“Do you have any idea how angry I am?”
“Should it be obvious?” Jaeden crossed his arms over his chest, feet kicked up on the table as he eyed the messages on his phone. His mother stood across from him, her arms crossed over her chest and her face red. He glanced away from his phone, meeting his mother’s eyes, as he said, “You’re always mad about something, mother mine. So, tell me, what have I done this time?”
She seemed to swell with rage, an overwhelming sense of something building in the air as she took a step towards him. He absently wondered if this was why mothers beat their children. Or killed them, really. An intriguing thought, that one. He often wondered what drove a mother to do such horrid things, to lose herself to the point her child was no longer her child.
Would she do it, he wondered. Would she hit him? He let his feet drop on the floor, arms resting over his knees and phone tucked between his hands. His mother stood there, for a moment. Her hands were fisted at her sides, jaw clenched tight. After a moment, her voice, low and hard, came suddenly, “What did I do to deserve to have a son like you?”
He offered a sharp, half-smile that carried a bitter undertone. He rose to his feet, his gaze never looking away from the woman in the doorway. Jaeden dusted a few crumbs off his pants, smiling despite the glare leveled his way. After a moment, he stepped away from the table and made his way towards the door.
He paused on the threshold, throwing a soft smile over his shoulder as he said, “If you didn’t want to have children, then you should have kept your legs shut.”
Silence followed him out into the darkness, the only sound of him ever being there was that of his phone ringing on the floor. The lights went out. On the outside, those passing would see only a home that had fallen apart and a poster of a missing boy and a mother’s words graved onto a broken, wooden door:
Some words can never be unsaid.