My mom watched me carefully as I made my way into the kitchen to grab a snack before heading up to my room. My hand grasped the shiny silver handle of the fridge door and pulled back, resulting in the whole fridge jerking toward me before the door swung open. I browsed the contents. With nothing more than a few apples and celery sticks, I sighed to myself and closed the door. Mom would have to go food shopping again.
"Hungry?" Mom asked me. I turned to look at her, almost forgetting that she was there. I nodded, hopeful that she would toss me a bag or potato chips and leave me alone. To my dismay, she made her way over to the stove and stirred a pot with a spoon. I wasn't really in the mood for soupy foods. Too messy, and it's really hard to hold a controller with a spoon in your hand.
Mom pulled her long, brown, wavy hair back into a ponytail. She straightened her shirt so that she had a little less cleavage, not that there was much to begin with. I watched her as she washed a bowl out with a yellow sponge and dried it off with the towel we kept hanging on the stove handle. She dug spoon out of the silverware drawer, made sure it was clean, and then scooped out a few spoonfuls of chilli with the ladle into the bowl, finally placing it in my hands. I muttered a thanks, not particularly grateful for the gift. But hey, food is food. I should be glad that she's feeding me in the first place.
I sat down at the table, taking notice of the red tablecloth that covered it. It had an intricate design of roses and leaves. Mom always had a thing for flowers. She was always trying to get me to garden with her when we were younger. Every time I went out with her, I would dig for a while, find a pretty rock, and then stop gardening and try to find more rocks. Mom eventually got tired of me digging random holes in the flower bed, so she told me that I wasn't allowed to dig in it anymore. I never really cared much for it anyhow.
The chilli was still somewhat warm, even though it probably sat on the stove for a few hours. I was grateful for that. Mom sat down beside me and stared at me as I ate. I watched her back, slowly spooning chilli into my mouth. The staring contest went on for seven minutes, neither of us talking to each other. I have nothing to say to her. There's no reason to speak. But the silence made it awkward. Eventually, Mom cleared her throat. Her voice sounded raspy, like she had just gotten over a cold. Maybe she had, not like I would know.
"So," she began. I stopped eating and looked at her. She twiddled her thumbs nervously under the table. I tried not to sigh as I watched this action. Is she afraid of me?
"Hi," I mumbled, trying to make her feel more comfortable. I never really felt like I had to be nice to her or anything like that, but it always made me feel bad when she was scared. I know what it's like to be scared of something you once trusted. I'm afraid of things all the time; strangers, adults, dogs…
I shuddered at the thought of Charlie involuntarily, making Mom perk up. Charlie was a good boy...He was...not.
Mom put her hand on my forehead and I froze. Don't. Ever. Touch me.
"Are you cold, Sweetie?" Mom asked in a concerned, motherly tone. I didn't move. Mom looked even more worried. "Honey?" She didn't even have time to react before I was back in the corner of the living room, trembling and shaking. Don't. Touch me.
I stared at her, my vision clouded in red. The outline of her slim body was all I could see as she picked herself up off the ground and grabbed the chair for support. My knees buckled and I collapsed, everything engulfed in a sea of red.