Crawling Back
Mom's home. For three days we've pretended everything's okay. I get tired of this: her showing up with a suitcase, apologetic. Sometimes I wish she'd go… There's nothing wrong with me. She thinks the past never happened, we just pretend. I never understood how she lets dad lead, dancing… she's not the type. Well, she knows that when the song ends she can start another argument, leave, and oh no the world's ending again. Oh god it's our fault she's angry again. Dad blames himself – they fight, as usual, not long after a contrived family dinner and dancing and make-up sex. That's what's really sick: their waste of time on those "happy couple" nights, when they know it won't matter come morning. She'll still have the power and she'll take it and run. I feel sorry for dad; he never means to hurt anybody. I'm sorry for myself. She'll be pissed and it'll be oh god it's my fault she's packing up again. Who knows why she bothers to unpack. Then it'll be a quiet while where I forget her face and I'll miss her, and then she'll show up and repeat as needed. Sometimes I wish she'd just go.
Author's Notes: Poor Maxie. I hate his mother so very, very much.