There are three of us, now, sitting here at the dinner table. Mayo and noodles, again—one dish I admit that I actually enjoy. I'm not sure why, but…maybe it's just distracting. And anyway, most food seems to turn to ash in my throat.

We look like a normal family. Except for the mayo. Who eats mayo on noodles? I'm not so sure.

There is idle chit-chat going on in the background of my brain, and I am attempting to ignore this so I can answer my parent's questions properly. Their topics are no more important, but have more to do with this particular moment.

So Max, how was your day?

"Fine, I guess."

Its not going to last you know. You can't slide by in life forever. They will realize…

I become aware that I am being stared at. It takes me a moment to realize that I have been listening to the wrong conversation. I snap back in.

"Sorry? Did I hear wrong?"

Not top-quality answers, but what can you say when you've been answering voices in your head at the dinner table?

"Max, I asked if you handed in your project."

Oh…that…Pardon?

"Um…yes…I thought you asked how it went, Mom."

"You had a project due, Max? Why didn't you tell me? We could have worked on it together."

Well, many reasons. Maybe because I don't even have a project due.

"Oh, it was a in-school project. Didn't I mention it?"

"I know you're lying, Max. You can't run forever."

"What, dad?" I feel a chill run through my already-frozen body, like an ice-cube

running down a glacier. How does he know?

"Max, I didn't say anything."

Oh. I hate those voices.

"Sorry, I thought I heard something."

"Max, you look pale. Are you sick?" I see my dad's worried face. I'm safe, and might have boughten a few days off of school. Good.

"Maybe…I hope not."

"Well, I don't know. We'll see how you feel tomorrow, okay?" Typical dad. Always so concerned about everything. Well, I suppose…after that… But he switches topics again. I concentrate hard on his lips, to make sure that they are making the sounds I am hearing, so that they are not the voices again. Good. They are his.

"Dear, we have taxes again. We're a bit tight this month. We'll have to cut back a bit." His worried gaze falls to his noodles, which he stares at glumly.

Darn.

Not about the cutting back. That's fine. I don't mind. But I hate having to hide more than I already do. And taxes make…

Darn.

We finish eating, chatting happily. Then, when we are done, my dad gets up to do the dishes. My mo, 'oh so helpful' convinces him to let her do the dishes, while he goes upstairs to do whatever he usually does. As soon as we are alone in the room, she turns around to face me. There is fire in her eyes.

"Do you know how much it costs to raise a child?" she asks, her words soft. I back up as she advances towards me. There is fear in my eyes. Real fear.

"You are the reason we're tight."

It is true.

"You are the reason he's sad."

She is talking about my dad. She loves him, but not me.

"Do you know how much he worries about you? Do you know how much easier his life would be if you weren't here?"

By now I am against the wall. She is closer. I glance down at her shoes—hard. Why must we wear shoes in the house?

"All I want is a nice little child of my own! He would be so much happier! But NO! YOU have to be here!"

I curl up into a tight ball on the floor, sobbing with pain as her feet dig fire into my skin.

Short. Again…but hey…

Jani Reme: Glad you like them! As persone du monde glare has already pointed out, they are really short, therefore I can update fast…yeah…Thankees!

Rising Pheonix: Thank you! Yep…Max is pretty mis-understood…but he sort of likes it this way…

personne du monde: Why thank you for that encouraging piece of information. ultra Kai-patent death glare Yes, they are short. I am working up to a gigantic and possibly equally short chapter, soon. Plus you get many short chapters in a somewhat short space of time. So hah.