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Chewing on my bottom lip, I scanned the wall above the TV. If he didn’t wake up soon then he’d be late, there’s nothing he hated more than being late. Then it would be my fault for not waking him on time.
“Max.” I grimaced as I shook him harder this time.
His eyes flew open and his arm shot out. I gasped as his hand wrapped around my wrist and squeezed.
“Max,” I croaked. “It’s time for work.” His emerald green eyes stared right through me. I scanned his face, taking in his straight nose and full lips. He was handsome the all American boy.
“Max, you’re hurting me.” I fidgeted as he tightened his grip.
He sat up slowly, his eyes piercing mine. The sun peeking through the blinds shined off his inky black hair.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” He stood, twisting the skin on my arm. Although he was only a few inches taller than me, he still towered over me. I hated being this close to him.
“I..I..I’m sorry,” I gasped. I willed the tears to stay away. He hated seeing me cry, all it did was make him angrier.
“Doesn’t matter how many times I say something, it never gets through that thick skull does it?”
I was almost panting now, my arm burned where he gripped me.
“Never touch me without permission!” he roared in my face.
He squeezed once more and let me go with a push. My arms flailed as I tried to steady myself, I pinched my lips together when the back of my legs caught the corner of the coffee table. I desperately wanted to squeal but I knew better than to show him how much I was hurting.
He shoved his feet into his boots, stomped around the apartment and completely ignored me.
The door slammed shut just minutes later, I didn’t have time to get my bearings as I could hear Eli coming down the hallway.
“Mama?” he called in a sleepy voice.
“In here, sweetie.” I looked around for something to cover the angry red mark on my arm. I couldn’t find anything in time so I hid my arm behind my back. It throbbed so I tried to rub it but that somehow made it worse.
I didn’t want Eli to see. I didn’t want to explain to him that I had done something wrong, that I knew better than to touch Max without asking first.
How was I meant to ask to touch him first when he was asleep? I wanted to ask Max just that, the old me would have. The new me? She knew better than to question him.
“Mama?” He rubbed his eyes with his fists and stumbled toward me.
“Morning, sweetie,” I wrapped my arm round him, steered him to the kitchen and sat him in his chair.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“Cereals,” he murmured.
I poured him a bowl and set it on the table in front of him.
“Do you want some juice?”
“Please, mama,” he lifted his spoon with great effort, nearly missing his mouth because his eyes were half closed. I smiled; just like me, he hated mornings.
*~*~*
I watched my cell anxiously for the rest of the day. Every Saturday went like this, though most of those Saturday’s I didn’t receive the call I was waiting for. It was never guaranteed. Weeks at a time could go by without me talking to him.
I was almost glad that it never rang because that meant that
he was fine. It was those times that the phone rang and I wasn’t expecting a call that my heart would stop for a beat.
Eli always sat next to me watching his cartoons, his eyes flicking from the phone to the TV every couple of minutes.
