Jay knows he isn't supposed to feel this way. He isn't supposed to feel anything, actually. That's what the booze and the partying and are for, to keep him numb, like he needs to be. It is much safer and much more comfortable to feel dead inside. To pretend there is no one that can get to him, no one that can break him, no one that can devastate him.
But she can. And she will.
He gathers the last of his things, as his mother watches silently, her face as blank and expressionless as his. "You walk out that door, don't bother coming back."
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Where will go?"
He glances at her, and then allows himself a small, bitter smile. "Oh please, don't pretend to care. Not now. It's insulting to both of us."
Her face hardens. Jay just shakes his head and heads for the door.
"I went there twice," his mother suddenly says.
Jay turns to look at her. "What are you talking about?"
"When I first found I was pregnant with you – the abortion clinic." Their eyes lock. She holds his gaze for an instant, and he wants to look away, but he can't. "I went there twice."
"Don't – don't tell me this."
"The first time, they called my name and I just – I ran. I wasn't ready, I wasn't sure. Yet. But the second time …"
"Don't do this to me –"
But she still goes on. And her voice gets louder, clearer, as she continues, as if strengthened by a perverse kind of resolve.
"The second time, I was sure. I knew I was making the right decision. That was when your father found me there, and he … he told me … he told me that if I had you, he would marry me. That he would take care of me, of us. That everything would be different. I believed him, so I didn't go through with it. I married him. But hey, we both know how that turned out, don't we Jason?"
She looks up at him again. She takes a deep breath.
"Do you have any idea how much different … how much better … my life would have been, if I had gone through with it? Like I was going to? Like I was supposed to?"
The silence in the room is deafening. He stares at her like he's seeing her for the very first time. He tries to speak, chokes on the words, swallows, and then tries again.
"I guess – I guess you should've gone through with it, then. Because you know what? Given the choice between never having existed, and being your son? I'd choose oblivion any day."
Lightning-fast, she's off the couch and in his face. The slap is not entirely unexpected, but it still leaves him reeling. They glare at each other.
"You should've been sterilized," he whispers, before turning and running out the door, slamming it behind him.
"Jason! Jason, wait, I didn't –"
The next thing he remembers, he's in his car, gripping the wheel like it's a life-preserver. How he managed to drive to the apartment, the one he just put a deposit on, he doesn't know. He heads in, locks the door, and that's when it seems to hit him, like a sort of delayed reaction. He slides down onto the floor, closes his eyes, puts his head in hands.
If he believed in God, like Spinner and those Christian freaks, he would be praying right now. Praying to God or whoever would listen to just please, please, let him be numb. Let him not feel anything. Let him be dead inside, like he needs to be.
But he doesn't believe, so it doesn't work.
He hasn't cried since he was 10 years old.
But here, alone, where no one can see and no one can know, he cries now.