Page 10 of Lonely
Her handbag cracked against my head and knocked my glasses askew. Then she hit me again, but that was never the end of it.
Restraint had never been one of her virtues.
“Stop touching yourself, boy. What have I told you about such foul behavior? The Lord will smite you.”
I hurriedly zipped myself away while she inspected my office like it offended her.
A single finger glided over the surfaces, searching for dust. The air reeked of baby powder and lavender oil. Her sickeningly sweet scent clung to everything.
Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, clapping off the mountains beyond the forest.
She picked up the umbrella she had left by the door and shook it out. Rain droplets flew everywhere as she looked at me like I was dirt beneath her shoe.
“What are you waiting for, boy? It’s Wednesday.”
Trailing her outside, I was hit with the thick scent of lavender. The reek curled into my nose and stuck there. It followed her like a veil, rotting-sweet and persistent as mildew in a coffin.
Anna emerged from one of the rooms with a clipboard in hand and offered a bright smile.
With a huff, Mother brushed past the tempestuous girl and her ever-rebellious ankle bracelet.
As we stepped into the gloomy afternoon, she struck me with the umbrella. “You stick your cock in her, you filthy boy? God shall punish you. Is that what you want? To burn in hell?”
“No, Mother,” I muttered, gravel crunching beneath our feet. I fished the car key from my pocket while she waited by the car, nose tilted skyward like always, because Mother thought she was better than everyone.
The drive to my house was silent. She never looked at me, but her disapproval sucked the oxygen out of the car. I’d always been a disappointment.
Back at the house, Mother cooked a meal and did the dishes, fluttering around like it was her home. She whistled softly, her pressed skirt swishing around her bony ankles.
“Have you said your prayers lately?” she asked as she plated my food. “The Lord is always watching, son. He knows all your devious thoughts.”
“Yes, Mother,” I replied, folding the napkin into my lap.
“So tell me . . .” She set the plate in front of me and sifted her fingers through my hair. “Does the Lord know you’ve fornicated with the whore?”
“I haven’t fornicated?—”
She smacked me. “Lies! The Lord knows you’re a sinner, full of filthy desires where that young lady is concerned. You must not fall for the Devil’s trap. I felt it back there. The Devil resided in that slut.”
Mother sat across from me, smoothing her skirt, and ordered me to thank the Lord for the food.
When it was done, we ate in silence. But Mother’s silence was loud. Maybe louderbecauseshe was silent. Her gray eyes cut through every layer of my skin, and when they’d sliced deep enough, she picked at my flesh with her yellowed nails.
“You should invite the girl,” she said around a mouthful of fried potato. “I’ll help you exorcise the Devil.”
The food slid down my throat like a jagged rock. Mother kept eating, her cutlery clanking loudly in the silence.
“We’ll do God’s work and punish her together.” She took another bite and washed it down with a glass of red wine. “Punish her for inviting the Devil.”
I barely touched my food, but Mother didn’t care. She was in a good mood.
Whistling, she gathered the dishes.
Shivers crawled down my spine and spread across my skin like scurrying insects. The scrape of metal against porcelain cut through the quiet as leftovers fell into the trash. Mother straightened, then dropped the knife into the soapy dishwater. More whistling. More clattering.
After she dried her wrinkled hands on the dish towel, she turned to me and held out her palm. Fingers wiggled impatiently.
I stood and unbuckled my belt.
