Sparks (Inferno 0.50)

By the time we get back home, the silence between us is so deafening that I can tell Luke is absolutely uncomfortable with my demeanor. He’s brought this upon himself though by saying things to his father that he had no business telling. And even though I’m not entirely sure what the extent of their conversation was, I have every intent of finding out before he has a chance to go lock himself away in his room.

As soon as we step into the house, I slam the door behind me, then shove Luke against it.

“What did you tell him?” I shout at him angrily.

“Nothing, Mom! I swear! I didn’t tell him anything!” he replies, holding his hands up to protect himself.

“Liar!” I scream, swatting his left arm. “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me? Would you rather live with him and his family? Because you’re more than welcomed to get the fuck out of my house if you c

an’t appreciate me the way I deserve to be!”

Tears begin to roll down his cheeks and instead of seeing the confident young man I’m used to, I’m presented with a scared boy that I have no time for.

I reach up and grab him by the back of the neck and shove him toward the hallway.

“You can go to your room and you can stay there until you are man enough to tell me what bullshit you spewed to that piece of shit, do you understand me? I don’t want to see your face again until you’re ready to step up and own your fucking words,” I scream at him.

The tenor of my voice scares me because the pitch is not quite me, and the look of abject terror on his face tells me that he knows what will happen soon if he doesn’t disappear from sight.

Luke scrambles to his feet and barrels down the hallway to his room. He slams the door, and seconds later I can hear the unmistakable sound of furniture being move. He’s so afraid of me when I’m like this that he tends to barricade himself for a day or two until he’s sure I’ve gotten over whatever rage has taken hold of me. Even then, he’s very careful with peeking too far out of his room without permission because I’m liable to snap at him erratically.

I drop down onto the floor and put my face in my hands. I don’t like to be this way with him—he loves me unconditionally and I’ll only push him away from me with my moods, but I refuse to poison myself to make things better and he seems to be doing okay with it.

As okay as he can be, anyway.

The more time passes that I’m alone on the cold floor, the more hopeless I feel. I want my son to hold me and tell me that everything will be okay, but I’ve already done enough damage to our relationship for the evening which means I’ll just have to deal with the feeling of emptiness.

I get to my feet and walk quietly down the hallway, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I stop in front of his door. I place my ear against the wood and sigh. I can’t hear anything inside—not the panting sighs of exertion, not the soft whimpers of fear. I hear nothing which tells me that he’s more than likely climbed out of the window as he tends to do sometimes and left me alone again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper softly as I pull away from the door and turn to walk to my room.

Once inside, I collapse on the bed and bring my knees up to my chest and begin to sob quietly. I’ve never meant to hurt my boy—physically or emotionally, but sometimes things get too much for me to handle alone and this monster comes out of me, lashing at the only thing that it can reach.

I’m always afraid he’ll grow up to hate me because of the things that happen behind these walls, and I would never fault him for that.

I’ve done unspeakable things to my son and nothing ever seems to drive him away from me except for when I speak bitter words to him.

That’s when he hides.

That’s when he shows me he’s still very much a boy and not the man I often mistake him for.

I hope that when the time comes for him to leave me, he doesn’t hate me too much for all of the pain I’ve caused him.

When I wake up the next morning, I have a splitting headache. So much so, that the small sliver of sunlight that’s peeking in through the blinds causes me to grimace and shrink under my blanket, but the material doesn’t move because it’s not just my arm weighing it down.

“What?” I grumble to no one in particular.

“Go back to sleep, Mom,” the tired voice replies, pulling me tightly back against him.

It’s obviously Luke, which surprises me considering how I left our relationship dangling by a thread last night.

I don’t have the heart to argue with him, to tell him that he shouldn’t be pressed so tightly against me, instead, I close my eyes again and hope that he gets tired of having to coddle me soon.

After another half hour passes and I can tell he’s fallen asleep against me again, I take a deep breath and do my best to slip away from his arms without waking him up. As I get to my feet and turn to face him, I run my hands up my arms, my body shivering.

I never knew I would be able to make something as beautiful as my son, and yet here he is. Fifteen years of age and as much of a man as any other I cross on the streets.

It’s no wonder that I have to indulge myself from time to time.