chapter 17

Chapter 17

The morning came like a beating to his head, for the sun wasn't bright, the bed wasn't cold, and his head had made no noise; shifting onto his feet, Ronin left his father's bedroom, his feet sinking into the worn carpet.

With each step, he could feel a horrid bitterness climb up his legs, suddenly unable to move.

He froze in place, paralyzed by the scene he'd walked into; like a fish to its bait, he followed mindlessly until caught.

For his couch wasn't empty, it wasn't bare like he'd made it, "Ronin" her voice interrupted his thought, "glade you up, fetch me the phone" he could only stare at his mother who lay loosely on the couch, a layer of smoke separating him from her, as well as the tangled hair she let fall.

"Ronin, move." She snapped her fingers for his attention; before getting up herself, she glared at him as she passed, soon swallowed by the kitchen.

Ronin crept down the stairs, peeking from behind the wall at the dream he was sure he was in. He wanted to talk, but not a word could surface.

He could only watch her lean on the counter next to the demons that surrounded the past.

But he wasn't scared; the smell of the cigarettes almost felt normal, as well as her presence.

His father had come down the stairs in a hurry, his chest jungled with the fear that hung from it, Ronin sat up quickly as if he was going to warn his father who simply walked past him with a short glance and a small grin that faded as he entered the kitchen his eyes flew back at Ronin before he leaned on the same counter as her.

His voice was an intended whisper, even as Ronin heard every word, each one he seemed to predict, for he had been here before, many times. He was only reading his narrative at this point, for soon he would be forced outside while his father would "talk to her.

Their voices began to rise with his father's arms that could only spell the words he'd said, "he's right there, what the hell are you doing?" his voice grew stern with their argument.

"Ronin, you can go ahead and wait outside-" his voice paused as Ronin's figure was already gone, the front door lay a jar where he'd slipped out.

"Oh great would you look at that, this is fucking routine for him"

"Oh shut up, he's probably just excited to go." his voice was rough, captured in the smoke, as it followed her to the door.

"Wonder why," his father said aloud before watching her slam the door. He rustled his eyebrows as his hand stretched across his face with a sigh.

Shed walked out to find Ronin perched in front of the garage, almost pacing as his boots kicked the brick wall slowly, as if in a pattern, "get in the car," she demanded after removing the cigarette from her mouth.

He tensed as she came around the corner, hitting him with the voice he'd anticipated, he sprinted to the car cold and worn he gripped the seatbelt with a fist as she began to talk, she would always narrate what he left the room for, like she didn't know why he had to leave. Her voice would trail on with her venting he would have to listen too wincing at the sting words she'd use

"I mean why does he think every little thing I do is gonna fuck things up as if he hasn't done that already," she said with a growl before inhaling what soon began to fill the car, "do you know that Ronin, you know your fathers mad, he's mad at me, fucking mad at me," she said through her teeth as she took a sharp turn, "it's like he needs to correct everything I do, this shit, this shit in my hands is the only thing keeping me from going crazy, I swear" Ronin could only look down as she continued to speak, each word made his lip quiver under the tension, for it had weighed down in him, growing with her tone, and attaching with her words.

The car came to a stop in front of his school, she leaned back meeting his eyes that were coated in a layer of tears he hadn't let fall, "Ronin you know I love you right" she said breathing into his face, "yeah" he nodded turning away from the smoke as if it would help, "you my baby, you'll always be my baby" a smile broke across her face before she kissed his forehead, with her rough cheewed lips.

Ronin left the car that had filled with his past, fogging the windows as he assumed she waved.

"Ok, ok, stop here," Mrs. Cambles's voice filled the room, catching Ronin's eyes as they flew up from his fidgeting hands. "What is your mother's name?"

Ronin's lips pursed as the words left her mouth, his shoes rubbed against each other as he sat silently. He began to fill with anger. He was surprised by the subject; her eyes drifted back to her page, "What does she look like?" She asked watching Ronin for a response, "well she's really tired, a-and her long hair is kinda messy" Ronin said while whipping his nose with the back of his hand, Mrs. Camble began to speak before interrupted as Ronin cut her off, "b-but it still looked pretty" his voice was rough and yet somehow it could say the softest things about the hardest subjects. She smiled warmly as she watched him look anywhere but at her, his face was flushed with a red hume that almost continued under his buzz.

"Did you ever tell your mother she was pretty?" Mrs Camble asked, still smiling for his answer.

"She's not my mother" his tone sank with her smile, "She hurt him, she hurt him badly

she would talk to him like she cared, and then she would change her mind like it didn't matter, a-and it did matter, it fucking matters man" his voice could only quiver with his lip

Ronin glanced over at the shadow that told him what to say, he would write it on the wall for him to read off, and if he didn't, he would start to say it to him, read it to him, it would only get louder, until it was carved into his mind until he'd choose to say it.

Mrs. Camble folded her hands leaning on the desk that separated them her eyebrows bowed with his words, as both his and his father's background slipped out with each word, each word was like a piece of Ronin's character, for that puzzle had barely been touched, as the pieces only covered up to his knees. She almost winced as she imagined what prices were like in his head, the root of everything he said, and if each thought was another piece, perhaps another puzzle filled with a different perspective, a different word, a different character.