𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ➀

8 UNDERNEATH

The smell of homemade cooking wafts through my nose. The subtle sound of someone chopping vegetables while softly humming to themselves drifts into my ears. My senses are overwhelmed and my mind wanders to a place it hasn't been in a long long time.

There she is. She's standing there with her beautiful wavy brown hair over her shoulder by the kitchen stove. She's humming that song she always hums and there's no sound more comforting than that. She's content. Happy for once. It's a rare thing and it makes me smile as I play with my toy cars on the hardwood floor.

She tells me the soup is going to be ready soon and she made it the special way I like it. Made it with extra care and extra love just for me so that I will get all better. It will make me all better. Everything will be all better.

These cold North Eastern winter months are when I always fall ill. Fevers and bouts of coughing overtake me the majority of this time. It never seems to fail. Sickness seems to be the one thing I can depend on this time of year.

She's in the process of setting the table for just her and I. It's always my favorite when it's just her and I. It's always better when dad is gone. She's always better then. She smiles at me and tells me to put my toy cars away.

I stand up and cover my mouth as I begin to wrack with coughs. She tells me I'm a good boy for covering my mouth. I smile and pick up the cars from the floor but I drop them when the door flings open and slams shut again.

Looking up I see him. He's stumbling. He's throwing his things down on the floor. Why is daddy so angry? Why is daddy screaming? Why is he hitting mommy? Why is mommy bleeding? Maybe he doesn't like the soup.

Another round of coughing overtakes me and that's when his eyes fixate on me. "No, please no, David! No!" He doesn't listen to mommy as he comes over to me, lifting me off the ground with a strong grip with his eyes blazing in fury.

"David! No!" She's screaming. So much screaming.

Screaming. Screaming. Screaming...

"Sean, wake up. You're okay. It's okay. It was only a dream." Someone is shaking me. Someone is touching me. I instantly push myself back and put my hands in front of me defensively. Once I regain my focus I see Monica sitting quietly, watching me with apprehension. "I'm sorry for touching you." She says the words calmly. "I know you don't like it."

What the fuck words just came out of her mouth?

She shrugs, "I noticed it on Friday. When I threw myself into you your entire body went stiff as a board." She searches my eyes but I close myself off and grit my jaw. "I thought I was mistaken because you held my hand until we went into your apartment but then..." She doesn't finish and that's probably because of the icy glare I'm giving her. She looks away from me immediately and shifts on the bed looking uncomfortable.

And here I'm thinking she's completely oblivious. Because that's how much of a fucking idiot I am. I may be a hot idiot, one who's good in bed, but still, an idiot. Her brown eyes find mine sympathetically but only momentarily. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, putting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

I can feel the sweat practically dripping off my skin from the dreams. The nightmares. The memories. This is why I don't sleep. One of the many reason I have seemingly never ending bouts of insomnia.

It's quiet for a few moments until she softly asks, "do you always let yourself get so messed up like you did the last few nights?"

"Why the fuck do you care?" I spit out looking over my shoulder at her. "It's none of your business what I do with my spare time or my fucking life. I don't pry into your shit."