A/N: Written for a Tumblr writing prompt thingy
Lalochezia (n): The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain.
Lalochezia
She exhaled, staring straight ahead at the empty storefront on the other side of the quiet street. She barely registered as smoke swirled across her field of view as she automatically inhaled another drag of the cigarette in her finely quivering fingers.
Shoko swung her feet off the bed and leaned into them on the floor gingerly, waiting for the dizziness to clear. She stood before she was ready, hoping to catch whatever had made the sound in the hallway. Why were either her father or son awake in the middle of the night?
She pushed her door open quietly.
A few teenagers, shuffling along languidly, turned onto the side street. There wasn't anything to see here, on this street that was barely more than an alleyway. It was home to the side entrances to business and buildings that climbed upward instead of out. They were probably degenerate and up to nothing savory, when they should've been at school in the middle of the day.
Shoko scowled around the cigarette.
She blinked, eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was no one in the hallway, but she refused to let it go. She ventured further, surveying each of the doors.
Yuugi's was open.
She moved with more confidence to her son's door. Whatever he was doing in the middle of the night, she had the right to know. She was his mother.
But when she opened his door wider, he was not there.
The tallest boy was wearing pants that were too big for him, and elaborately patterned suspenders. There were chains coming from who-knew-how-many pockets in his calf-length pants. He had on enough bracelets to stock a boutique and she thought she saw the glint of a stud in his ear.
It was all vaguely reminiscent, in a souring kind of way, of the way her son was dressing more and more often now.
Confused, she turned toward the stairs and crept to the edge of the staircase. It was entirely possible Yuugi was just using the bathroom, she realized belatedly. She was by all counts likely just being paranoid.
Then she reached the edge of the stairs and found Yuugi standing at the bottom, looking into the living room in the direction of the windows. There was barely enough gloom to illuminate him against dark floor and walls.
A car turned down their quiet side street and light flashed through the windows.
Shouko took a drag of her cigarette, eyes pinned to the boy with the pants that were too short with one too many chains. Her exhale rattled with the bones of unsettled nerves.
He looked up at her, there from the bottom of the stairs. For one moment, he was lit like a bulb, his eyes shining like the moon on water.
Red.
Pinpoints like an animal watching her in the dark.
It was not Yuugi.She tossed the stub to the ground and stomped on it, her pump heel clicking loudly.
This was not her son.
Shouko met the glances that turned back toward her curiously and she lifted her chin. She was barely connected to herself by one frayed thread.
"Children should be in school at this hour."
She could see them bristle, years of hammering and social protocol compelling them to duck their heads and nod and accept her chastisement as their senior.
One spoke anyway.
"It's not your business what we do!"
Shouko's eyes flashed and her fists balled.
She sucked in a breath and stood pinned under that alien gaze.
It was like a suffocating spell, and there was no air in the hallway.
Then it broke.
"Mama? I'm sorry did I wake you?"
"It's certainly my business when degenerates sully the appearance of decent businesses. Get out of here!"
Her voice pitched and she did not hear the hysteria in her voice.
She watched the small throng of teens, looking shocked and maybe appalled, retreat into themselves and hurry away without further argument.
She watched them go with a listless look.
She blinked and squinted at him, trying to recapture what she had just seen. But it was just Yuugi now — he was turning to her and looking sympathetic.
What had she just seen?
There was no monster at the bottom of the stairs.
Was she losing her mind?
She lit another cigarette.