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Inever noticed how peaceful my mother looks when she sleeps. It’s as if all that ugliness and hatred she carries for me throughout the day melts into the sheets, making her appear almost angelic with her pale skin and sleep-tangled hair. With her lips still swollen from her activities earlier, it only adds to the charm. I used to like looking at my puffy lips too.
Quietly, practically without a sound, I crawl onto her bed, ensuring not to make any sudden movements that would wake her before I’m ready. I stop at her feet, straddling both sides so I can slither my way up. Her first twitch is when I’m around her hips. She moves subtly, just a fraction, but enough to press gently against my knee. Freezing, I wait. I don’t move another inch until she settles firmly on her back, a smile stuck on the corners of her lips.
My hair falls over my face as I lean down. It brackets us in a dark sheath, shielding my next move from the world. Good thing it does, too. If she could see, if her eyes were open, I don’t know how she’d react.
She responds well to this, though, the first press of my lips on hers. Initially, there was nothing, no movement, but when my tongue runs across the seam, she opens. Blindly, our tongues tangle, our bodies meld, and the love I knew existed inside her begins to bloom.
“Jim, baby.” The satisfied smile is still on her lips as her eyes begin to open, and it remains there for a handful of moments before realization sets in. Unlike Jim, my mother, I can take. So, when her open palm comes flying forward, aimed straight at the side of my face, I’m prepared.
Easily, far easier than she expected, I bat her hand away, shoving it forcefully into the mattress.
“Get the fuck off me, Maude! Now! What the fuck is wrong with you?” I don’t respond, just lean down farther, pressing my nose against hers while my palms dig into her wrists. She struggles, but the drugs, alcohol, and sleep have made her weak. She can barely move me, let alone wrestle me off like she’s trying to.
“Don’t fight, Mom. Don’t fight. Just let me show you.”
Her struggle continues, growing more frantic as I carry on with my whispers. She almost succeeds in throwing me off a couple of times, bucking hard enough to get my hips off hers, but she fails, so I bear more of my weight onto her pelvis, grinding oh-so gently.
“Maude! If you don’t get the fuck off me now, I—wh—where’s Jim?” That’s the first time panic enters her gaze. It’s sweet, heady, and thick enough to taste. So I do. I glide my tongue across her cheek, savoring the salty, terrified sweat beading on her skin.
Fluttering her lashes against my face, Mother turns away, attempting to bury her face into the mattress. While she’s distracted by the empty space beside her, I lift my hands from her wrists. I don’t go very far, only a couple of inches off, just to test what she’ll do.
She doesn’t notice.
With a grin, I set my hand beside her skull, gripping the edge of the pillow in a tight fist. Mother notices then, but she’s too slow. Her head barely lifts from the mattress before I shove her back down, slapping the pillow over her gaping mouth. Her muffled screams barely pass through the cotton, but still, I want her to hear me when I say, “I killed him.”
Putting all my weight into the pillow, I laugh where her lips should be. “Shh. Shh. Just relax.” I don’t ease up on the pressure, not as her feet kick high in the air, or as her nails dig rivers into my flesh. The headboard slams against the wall, sending objects flying to the floor while her struggle begins to weaken. I don’t let go, not until her limbs fall heavily onto the bed and her rapid pulse dulls to almost nothing. Even then, I count to thirty, one more time, making sure she’s out before timidly lifting the pillow from her face.
Once I’ve tossed the pillow to the side, I bring my ear close to her open mouth, listening to the faint sounds of her breathing. It’s there, but shallow. I need utter silence and two fingers on her neck to verify she’s still alive. Thankfully, she is. I need her to be; or else, what the fuck was this for?
Needing to check on my own, I hold my hand to my heart, giddy when I see it’s as calm as can be.
Sliding off her still form, onto the floor, I grip her under the arm, ignoring the deep purple track marks running across her vein. Her dead weight makes it difficult to yank her to the edge, but after a few tugs, I get Mother where I want her. We almost fall to the ground as I hook both arms over her chest and pull her off the bed.
Fuck.
I should have thrown her off first, like Jim. At least he was easy to pull when he was already on the floor.
Sweating, I haul her up again, letting the back of her dangling head swish in front of my chest as I walk us through the eerily silent house. Every creek. Every groan, none of them ever made me bat an eye, but now? Now they mean something.
Mother doesn’t rouse until I get her halfway down the stairs. I’m a lot gentler with her than I was with Jim, but only because I have to walk backward, and I don’t want to get hurt.
“Mm—wha...” Her mumbles are nothing but incoherent sounds. Still, I can hear the clarity returning to her voice. Hastening my steps, I scurry down the rest of the way, scraping her feet along the jagged, uneven ground until her back is against the wall. The chains feel different when they aren’t shackled around my wrists. I don’t feel the pain of my scars opening, but a power that was never welcomed to me before. It's intoxicating, being on the other side.
The right side.
Only after the second shackle clasps around her wrist does Mother finally come to. Her eyes are still hazy, full of confusion and uncertainty, but when she sees me standing there, bent inches away from her parted lips, fear replaces every other emotion. I didn’t think there was anything that could be better than that feeling I had moments ago. Power. But this? I’m something to befeared.
“Hi, Mother.” The sudden beams of light burn her retinas. I know, because they used to scorch mine in the beginning. But since then, I’ve gotten used to the sting. So now, I barely bat an eye.
“Mau—Maude! What the fuck is this? Take these things off me! Now!”
Shaking my head, I refuse, smiling brightly as sweat drips down her temples. I move to run the tip of my finger through the streak, but when I come close, Mother jerks away, abruptly slamming the side of her skull into the cement wall. A burst of blood appears on her ivory skin. The vibrancy is distracting, but her fear is addicting.
“Hurts, huh?” I ask, feeling a sense of pleasure rushing through my veins. “I tried to tell you that, but it didn’t seem to matter when I was the one strapped to the wall.” In fact, I remember it being the opposite. The more pain I would go through that wasn’t self-inflicted, the more she seemed to enjoy it.
“Okay, Maude. Okay. I get it,” she starts, imploring me to listen with wide, watery eyes. “You want to punish me. I understand. Things—things will be different now. I—”
“You’re right. Things will be different, but not because you understand. But because youwill.”
