The Pseudo Semicolon

CHAPTER 11 || PART 2

"You're home early." Devland put on a mask of indifference, his tone dropping into a more neutral one. He was slowly coming down the stairs, praying to god that he looked less suspicious.

His mother grunted a reply and dropped her bags on the couch. She then looked at Devland, inspecting him with her harsh brown eyes. "Where's your dad?"

"He's out. Work."

She cursed, "Why did you let him go out? And why are you here?"

This is my fucking house. "It's a holiday today."

"Oh really? Or are you lying to me? Is this another way to rebel against me, Devland?"

"It's a holiday today, mo—"

"Don't call me that."

Devland frowned, "Mrs. Beckett?"

He shouldn't have said anything, he should've just kept quiet like his usual self. But after so many days of not seeing his mother, of not having to deal with her, he had lost his touch on how to handle her.

She grabbed his collar and yanked him up to reach her eye level. 'Guess I got my shortness from my dad' was the first thing that went through Devland's mind before fear blanketed it.

"Don't be a smartass, kid." She growled, her eyes bloodshot, her hair wiry and her teeth yellow. There were eyebags under her eyes, the same shade as Devland's, and the boy could see a vein pop on her forehead.

Devland stayed silent, not knowing what to do except apologise. Suddenly Akira's voice cut through the murky darkness of his mind; It's not your fault.

It's not my fault.

"I don't know what else you want me to call you." Devland replied, "Dear birth-giver."

Oh now he was just begging to be beaten.

His mother's expression contorted with rage, her hands immediately grabbed the sides of his arms and squeezed. Devland let out a yelp of pain before forcing himself to shut up, to not give her the satisfaction.

He could feel his old bruises opening, his old scars twisting with pain as a new one formed.

"Oh yes, I know what you do every night, Devland." She spat out, "I'm not a fool; you sometimes get clumsy with cleaning after yourself."

Devland's eyes widened in horror as realisation settled onto him like a wet blanket, his mind turning into syrup, his thoughts slowing down. He choked, "...And you did nothing?"

"Why should I? You won't actually kill yourself—You're too much of a coward." His mother sneered and let him go. Devland sunk into the ground, panting heavily as tears stinged his eyes.

Now he was back to his old self, mute to his mother's harsh words. No–No, he didn't want to feel like that—he didn't want to feel this shitty.

"You lost one son!" Devland called after his mother, who was entering her bedroom, "Do you really wanna lose one more?"

"And since when were you my son? My only child died last month." His mother replied coldly but Devland wasn't deterred.

"Dad won't take you back if I die. The only reason he lets you live here is because of me—and if I die, he'll abandon you. Just like Max did." Devland knew that Max didn't abandon them, but he also knew that his mother didn't think the same. He was convinced that she thought Max abandoned them for some inexplicable reason, and using some kind of fucked up logic, that was Devland's fault.

He felt some sort of bitter triumph as he saw the fear in his mother's eyes.

"You'll end up alone, Mrs. Beckett, with nothing but your lazy staff and stupid secretary to keep you company. I can already imagine the headlines; 'Beckett Corporations' CEO, Mr. Damien Beckett leaves his wife after the death of their second-born. Rumours speculate that MS. GRACE KILLED HER OWN SON' " Devland yelled out the last part so he could make sure that his mother heard him through the closed door.

He trembled, a sick feeling of victory twisting his heart. Devland then curled up on the floor and cried.