Page 3 of Temptation
I took a step back, climbing on the first stair, taking a hold of the handrail, as if it could keep me grounded and less afraid.
The storm started picking up, and as the sound of the rain registered in my brain, the crow looked behind her and flew away without even looking at me.
My heart thundered in my chest, hitting against my ribs, and without a second thought, I ran upstairs, into the darkness, into her den, her endless pit of suffering.
Even the air here smelled like stale bread and old buildings. But that’s what she liked. She loved wallowing in her misery, pulling everybody else into the vicious circle she created.
On the wall on my right side was a picture of the three of us—smiling, happy. Or at least I was. It was taken before everything else happened. Before the life I knew was ripped away from me, leaving me naked and cold to the elements hitting me from each and every side.
I pressed a palm against the cold, white wall, staring at the picture, as if I could wish this time to come back. And I wanted to. I wanted it to come back so badly. I wanted to feel like this, like in this picture.
Happy, carefree… Just free.
But she placed shackles on me, chaining me to her, to her bed, to her misery and her eternal darkness, and I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t shake her off, because I loved her, and it was killing me.
My eyes zeroed in on the figure standing at the end of the hallway, shrouded in darkness, but I knew that silhouette. I would know it no matter how many years passed. I knew those hands, that long hair she used to let me play with. I knew her.
“Dylan, baby.” She spoke with so much love, but there was poison hidden behind, dripping from her tongue, coating her lips, and every time she touched me. Every time she kissed me, I could feel that poison burning my skin. “Come here.” She lifted her arm, coaxing me to her.
I didn’t want to, I wanted to shout, but it would’ve been futile fighting the inevitable.
With heaviness in my body and tired limbs, I slowly walked toward her, breathing through my mouth, trying to fight against the stench sneaking into my nose. Sweat, stale food, and something akin to death, were all mixed together, and it was all her.
She extended her hand to me, wiggling her fingers like I used to when I was younger. When I was just a child, instead of this thing she was turning me into.
“What took you so long?” she asked as she took my hand in hers, squeezing it, holding me tight.
“Sorry, Mom,” I whispered, dropping my head. “Storm is coming. I wanted to close the doors and windows.”
“A storm is always coming in Winworth. Nothing new there.” She laughed as we entered their bedroom, where all my childhood dreams died one year ago, after she lost her last child—my sister. “But we are stronger than these storms,” she mumbled. “You and I.” She kneeled in front of me, her hands going over my hair, then my shoulders and my chest. I closed my eyes as she pressed her face against my chest, inhaling slowly, while her hand kept rubbing circles against my back.
It should’ve been comforting—she was my mom, after all—but this was how it always started. Loving, almost like a fairytale, and just when I thought things would get better, she always made them worse.
That’s why I didn’t allow myself to relax because I knew it would come—the switch, her pain, her misery, her darkness. It would slam into us. It would leave me breathless, and there would be nobody to help me pick up the pieces.
Marija was gone. My father didn’t know. I was all alone.
“Come on.” She stood up suddenly and started walking toward the bed.
No, no, no, erupted in my head, but the words never left my chest. They were lodged in my throat, terrified to come out.
Terrified to anger her when she wasn’t who she used to be. When all the love she had for me died with my sister, leaving behind a living corpse. When the mother I used to know was nowhere to be found.
And I needed her.
I needed her to be back, so that I could be a kid again. But somehow I knew that things would never be as they used to be.
Her nails dug into my wrist, and I swallowed a whimpering sound threatening to come out. She wanted me to keep quiet. She wanted me to lower my voice.
Her bed was her sanctuary. No matter how much she hurt me, no matter how much I hated all of this, I just wanted to help her.
The bed dipped beneath us, and as she moved closer to the headboard, I followed, climbing over on all fours. The soft, pink blanket caught my attention, but I didn’t dare to touch it. She was the only one allowed to come close to it.
“You’re my best boy, baby,” she crooned, pulling me closer. Her back was against the headboard, her chest rising and falling evenly, her eyes searing into me. I tried not to touch her, keeping as much distance as possible, but I couldn’t stay away forever.
With trembling hands, I touched her thigh first, listening to her breathing.
“More,” she rasped. I bit my lip and moved my other hand to her stomach, where her sleeping gown opened up, feeling the bare skin. “Yes, baby,” she moaned, throwing her head back, closing her eyes.
