How Milo Fletcher became a Murderer

Part 3

The ride home is silent. Mom stares ahead, biting her lip. I can see her brain working, moving a million miles an hour working on my health puzzle.

There's a black sedan in parked in front of our house when we arrive.

"That's Braxton." My dilemma seems to escape her and the giddy schoolgirl has taken its place. I study the car straining to get a glimpse of him but the windows are too tented. Mom waves and follows me inside.

"Will you throw the food in the microwave, please." Mom asks me.

He strolls right in only a couple minutes after us. I don't like that. This isn't his home yet. Mom greets him in the living room. I set the food on the table and sit down. I hold my leg to keep it from bouncing. I take a sip of water. It travels straight to my bladder.  But it's too late to pee.

"Braxton," they're standing in front of me now. I should look him in the face. My eyes stay on the table. "This is Milo. Milo, meet Braxton."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Milo. For how much your mom talks about you, one might think she doesn't know anyone else."

It takes all of my will power to look him in the eye. He's leaning over the table, his hand outstretched. He's exactly as mom described him. Tall, beer belly, bright eyes, straight cut. He wears a baby blue sweater and khaki pants. We shake hands and they join me at the table.

     We join hands and bow our heads. Mom begins reciting her dinner time prayer "Dear Lord". I wonder if Braxton is religious. "Thank you for providing." I peek one eye open. Through the slit I see mom's extreme passion washed over her face. Braxton nods along. He looks more asleep than anything. "Amen." Our heads lift up and in silence we fill our plates.

    "Your mom tells me you're moving out tomorrow," Braxton says through a bite of garlic bread. My shoulders fly to my ears, trying to block out the sound of his smacking.

    "Yeah." I don't want to say anything else but I need to make an effort andmy voice willdrown out the sound of his eating. Besides he seems nice. "Over by the elementary school, if you know where that is."

    "I don't, but at least you won't be living by any registered sex offenders."

    "Mom said the exact same thing."

    "It's a nice little place." Mom chimes in. "Better than my first place." Her first place, the place we lived in the first two years of my life, was a studio above an accountants' office. My mom tells stories of it flooding due to the roof caving in, being able to move the walls, and only a microwave to cook with. Not much of a comparison.

    "Need any help moving?" Braxton asks.

    "We got it covered, I think." It comes out harsher than I mean for it to. I don't know why I'm being rude to him. I want my mom to be happy. It's not like this relationship will affect me monumentally. I add on in a softer tone, "my friend- roommate's family are helping us first thing in the morning. But thank you for the offer."

    "What are you planning on doing once you move? Go to school? For a job?"  I get this question every time I let someone know I'm moving. They think there needs to be a reason for me to want to move.

    "No. I got a new job at Glacier's because it's closer to my apartment."

    "Not going to college?" He raises an eyebrow. I push down the annoyance rising in my chest.

    "Not now anyway. I don't know what I want to do with my life yet, and don't want to waste thousands of dollars on a degree I might not end up using."
He nods in reply and shoves a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth, but his raised eyebrows suggest he disapproves.

    "After dinner Braxton and I were thinking the three of us could see a movie." My mom looks hopeful.

    I don't want to. This meeting took me by surprise and I want it to be over. "Yeah. Sounds good."

    The rest of the night it's mostly my mom and Braxton conversing and holding hands. I trudge along with them studying my mom, occasionally answering when they bring me into the conversation. I want to make sure she's happy. I can't form an opinion on this man before I know whether or not he really brings her joy.

    Her eyes shine all night.

    Braxton tells me goodnight at the door of our home before he heads back to his hotel. My mom stays outside with him. I wonder how he handles dating her sometimes. I've never dated or so much as kissed a guy but from my extensive knowledge from books and movies, they think relationships rely heavily on sex. "Sex is saved for marriage, Milo. It's an important thing to be held between a husband and wife."

    After she and my dad found out she was pregnant with me, they got married. Since then she became a conservative christian and raised me to be the same. She also discovered the downfall. Me. Giving birth to me ruined her life. I'm the one who pushed Dad away. I'm the reason she struggled for so long. I can't hold her back from Braxton. For once someone makes her smile which reaches her eyes.

    The front door shuts and I hear the lock. My mom sits next to me on the couch. "So what did you think of him?" Her voice cracks with excitement. I can't help but laugh and she joins me. She reminds me of a high school girl who just got asked out by her crush. To be honest I didn't like him as someone I would want to hangout with or spend more than a few hours with, but I don't tell her.

    "He seems like a good guy."

    "He is. He really is."

    "Then what are you waiting for? Time to get hitched."

    "Oh yeah," my mom smirks, but her face turns serious. "I don't know when that will happen. I want you two to know each other better. I don't want your step father to be a stranger to you. It may be late, but I want you to experience a father figure."

    "I don't know, Mom. I think it'd be hard for me to open up to someone so much to see him as a dad. Especially if I'm moving." I can't see it at all.

    "Well, we'll see how it goes. I'm glad you liked him. He really liked you too. He appreciated you weren't on your phone the whole time." She groans as she stands. "I think I'll head to bed. Get the dishes?"

    "Yeah. Goodnight."

    Back in my room I throw a wash cloth and pack of band aids on my bed. I peel off my jacket. It clings to my arm, the blood dried to it.

"Ow." I bite my tongue, the exposed nerves hurt worse than the cutting had.   

I toss the jacket into the dirty hamper and examine the cuts. The slashes cover the width of my arm. Specks of dried blood surround it as blood pools the reopened wounds. I look like I lost a fight with a cat. I press the washcloth to the scratches and unbury the knife from the blankets and shove it underneath the mattress. Easy access.

I plop at my desk, bandage my arm, and pull out my journal. I begin scribbling.

    I  move tomorrow. I don't know how it's going to go. I'm nervous it could ruin my friendship with Kaylyn as everyone is warning us. Then I'll be alone. Again. No one to talk to. No one to go places with. What if she realizes, long term me is boring, annoying, and way too self absorbed. Always pouting. I can't stand to be around me. How could she?

    Or maybe it'll be the best thing to ever happen to me.  It'll keep me going. You know what? If in a year I look back and I 'm still living the same, miserable life: I'll end it. I give myself a year to find what  makes me happy. One year to find purpose. One year to feel loved. One year to love myself.

You've had years to accomplish this. This year won't be any different.

    The voice is back. The relief is over.I set the pen on the journal and put it in one of the open boxes. I curl up in bed. Maybe in sleep, it will be silent.