"Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?" she asked, almost playfully.
He didn't respond and remained fixed there, his jaw slack and his mouth slightly open. She reached down and drew his small face into her hands. He could smell the nicotine on her fingers as she tilted his head up to her to meet her eyes. Those blue, adoring eyes, now wet and alert, but her mouth, still grinning. Her grip on his cheeks made it difficult to smile but he managed to cloak his mounting fury behind a black curtain of restraint. He marveled at the way he was able to fool her into believing what she wanted to believe, what she needed to believe. Ripples of anger began to seep from the core of his being. Secretly, quietly, he wanted to reach up and scratch her face with the swiftness of a hungry cat. He wanted to feel her flesh beneath his claws like damp clay. He wanted to pull her hair out from its roots, screaming at the top of his lungs pounding his tiny fists against her face until it caved in and was no longer. His chest began to heave with the effort of trying to suppress the rage for his mother.
"Now what's wrong with you? Why do you have to do this right before I have to go to work? Be a big boy and get yourself ready for school today. Okay?" She flicked her index finger against the tip of his nose. "You… are…a…very… bad…boy…” She emphasized each word with a poke of her fingernail onto his chest. "I'm late now, so move it."
She tousled his hair and walked away.
He wanted to chase her down but he didn't have the strength. His arms and legs were suddenly heavy. It was like lead had been poured through the top of his head, killing his entire body and anchoring him to the living room floor. He could hear her shuffling around her room. Finding the strength he made his way after her, one unsteady step at a time until he was finally able to grip the railing at the foot of the landing. Once there, he flew up the stairs with the speed and...