⚠‼WARNING‼⚠....HARSH WORDS AND CUSSING, AND DISCUSSION OF RA*PE
I remember every argument my mother and father make, I remember fidgeting my necklace every time I felt nervous or emotional, tapping the cold marble floor, my back against the grandfather clock, so I could only hear more of the ticking than the screaming
"He is not my son! You slut! Our son is back in America—do you even care about him?""I was raped, Ezekiel! I called you to pick me up and you never came! Why? Because you were fucking with Ren!"
A thud. My father's hand. My mother falling. "Shut your mouth!"
I couldn't take it. I ran toward them, but I could only watch—like a ghost, like someone a step removed. Behind my mother stood my older self, smiling, his eyes red. "Tell me, whose fault is this?" The words echoed, and a child's scream tore out of me. "Mother! I'm sorry!"
My mother's voice was soft through the noise, each word a lullaby and a warning. "You came into this world to find purpose—to live and be happy. There will be enemies, they are only people who breathe different air and follow the beat of their desires."
Memory fractured and glitched: my mother humming the lullaby that put me to sleep, her hands smoothing my hair, the warmth of her chest when I nuzzled in for comfort. Then the other memory—the one that would never leave me. I saw her tremble, saw her pick up the gun. She was trembling, her eyes red, she looked at me and cried, she smiled at me ever so softly before she shot herself, I screamed and my ears rang... Her body hit the ground, the blood on her head dilating on the hardwood floor, her eyes were still open, they were red like mine, like Devian's, my father...
"Mom, flowers die when you don't water them? Can't they grow alone?"
"Some particular flowers and plants grow on their own without needing to be taken cared of, domestic flowers like those we have in our garden, need to be taken care of"
"But why?
"Because they're more precious, and when you raise them right, they'll grow beautifully"
"What about wild flowers, they're not pretty?"
"They are, but sometimes they are not what they seem to be, 'pretty', some hide in their beauty because they are scary, poisonous, to protect themselves, or to feed on their preys"
"You're a pretty flower mom, like roses"
"You're a handsome flower"
"Like? Wild, or Domestic?"
"You can be both"
Those memories I loved turned poison as the truth surfaced. My blood boiled beyond its limit. A voice—his voice—whispered: "Now you know. Now kill him. Mother has suffered enough. Let her rest from your nightmares. Do not bring her back here."
The headache hit. I was hyperventilating. I slowly lifted myself from the arch of my back; sweat and tears slicked my face. Devian had vanished. His room was empty—packed. He had planned this. He was always planning to fuck with me.
I hurled the lamp across the room. Glass shattered. I raised my head, my eyes were red and hard.
I will make sure he never sees the light of day.