❛ MY BOY ❜ ʙɪʟʟʏ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴏᴠᴇ

FOURTEEN ! billys mind palace

                ꧁    ❛ MY BOY ❜    ꧂                ━ ᵇᶦˡˡʸ ʰᵃʳᵍʳᵒᵛᵉ

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BILLYs MIND PALACE

"MOM, I'M HOME."

Jonathan called into his shabby house, shutting the screen door behind him. The sun was blazing and he had noticed how the house was sweltering, as his mom wasn't in her usual game, which was to open as many windows and doors as she possible could to get rid of the boyish smell her two sons made. But recently, she had been sleeping on the couch, a baseball bat clutched in her fist and terror and anger surging through her veins.
          She refused to believe that it was Will's dead body discovered in the lake, and somehow made up the conclusion that it was fake. Jonathan constantly questioned her why it would be fake, or even how. The body had every detail of his brother - every scar, birthmark, freckle and every discolored area, was exactly like Will. But no matter how many times he tried to convince her, she didn't and wouldn't settle.

          Jonathan walked in to find his mom sat on the couch, staring into oblivion, her hair messy and a twitch in her eye. Her hands were shaking due to the sheer force she had on the baseball bat.
"Mom?" Jonathan asked, waving his hand in front of her dazed face.

She blinked, confused.
"Oh, Jonathan," she straightened her back, lowering the bat, "it's just you." She finished, a sad expression melting onto her face. Her mind had told her that it was Will, calling her name through the lights above. Her heart plummeted into her stomach when it turned out to be her other son.

Jonathan gulped, realising that she wasn't in the best of moods. But he knew what would cheer her up, and that was quality mother and son time.
"So, there's this girl--"

"A girl?" She repeated, a tired smile playing on her thin, chapped lips. She brushed a hand through her hair, preparing to have 'the conversation' with Jonathan, even through she was certain he didn't need it.

"Yeah, and she's really great," Jonathan said, rubbing his hands together nervously, "she's nice to me." He finished, thinking of all the times he had ran home from school with a black eye or swollen lip, perhaps even a bloody nose.
          It was usually the popular kids who beat him up, for the sole purpose to impress their peers, to remain popular. It became a trend, seen as cool, to degrade and humiliate other people than to accept the fact that, maybe, they aren't as cool as they made themselves out to be. But that was just his opinion, and what he always told Will when he discussed his issues with bullies.

"What's her name?" Joyce asked, over the moon that her son finally found someone genuine to express himself with, "is she pretty?" She teased, carefully placing the bat onto the wooden floorboards.