Page 237 of Ominous: Part 1
Nicely.
But I’m not sure she quite understands what I can see in her eyes.
Emptiness.
Blue and green orbs of… nothing.
When she looks at Dad. At me. Sometimes, I think she’d love to run away and leave us. But she can’t, because Dad doesn’t know me at all. The things I’ve done in the backyard with the mice and one time, a rabbit… he wouldn’t let me do that.
Mom caught me once.
I’d stared up at her with blood on my hands. She’d sighed and scooped up the vivisected little animals before tossing them into a plastic bag, then the trash.
She gets me.
Dad doesn’t understand us.
Sometimes, I wish he’d disappear and just leave me and Mom here alone. I think we’d be happier, being able to be ourselves without his constant watch.
“Do you need something, baby boy?” she asks me quietly, the pained smile still on her face. Her skin is olive. Far darker than Dad’s.
I love it.
I glance at the bath water going down the drain. “Why are you not keeping it all?” I whisper, meeting her gaze. My heart pumps hard in my chest, and my palms are sweaty. Next week, in June, I’ll be eleven. Maybe I won’t be so nervous around Mom then. Maybe she’ll like me when I’m older. When she sees how alike we are, and how I can do so many things by myself, like get my food and brush my teeth and put on my clothes and ride my bike and even swim.
But for now, I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells around her. Like I’m not enough for her. As much as I admire her, I don’t think she feels the same about me.
I think she thinks I’m like Dad.
I’m nothing like him.
She turns from me, cocking her head, her braid shifting slightly down her back as she stares at the water. “Sometimes I like it to keep running.” Her narrow shoulders shrug and she adds, “I like the noise. It’s… nice.” Looking at me again, she tucks a lock of dark hair that came free from her braid behind her ear. “Does that make sense, Eli?”
I listen to the sounds in the bathroom. The fan. The water. It muffles the noise of my own pulse. My heavy breathing, because I never know what to say to Mom to get her to keep talking to me.
It drowns out the feel of unease in my body.
I nod once. “It makes sense.”
She smiles again, and this time… it almost seems real.
It’s beenfive days since we spent time together outside of Trafalgar’s walls.
I shove on my wrestling hoodie because Castle Hall turns chilly once the sun has sunk down, and it’s late October. The heat hasn’t been turned on yet, the days still warm, but after practice, fresh out of the shower with my hair damp, I’m cold.
I rake my fingers through my waves, tousling them, and grab my bag from the rickety bench in the locker room, walking out into the hallway parallel to the wrestling room.
“You sure you’re okay for this weekend?”
I glance to my left, seeing Coach Pensky in the doorway, a clipboard tucked under his arm, one hand splayed against the doorjamb. He adjusts the little glasses on his face, sweat blooming under his gray T-shirt, matching his sweats. Coach isn’t fashionable, yet he still exudes a feverish sort of confidence which serves us well. Beyond him, inside the room we had practice in, I see Ms. Pensky on her hands and knees, scrubbing at the mats with a bottle of spray and paper towels.
I wonder if she ever wanted to do something else, or if she fell in love with the sport before she fell for her husband.
I grip my bag, pushing my other hand into my pocket and grabbing my phone, itching to text Eden. She’s had a lot of homework, she’s said, but I know she’s avoiding me for some reason. At least, she’s avoiding being alone with me, after school hours.
“Yep,” I tell Coach, and I mean it. I’ve cut five pounds since we spoke on the phone last week. The tournament is Saturday, I’ll be able to drop three more pounds of water weight by then. Not healthy, but it’s only temporary so I can wrestle in Baca’s place.
Pensky nods. “Is the girl coming?” He barks out the question like he barks out most everything else, but I see a small smile on his thin lips.
