Ok, let me just warn you, i'm crappy at intros
I own nothing
"Stop it!", I scream, trying to push Tom off me. Recentley, our relationship has gone down hill, resulting in this. I knew Tom was a rash and spirited man, but I never imagined that he could be like this.
He pushes me harder against the worktop, and I try to stay strong, but I know that I am cowering against is harsh gaze. My lower back pains from the contact with the cold, hard marble worktop and my heart is beating faster every second.
Grabbing my upper arm, Tom reaches to slap me sharply across the face. The stinging in my cheek sends my mind whirling, when I see a shocked figure at the hallway door.
"Sam!", I shout, "get out of here! Go upstairs, I-"
But Sam's not thick. He sees me, still pushed against the worktop, and Tom's forceful grip on my arm. And suddely, such a harsh rage on his face, which I never knew he would be able to express, scared me. Yes, my own son cared me, and I knew he was going to do the one thing I tried so long and hard to keep a secret.
His face contorted in rage as he faced his palms towards Tom. A blindining white light shot from his fingertips, and the sound of pitiful screams rung in my ears, but I could hardly hear it for the pulse thrumming wildly through my brain. I looked at Sam, shocked, he himself mirroring my expression. But he was staring from his hands to Tom, appalled and dismayed, before whispering in monotone,
"Are you ok, Mum?"
And even though he practically fried my boyfriend, I know that he is still looking out for me. That, no matter what, he is there to protect me. But I'm his mother. I should be doing that for him.
So I decide to do just that.
I nod, and go and see Tom, face down on the floor. The flesh of his hand is all mangled and bloody, the putrid smell of burning flesh lacing the air. I reach over lightly, checking his pulse.
Still a pulse. Phew. At least now it will be easier to lie on Sam's behalf.
"I'll call 911", I say regretfully, not wanting to call an ambulance on this jerk's behalf. Sam's still looking at his hands quizically, but to be honest, I can't help to be slightly creeped out – and scared - as well.
What happenend there? What did Sam's hands do? I know about the ball of light he created in his closet during a black out, but how could he burn someone's hand off?
"911, what's your emergancy?"
Fully aware that Sam's in earshot of the conversation, I say, "my boyfriend burnt his hand on the stove."
The lady on the other end of the line continues to ask questions about the nature of the accident, house number, and so on. But I'm not focused on her. I'm only focused on Sam.
Gentley, after the lady departs saying that an ambulace was on its way, I put the phone down. Sam's still standing in the same place, out of shock more than anything else.
"Go", I whisper. He looks at me, shocked. I realise what it must sound like, so I rephrase what I said. "Don't be here when they take him away. Go out for a surf or something." He turns around, but I know fully that he's too numb for a surf. Slowly, he makes his way to the door.
"I'm sorry, Mum."
I give him a weak smile in return and a quick hug.
"Now go! Before the ambulace gets here!" I shove him out the door.
….
I pull my laptop onto my lap. The clock reads 3:12 am. I sigh, rubbing my eyes quickly, before starting my first letter. I place it in a file, named, 'For Sam'.
Dear Sam,
I saw what you could do today. It's not your fault. The reason I'm leaving these letters to you is because I know something bad is going to happen soon.
I know because I saw C at work yeasterday. He, of course, doesn't recodnise me,thankfully, but, Sam, if you ever met him, you would agree when I say you wouldn't get on well.
These entires can't be too long. Just a new piece of the puzzle everytime. Forgive me for being so inconspicuous.
Mum.
And, with that, I shut my laptop lid and am reassured into a dreamless sleep.
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