Mom walked in, gently closing the door behind her.
She had just taken a shower. Her hair was damp, cascading over her shoulders, carrying the fresh scent of shampoo.
She had changed into a pale purple silk nightgown. The style was relatively conservative, reaching her knees, but the soft, silky fabric clung to her body, subtly revealing the mature, full curves of her figure.
She seemed a bit uneasy. She walked to my bedside and sat down sideways.
The mattress sank slightly under her weight.
The hem of her nightgown rode up a bit with her movement, exposing a stretch of her snow-white, smooth thigh. Under the soft glow of the desk lamp, it was dazzling, making my breath catch in my throat.
Mom keenly noticed my gaze. A faint blush, barely noticeable, rose on her cheeks. She somewhat unnaturally tugged the hem of her gown downward with her hand, trying to cover more skin.
She took a deep breath and tried to speak in a calm, gentle tone: "An'an, what's wrong? Have you run into something lately? Tell Mom."
I looked into Mom's eyes, gentle yet filled with worry, reflecting my own flustered face.
I steeled my heart, gritted my teeth, and braced myself to begin the confession I had rehearsed countless times in my mind, the words now clumsy and inadequate.
"Mom... I... Ever since starting senior year, I've felt the pressure is really immense... really immense..."
I lowered my head, not daring to look at her anymore, speaking incoherently, "There are so many test papers every day, so many problems, I can never finish them... Others seem to study so easily, only I can't keep up... I can't sleep. As soon as I close my eyes, my mind is a mess..."
I rambled on about the difficulties with studying, the anxiety inside, using these as the real—and the only—reasons I could voice.
Mom listened quietly, not interrupting, her eyes filled with heartache and understanding.
She occasionally offered a few soft words of comfort: "Mom knows senior year is hard. Just hang in there a little longer, it'll be better once you get into university... Don't put too much pressure on yourself..."
Her gentleness acted like a catalyst, instead intensifying the struggle and that distorted courage within me.
After laying the groundwork for a long time, feeling the atmosphere had perhaps reached that critical point, I suddenly raised my head, looked straight into Mom's eyes, and with all my strength, my voice trembling almost out of tune, said:
"Mom! You... can you... can you help me?"
Mom was stunned. The gentle expression on her face instantly froze, replaced by immense shock and disbelief: "Help... help you? How?"
The words were out, like water spilled, impossible to take back.
My chest heaved violently. As if throwing caution to the wind, I pleaded in a tearful voice: "Mom... help me... relieve some of this pressure... I can't take it anymore... Now, whenever I close my eyes, my mind is full of... full of images of you... I can't control myself..."
*Smack!*
Mom stood up abruptly from the bed as if electrocuted, her cheeks instantly turning crimson, all the way to the tips of her ears.
Her eyes were filled with shock, shame, anger, and a hint of panic and... perhaps fury?—something I had never seen before.
"No! Absolutely not!"
Her voice suddenly rose sharply, carrying an unquestionable firmness, even a hint of shrillness, "Lin An! Do you have any idea what you're saying?! We are mother and son! How could... how could you have such thoughts! This is simply... nonsense!"
Seeing Mom's intense reaction, even though I was mentally prepared, my heart still felt like it instantly plunged into an ice cellar. My courage was spent.
I was like a balloon drained of air, dejectedly hanging my head, slumping on the bed, my voice as faint as a thread: "It's nothing... Mom... I'm sorry... It's my fault... I shouldn't have said those things..."
I pulled the quilt over my head and said in a muffled voice: "I... I need to rest."
Mom stood where she was, her chest still heaving from agitation.
She looked at my curled-up form, her expression extremely complex—anger, disappointment, but also a hint of barely perceptible worry and... conflict?
She walked to the door, placed her hand on the doorknob, paused for a moment, then still turned back. Her tone softened a bit but still carried a warning: "An'an, it's not that Mom doesn't want to help you, but some things... absolutely cannot be done, no matter what. We are mother and son; that can never change. You... you're just under too much pressure right now, letting your thoughts run wild. After this period passes, when you're in university, you'll meet many nice girls, you'll..."
"Mom! I'm going to sleep!"
I interrupted her roughly, pulling the quilt tighter around me, not wanting to hear any more.
Mom looked at my resistant back, sighed deeply, and ultimately said nothing more.
She gently opened the door and gently closed it, shutting out the light and sound from the outside world.
Hearing the sound of her departing footsteps, my heart was a tumult of mixed emotions.
There was a sense of relief, like a weight lifted after confessing a secret, but much more was the immense disappointment, embarrassment, and deep self-loathing after being clearly rejected.
I knew I had said the most unspeakable thing, broken something, and perhaps could never go back to how things were before.
And I didn't know that my earth-shattering request had also stirred up a tempest in Mom's heart.
She returned to her own bedroom, lay on the bed, but tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
In the darkness, my pleading expression, those blunt and shameful words, intertwined repeatedly with the indecent scene she had inadvertently glimpsed in my room earlier.
Her husband's long-term absence, her own suppressed emotions and physical needs, and her son's distorted yet fervent longing... all this tangled together in her heart like a mess.
She felt fear, shame, absurdity, but deep down, it seemed some secret corner was lightly stirred by an indescribable, forbidden sense of stimulation, which made her feel even more flustered and guilty.
She shook her head hard, trying to shake off this terrible thought, telling herself over and over that this was wrong, absolutely unacceptable.
In the following days, the atmosphere at home dropped to freezing point.
It was as if an invisible glass wall stood between Mom and me.
I tried to avoid her as much as possible, leaving early and returning late, shutting myself in my room even when home.
I looked utterly dejected and listless.
Mom also seemed to want to return to normal, but her eyes always held worry and scrutiny, secretly observing my state.
She was growing increasingly worried about me.
Several times, when I went to school absent-minded, I almost got hit by an electric scooter while crossing the street, and she was the one shouting warnings from behind.
I could feel that not far behind me, there was always a gaze full of concern and anxiety following me.
My despondency and dangerous state were clearly tearing her heart apart.
This worry and anxiety, combined with the already chaotic turmoil in her own mind, ultimately prompted her to make a decision.
One evening, a few days after my absurd "confession," as I was staring blankly at my homework, there came another soft knock on the door.
*Knock, knock, knock—*
The knocking was very light, carrying a hint of hesitation, yet it vibrated with unusual clarity in my heart.
Mom's voice came through: "An'an, can I come in?"
I almost held my breath. My heart was pounding like a drum in my chest. I hurriedly responded, my voice even changing pitch: "C-come in... Mom."
The door was gently pushed open.
Mom walked in carrying a plate of sliced apples and pears, with toothpicks thoughtfully stuck into the fruit.
She was wearing that pale purple silk nightgown. Her hair was half-dry, lazily draped over her shoulders, carrying the fresh scent of shampoo.
She placed the fruit on my desk. Her fingers inadvertently brushed the edge of the desk, seeming somewhat unsettled.
Then, she walked to the bedside and sat down sideways. The mattress emitted a slight creak, sinking down a little.
The room suddenly became terrifyingly quiet, with only the sound of my heavy breathing and the occasional noise of a car passing outside the window.
The desk lamp cast a dim, yellowish light, stretching our long shadows on the wall, entangled together.
This silence was driving me crazy.
I took a deep breath, mustered my courage, and was the first to break this suffocating silence. Only when the words left my mouth did I realize how dry and hoarse my voice was: "Mom... you... have you been okay lately?"
It was a stupid question. Clearly, I was the one not doing well.
"Me? I'm fine."
Mom raised her head, gave me a complex look, then quickly lowered her gaze again, her eyes falling on her hands folded on her lap. "It's you, An'an. Mom..."
She paused, her voice thick with worry, "Mom saw you crossing the street like that today, absent-minded. That electric scooter almost hit you. If Mom hadn't shouted from behind... you..."
Her voice choked with lingering fear, "You really scared Mom to death!"
Seeing the genuine heartache and fear in Mom's eyes, a huge wave of guilt washed over me.
I lowered my head, not daring to look at her, my voice as small as a mosquito's hum: "I'm sorry, Mom... I... I haven't been in great spirits these past couple of days, I can't seem to focus..."
Hearing me admit it myself, Mom's worry seemed to reach its peak.
She looked at my listless state, her eyes slightly reddening. Her chest rose and fell a few times, as if she were making an extremely difficult decision.
Finally, as if using all her strength, gritting her teeth, she squeezed out a sentence almost from between her teeth, so softly I almost thought it was an illusion:
"If... if Mom helps you... will you... feel a little better?"
What?
Did I mishear?
Or was I hallucinating from too much pressure?
I jerked my head up, eyes wide, looking at Mom in disbelief.
My heart seemed to stop for an instant, then like a runaway wild horse, it began to pound wildly, chaotically, ramming against my chest, making my eardrums buzz. Blood rushed to my head with a roar.
"Mom... you... what did you say?"
My voice trembled uncontrollably, each word seeming to require Herculean effort to force out.
Mom was clearly also stunned by her own blurted-out words.
Her cheeks instantly flushed crimson, even the tips of her ears and her slender neck tinged with an enticing pink.
She flusteredly avoided my direct gaze, turning her head away in shy embarrassment, her voice as faint as a thread, carrying a hint of reproach and immense shyness: "N-no... if you didn't hear, then forget it!"
"I heard! I heard! Mom!"
I almost pounced, eagerly grabbing her wrist, afraid she might change her mind or disappear.
Feeling the delicate, warm touch of the skin on her wrist, I let go as if burned, but the excitement and longing in my tone were impossible to conceal. "I just... just couldn't believe it... Mom, you really... are willing?"
Under my burning gaze, Mom had nowhere to hide. She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, trying to calm her own equally pounding heartbeat.
She turned her head back to look at me. Her eyes were filled with struggle, hesitation, but in the end, that concern for me seemed to outweigh all other emotions.
Her voice was still very soft, yet carried a kind of solemnity of determination:
"We... we have to agree in advance... about this matter. No one can know, especially your dad... understand?"
Her tone became serious.
"I understand! I understand! I swear! I won't tell anyone!"
I nodded my head like a chicken pecking at rice. At this moment, forget keeping a secret, even if you asked me to climb a mountain of swords or dive into a sea of flames, I would agree without hesitation.
Seeing me agree so readily, the blush on Mom's face seemed to deepen.
She licked her slightly dry lips and continued with difficulty, as if drawing a final line of defense: "And... also... I... I'll only use my hand... to help you... get it done... Other things... don't even think about it..."
"Okay! Okay! Whatever Mom says! Whatever you say!"
How could I care about anything else at this point? My mind was already blank, filled only with wild joy and desire about to explode.
No matter what Mom said now, even if she asked for my life, I would hurriedly agree.
The terms seemed settled. The air solidified again.
Mom and I looked at each other, able to hear each other's pounding heartbeats.
Awkwardness and an indescribable, ambiguous atmosphere permeated the small room.
Mom's eyes darted around, finally settling on the pattern on the quilt.
------------------------
Thank you everyone for reading and if you enjoy this story then please leave a comment.