Page 7 of King of Pain
Reaching into the pantry, she grabs the bag of fire hot cheese doodles—the kind I insisted she buy last week—and crushes a handful in her palm, sprinkling the bright red pieces into a second small bowl. Next, she chops a couple of green onions with quick, rhythmic slices, the soft sound of the knife against the cutting board filling the quiet kitchen. The green onions join the cheese doodle crumbles, creating the “kid fancy” topping she knows I love.
She makes me a cheese omelet, slides it onto a plate, and sprinkles the crumbled cheese doodles and green onions over the top. Setting it in front of me, she manages a small smile. “Your favorite,” she says.
The smell of buttery eggs and melted cheese fills the kitchen, mingling with the spicy tang of the cheese doodles. The moment almost feels normal.
“Eat,” she says softly, sitting down across from me.
I pick up the fork and take a bite, even though my stomach is still knotted with nerves. The food is comforting in a way I can’t explain, though. I think it’s a mom thing.
When the plate is empty, she takes it to the sink and rinses it off. The kitchen is clean, all evidence of the fight erased, but the weight of it still lingers in the air.
“Come on,” she says, holding out her hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I take her hand, and she leads me back to my room. The quilt is still on the floor where I dropped it earlier, and she picks it up, shaking out the wrinkles before tucking it around my shoulders.
She sits on the edge of my bed, smoothing my hair back.
“You’re so brave,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “My protector.”
Her words make me sad. I want to protect her. I want to keep her safe. But I’m just a kid, and he’s so much bigger, so much stronger.
“Ma,” I say quietly. “Why do you stay with him?”
She freezes, her hand stilling on my head.
“Because” she says softly, “sometimes love makes you want to try to fix things. And other times… leaving isn’t as easy as it seems.”
Her words don’t make sense to me. But I nod anyway, closing my eyes as she leans down to kiss my forehead.
“Go to sleep, baby,” she whispers. “It’s all over now. This is for me to deal with.”
But it’s not.
Even as I drift off, the weight of his anger and her sadness hangs over me like a storm cloud, dark and heavy.
I know deep down this won’t be the last time I have to stand between them.
TRACK FOUR
Should I Stay or Should I Go
Chance
21 Years Old
The walls of this apartment feel like they’re closing in. I sit on the edge of my bed, head in my hands, willing the panic to subside. My thoughts are spiraling.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
It doesn’t help for shit. The guilt wraps around me like a python, squeezing tighter with every thought.
I shouldn’t have left her.
The loop in my head is fucking relentless, each repetition cutting deeper.
