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My fingers run through the soft strands of Willow’s thick black hair. Her hot breath fans across my chest as she lies there and walks her fingers over my pecs. We’re both naked, our limbs tangled together. It feels peaceful being here with her like this. I’ve always been a cuddler with the women I sleep with. It’s the least I can do after fucking their brains out, but it’s never been this comfortable, never felt this right.
“Are you okay?” Willow asks the darkness, tracing the dips and ridges of my stomach muscles. Her hands are so soft.
I sigh and gather her hair up and loop it a couple times around my fist. I love how it’s so long that I can do this.
Her question comes as no surprise. I’ve been waiting for her to ask it. I pretty much attacked her earlier. I dread this shit. It’s not that it bothers me to talk about my mother; I don’t think Willow will look at me with disgust. I was just a kid, so there was nothing I could do to stop what was going on. It’s just when I do, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. That woman sours everything, and I don’t want her to sour what Willow and I have.
“I went to see my mother today,” I say quietly.
Willow’s hand stills and she lifts her head to look at me. I can’t see her very well in the darkness, but I can guess her expression is questioning. I want her to go back to the way she was. I liked her head on my chest, her fingers playing along my skin.
“Is she okay?” Her question is hesitant, like she’s worried I won’t answer.
“She’s dying.” I give her the truth.
She sucks in a sharp breath, and I know what’s coming.
“I’m so sorry, Tegan,” she says so softly I can barely hear her. Her head dips down and she lays a tender kiss on my sternum.
“Don’t be. I’m looking forward to the day she dies.”
Willow jerks in my arms, and I know I’ve shocked her. I pull in a deep breath and sit up with my back to the headboard. I turn on the lamp on the nightstand. Willow’s mouth hangs open and her brows are pulled into a frown. I reach out and pull her between my spread thighs, so her back is to my chest. My arms go around her middle, and I settle my chin on her shoulder.
“I didn’t have the typical childhood. My mom—” I hesitate, searching for the right word and not finding it. “—was fucked in the head.” Willow’s hands squeeze my forearms. “When I was five years old, she started changing. She became sad and depressed, never wanting to do anything except sit on the couch and watch TV. She was tired all the time and always looked pale. I remember thinking her face looked like a ghost’s. Still to this day, we don’t know what brought on the change. My dad’s work had him leaving for days at a time, so I was alone with her. He never thought anything bad would happen to me, as the worst he ever saw was her moping sadly around the house.”
I remember those first few weeks. I tried so hard to make my mom smile. I colored her pictures. I made her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. I’d sit on her lap, and using my little boy imagination, told her stories. Nothing ever worked. She’d smile, but even to my young mind, it was fake.
“One day, several weeks after she started changing, a man came to the house. Mom told me the man wanted to meet me and play with me in my room, that he didn’t have any little boys of his own to play with. There were going to be other men in the room watching because they wanted to learn how to play with boys. Her smile was sad and there were tears in her eyes when she told me this, so I thought if I did it, it would make her happy. I didn’t have friends, so I thought it would be cool to play with him.”
Willow stiffens in my arms, but I tighten mine around her and keep my chin on her shoulder. Memories of that first day flash in my mind and it has me grinding my teeth together.
“I’m sure you can guess the man wasn’t there to play cars with me. He stripped me down and told me to get on the bed. The first few times wasn’t that bad, just a few touches here and there. They’d make me do stuff to them more than they did to me.”
“Tegan…” Willow whispers brokenly, digging her nails in my forearms.
“Shh,” I say in her ear. I’d rather get this over and done with, so we can move on from it. “This went on for a year. The men started doing more to me. It only ever happened when Dad was gone. She said something bad would happen if we ever told Dad or anyone else about it. Most of the times it was a different man, but there were a few that came back regularly. There was one particular man that was especially cruel. I tried to tell my mom that they hurt me, but she said I had to be a big boy and do what the men wanted me to do. I still loved her, but a small part of me hated her too. She’d always apologize before they came and when they left, but she still let them come anyway.
“The other men in the room that watched never bothered me. I could block out the groans they made and pretend they weren’t there. Mom and Dad started arguing. He was tired of her moping around, doing nothing. I heard them yelling a lot about her going to get psychiatric help, but she always refused, promising to get better. She never did. One day, while my dad was gone, she packed both herself and me a bag, and we left. The first six months were wonderful. I had my mom back. She was happy again, and so was I. Then one day, a man showed up at the house and it started all over again. The cruel man from before was one of them.”
Willow sniffles in front of me, and I squeeze my arms around her, pulling her closer to me. My voice is flat when I continue.
“Three years after we left my dad, he found us. He knew what was going on, because one of the men that came to the house was part of a pedophile ring. He listed off names for a plea bargain. After a psych evaluation, my mom was labeled mentally unstable and put into a psychiatric facility. She’s been there ever since. A few months ago, I got a call saying she had terminal brain cancer. She’s been comatose for the last couple months. I’ve been visiting her once a week for those two months. Waiting.”
I turn quiet and stare across the dark room. My chest feels hollow, and if it wasn’t for the warm body in my arms, I’d be cold.
Willow shifts around until she’s facing me, her legs draped over mine and our chests only inches apart. Her hands settle against my lower stomach. Through the little bit of light in the room, I can just make out her sad expression and the tears in her eyes. I hate the look. No one should ever look sad or cry about my mom.
“Waiting for what?” She clears her throat when her voice comes out scratchy.
