips moved, but no sound came out at first. He swallowed, clenched his jaw, and looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was standing there.
Then, he slowly said the words that would change my life for the worse.
“She’s gone.”
My heart stopped.
There was silence… As if the whole world paused to make room for those words.
I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
Not even a sob.
It was like the grief got stuck somewhere between my ribs and never made it to my throat.
I didn’t even cry.
In that godless moment, I felt everything in me go still. It was like something inside me had been quietly dying all along, and this… This was the final breeze that blew off the candle.
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And I felt a door inside me slowly closing… and I knew that door would never open again.
