I came home that night, stressed from the strenuous task of working part-time after a boring and painful day at school. For that perfect cherry to top it all off, the man of the house began to bark his orders relentlessly;

"Where have you been? Why are you so late?"

"Where's my dinner, you ungrateful child?"

"Why aren't you answering me, huh?"

"You haven't offered my friend here a drink. Where's your manners?"

"Go make us some spaghetti."

My ill mother's new husband had his ass sat firm on the sofa, where it always was, and his arms around a woman who looked similar to the one from last night, but there were very obvious differences between their facial features and hair colour. She couldn't have dyed her hair and had a face transplant in one day. Could she? Perhaps this was her sister. Her cousin? Somehow related to each other? It was a miracle how they both fell for him.

I let the pointless situation slip my mind and walked over to the phone to see if the hospital had reported anything new regarding my mother's condition.

"I've already checked it, you moron. Stop checking up on her like a freak. You're annoying her. How the hell is she going to rest in peace?"

The woman beside him giggled as his hands crept up her dress. Though it was nothing new, I gagged. For real.

"When's that spaghetti going to be in my hands?" He yelled. I quickly chopped up the ingredients and began boiling the spaghetti.

Once I was done, I slapped it all on 'his' plate and dumped a beer on the coffee table.

"Whoa, what are you doing? That bottle's for boys' night. Go get the wine. I need to make a memorable night for my friend here." He stared at her lustily.

I stomped back into the kitchen looking for wine. I chose the oldest one and heard the asshole yell;

"What the hell is this shit? You trying to kill me? Huh? Forget it! We're just going to order. For us. Not for you. You can eat the crap that you tried to offer me. Bitch!"

I rolled my eyes. Did he say I was ungrateful an hour ago? Did he even know what it meant? Probably not.

"Sorry about that, Sally. I don't know what's wrong with her."

"Don't worry, it must be tough on her that I'm here pretending to be her deceased mother or something. I understand."

"Oh, bless. You're such a darling. So glad I brought you home tonight."

"Besides, you can make it up to me another way." I didn't have to be there to imagine her winking as an invitation for him to strip her bare. I knew where this recurring conversation was headed.

Up to bed. Doors locked. And a whole lot of squeaking, screaming and grunting.

Wait a minute. Did she just say 'deceased'?

His words came back into my head again: How the hell is she going to rest in peace?

My… beloved mother… was already… I winced at the thought; it couldn't be. Impetuously, I threw my jacket back on and grabbed the bastard's bike to see for my very own eyes. Tears filled them up and I could hardly see.

"Hey! What are you doing? That's my bike! Are you stealing from me? You have the guts to fucking steal from me?"

I steered the bike out the door and pedalled as fast as I could.

She died and he didn't tell me? What an ass! And there he was probably spending all her hard-earned money on his new women and beer.

I kicked at the man's stupid bike. Asshole, asshole, asshole!

I prepared myself to see my nightmare come to life.