Like My Mother

Chapter Ten

Daniel walks slowly yet quickly, as if he doesn't want my mom to think that he's walking slowly. His arms are tense and hold me very close to his chest. I'm practically sitting on his shoulders.

"So...was that your...boyfriend or something?" he says shattering the silence.

"No...I just met him today."

We get closer to the house when Syrie turns around to us, "Hurry the fuck up!" she bellows.

Daniel chuckles, "We're trying!" he hollers back. Then he whispers to me again, "He looks like a little pussy boy...what's his name John?"

"James." I fire back.

Daniel raises his eyebrows, "Defensive, sorry. Didn't know you got so fired up over someone you just met today."

I narrow my eyes at him, "I'm not getting defensive."

"Really? Tell that to the knives in your eyes." Daniel smiles that million dollar smile and I melt just a little bit.

I roll my eyes as we reach the house, he walks into the living room and begins to lay me on the couch. "No, take me to my bedroom." I stop him.

He looks at me and smiles a mischievious grin, "Well I can't say I haven't heard that one before." he says as he takes me and lays me on the bed. As he begins to walk out I stop him, "Do you really like my mom?"

He stops in the doorway and turns around to face me, "Do you really like Jonas?"

I look at him annoyed, "James."

He smirks and then leaves the room before I can answer yes or no, it makes my blood boil even more. Why would he care if I liked James or not? Why should it matter to him. He's fucking my mom, why would he take an interest in me?

Why would James even take an interest in me?

Later that night I lay in bed, listening involuntarily to the sounds of my mother moaning and Daniel grunting. It's disgusting. I can hear Syrie snoring just down the hallway and I catch myself glance at the clock. It's past midnight and I can't fall asleep.

My hands yearn to move, I go to my bag and find my sketchbook and pencil tucked away inside. I take it all back to my bed and sit there, with the moonlight bathing random areas of my room. I close my eyes and grasp onto an image that slowly forms itself on the paper. The hair that ignites the eyes that stare deeply at you. The mouth that emmits the voice that snares your attention. The chisled body that can carry anything like a feather, the muscled arms that hold you safe and sound.

I've drawn him.

That has to be a sign.

But I just met him.

He saved me...kind of.

That's the only reason I drew him.

I won't let myself feel anything for anyone.

Because that's how you get hurt.

I close the sketchbook and put it on the floor along with my pencil. This time I force my eyes closed and don't open them, then finally they feel light. And the whole world disappears.

And I dream all night of nobody's faces. I'm the only one that exists, I'm the only one I know.

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I rouse myself awake at the noise of the bustle downstairs. I linger in bed just a few moments longer to soak up the sun that's breaching through my window panes. It feels good warming up my clammy skin. I raise out of bed slowly, stretching my weary bones along the way.