The Seventh Deadly Sin

Part Five: Facing Fears

"IT'S WHEN YOU REALISED THAT EVERYTHING WAS NOT AS PERFECT AS YOU THINK IT IS."

- ALEXIS

WHEN I GOT HOME, I was surprised and suspicious at the same time when Mrs. Heathers prepared a grand and luxurious dinner for us. It's almost confusing when all the foods are my favorite, one of the things that I always dreamed of eating, and yet it's here in front of me, prepared by her, by my real mother. I stared at her for a long time and saw a few burns on her delicate fingers, hidden by the thick layers of bondage.

"Take your seat, my child." She ordered lightly, putting her brown curls behind her ear.

Just the thought of being near her scared me. I wished that she would take that as a fair warning to spare my meal, but of course, she wouldn't. Her eyes began to plead for my presence. "But I'm not, um, hungry..." I stammered.

"You must be; after all, you just got home from School. And besides, I can't just throw this all away," Mrs. Heathers challenged me.

I finally gave up and sat on the other end of the long rectangular table, twenty-five feet away from her. With a heavy heart, I started to fill my plate, which satisfied Mrs. Heathers.

"Your teacher called."

I stop in my tracks. And tried my hardest not to frown, looking at Mrs. Heathers, who seemed calm and soft-hearted despite the nervousness she always gave me. And it's one of the few reasons I have made when I started to hate her, "Pardon?" I asked, looking everywhere but her. Mrs. Heathers smiled and took a sip from her glass of wine.

"Oh, Mary Jane, It's not what you think," she chuckled and put down the glass. "Actually, your history teacher called. Mr. Knitz and he's very much delighted by your manners and would gladly tutor you without any payment, I mean, if, um, that's fine with you," she asked, confused by her mumbling.

I look at Mrs. Heathers as if she had just said something foreign behind her sleeves, which is unfathomable, in fact, because I would never have expected Sir Alfred to like my manners after my improper etiquette when I slept during his class and talked about strange and unwrapped philosophy after that. "It's fine with me, Mrs. Heathers. But will you allow me to go home late in the evening? Because I'm afraid that you have a curfew system in your house-"

"Our house," she corrected. "And don't worry, there's no curfew in here. You can go home whatever time you want." She smiled.

"Thank you, Mrs. Heathers."

I started to eat the food on my plate, ignoring Mrs. Heather's stares, looking in my direction as if she was anticipating that I would complement her food and deciding not to touch her homemade meal. "So, how's the food? Did you like it?" She asked worriedly, watching my dreadful expression. Figures, I thought to myself.

"It tastes good, but I'm already full," I excused myself, hoping she would just let me go. But her eyes told me she didn't like my idea. She stood up from her seat and settled beside my chair.

"Mary Jane," she began. "Are you afraid of me?" Her eyes showed hurt, and I suddenly felt guilty and selfish. Knowing that I had made my mother into this situation, I bit my lip and turned my stare at the tablecloth.

"Yes,"

THERE WAS SILENCE as soon as I got inside my math class. Almost all my classmates looked at me as if I had done something wrong. But Alex was still there at our table, sleeping. This gave me a sigh of relief—maybe Mr. Hopkins announced that I was an irresponsible student, not being able to attend his class for the past three weeks.

I finally sat in my place, looking strangely at my seatmate; I wondered what he was doing every night. And his sleeping habits didn't change at all. Mr. Hopkins came in after that, giving us tons of seatwork before excusing himself, having to attend a teacher's emergency meeting.