Page 42 of Watching You
It was the only thing he could think of.
His mother laughed and Karl wished she would stop. He wished she would fall down dead, then and there. He wished never to see her again. More than that, he wanted his father not to be scared of her any more. He wanted some joy in his life. If that meant his mother collapsing to the floor, never to bother them again, or threaten them, or spew her hatred for every otherperson who happened to walk into her line of vision, then bring it on, he thought. Please die. Please just die right here. A slip, a choke or a stroke, I don’t care which, but please do the world a favour and end her, he’d begged the universe. I’ll do anything. I’ll pay any price. Just fucking kill her!
‘Do you really love me, Karl? I’m not so sure. I don’t think your father loves me any more. Maybe he did once, when all he wanted was to dip his wick, but time kills even the dirtiest of desires. As for you loving me, why don’t you prove it? Give me a hug, dear. A good, long, hard hug.’
She took another step towards him, arms stretched out in his direction. He could smell the sweat from her unwashed dress, with a heady combination of sour booze and cigarette butts, and saw the devil in her face. Not just a deranged addict who’d long since lost her humanity, but something much darker. Something evil. A many-legged, always-hungry beast who really would put razor blades on that slide given half a chance.
What would she do if he let her hug him? Would she try to snap his neck with some unearthly strength? Would she touch him in ways that made him feel like screaming and crying and cutting himself? Would she bite him? He thought that might be it.
‘Leave me alone,’ he muttered.
‘Oh, little Karly-Warly, Mama wants a cuddle.’ She smirked and stepped in closer.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he said, louder now and bolder. He was panting, hands in fists at his sides.
‘You’re crying’ his mother mocked. ‘Do you want to suck my titties like you used to when you were a baby?’
She reached out and put her hands either side of his face.
Karl erupted, whipping both his arms up and sending his mother’s arms flying outwards.
‘Fuck you, you fucking bitch!’ he screamed. ‘You freak! You evil cunt!’
She began laughing again, a proper belly laugh as he yelled in her face.
‘I wish you were dead! We’d be happy then. We never wanted you here.’
She was clutching her chest with it now, her face contorted with the terrible joy she got from his distress.
‘Yes, you’re an alcoholic. You’re an addict. And you stink! Every fucking day I hope you won’t touch me cos I don’t want to smell you on me!’
His mother wasn’t laughing now, she reached out a hand to him as she swayed on her feet.
‘Don’t you dare,’ he warned. ‘Don’t you touch me. I’m leaving. Dad can come with me if he wants, but I’m going anyway.’
His mother was making an odd choking noise, like a duck that’s swallowed too big a chunk of bread. He watched her sink to her knees, and felt a burst of glee. She was down! He’d finally found his voice and the words and, God, it felt good.
‘That’s right,’ he screeched. ‘That’s where you belong. I hope you never get up. I hope you—’
‘Karl,’ his father said.
He glanced across the room to where his father, standing now, was pointing one shaky finger in his mother’s direction.
She’d slipped down and was lying on her side clutching her chest, and if Karl wasn’t mistaken her lips had turned a shade of blue that reminded him of cheap red wine lip stain.
Her breath was staccato bursts of pure agony. Karl frowned. What was happening, exactly?
‘Do you think we should maybe call an ambulance?’ his father asked.
Karl heard it as a whisper from a hundred miles away.
‘Ambulance?’ he asked.
‘I suppose we should.’ His father answered his own question and plodded out into the hallway.
Karl looked down at his mother and saw the hand that had been clutching her chest had fallen away, and now her whole face was a pale blueberry.
It hit him like a freight train.
