A Son's Dangerous Desire:(2)

She slapped me. Hit me, really. She never had before, and I'm pretty certain that she meant it to be lighter than it was. It glanced off my cheek and into my nose. It hurt like hell, far more than it actually caused any damage. I saw stars and I felt something wet on my upper lip. For a second, just a split second, I had an image in my mind. It was of her, my mom, crying on the floor. Groceries were spilled around her and I was tearing the shirt off of her. It was crystal clear, and it aroused and sickened me.

To my credit, I did the only other thing I could think of. I turned around, went to my room and slammed the door hard behind me, locking it. I didn't know at the time how she interpreted my behavior, but at that moment I was no longer angry. I just knew, deep inside myself, that I had to put as many barriers between me and her as possible. I knew that I was exactly one bad decision away from being a monster. We weren't getting along, but she was still my mom. I still loved her and I believed she still loved me. I didn't want to hurt her in the heat of the moment. To do something that I could never take back.

I grabbed a towel and held it to my nose as I lay down and closed my eyes. I took deep breaths. I counted down from one hundred. All the little tricks you pick up when you don't want to respond to a bully. I was dimly aware of my mom's voice in the background, and her knocking at the door. I didn't quite understand what was going on, but I knew she wasn't angry any more.

"Sweetie. Honey, oh my god I can't believe I did that. I'm sorry, ok? Please come out and let me look at it. I...I don't know why I said those things. But we can talk about it. Oh god. Please just open the door."

I could hear that she was crying a little bit. I was there but not really there. Part of me wanted to open the door and let her mother me and just let things return to some kind of normal. I don't know what would have happened had I done that. Maybe we'd have ended up getting in worse fights. Or maybe that would have been the spark that led to us returning to some kind of loving relationship. But I didn't open the door.

"Just go away. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want dinner. I just need to be alone." I said it loud enough to be heard, but there was no anger. My voice was dead. Foreign to me, and distant. I was in pain and suddenly sad and tired and my cock was still rock hard. I don't think I would have done anything to hurt her, but in my mind I was dangerous and unpredictable. I couldn't trust my mother to not be angry so therefore I couldn't trust my own reactions.

I heard her crying recede slowly away. I knew I had hurt her. Part of me was pleased that I finally had said something to hurt my bully, but most of me was just relieved that she was farther away and that I wouldn't be able to, well, rape her. That was my fear.

I fell asleep like that, and slept for far longer than I normally would have. I woke in the earliest hours of the morning. It must have been 3 or 4 am. I felt the silence of the house and I knew that my father wasn't home. He'd return late Sunday night with some excuses, smelling of alcohol and sex. I didn't really care though. I was starving and I felt a stickiness on my face that must of been dried blood. And, embarrassingly, I must have had a wet dream because I could smell and feel the drying cum in my underwear.

I was too hungry to care about how i looked or smelled, however. I got up, unlocked the door, and walked as quietly as I could down the hall. I really didn't want to deal with my mom just then. I was certain, absolutely and completely, that she was going to kick me out, or put me in boarding school. Anything to get rid of the monster that she had somehow allowed into her home. I wasn't mad about it, either. It seemed like the right thing to do. Not to put a fine point on it, but shit was fucked up.

Naturally, she was at the kitchen table, waiting for me in the dark. Well I doubt she was waiting for me particularly, probably she just couldn't sleep. She had a look of surprise, then shock at my appearance, then honest to god sadness and shame. It was so pathetic I felt bad for making her see me like that.

She stood up, took me by the hand and led me to the table, where she sat me down. Silently she went and turned on the light and got a washcloth and and a bowl of water. She sat next to me at the table and began to gently clean my face.

I saw that her eyes were red from crying. She was wearing a large t-shirt that went down to her thighs. If she was wearing anything below that I couldn't see it. I wasn't looking either.

She finally spoke.

"Jesus. I...I really hurt you didn't I? After I get you cleaned up, we can call...someone...if you want."

It took me a minute to understand what she was getting at. Did she think I wanted to call the police? I shook my head, but she continued.

"I mean it. You shouldn't have to stay here with me. I won't make anything hard for you, I'll tell them about the fight. And that when you stood up to me I hit you..."

I shook my head again, more emphatically. I was sure of very little right then but the idea of getting my mother put in jail sickened me. I wasn't afraid of her.

"I'm not getting you in trouble, mom. I love you." I said, softly.

"I...I love you too, honey. I've been thinking...I know this isn't just about today. I've been awful. I've said...and even though some terrible things about you. When I should be grateful for everything you do. I'm sorry. I know that it isn't enough, but I'm sorry."

This was probably the thing I expected the least, even though it probably made the most sense. She was apologizing to me? Didn't she hear me call her a whore? Didn't I come close to hurting her?

"I'm not mad anymore. I'm...I'm afraid I might hurt you. I said those awful things...I was so angry..." I couldn't finish my sentence because I had started to cry silently.

"But you didn't. And...and I know you won't. Ever. I hit you, and you stayed in control. I want you to remember that the next time you feel guilty, ok? And the things you said...well some of them were true. Your father doesn't love me, if he ever did. And I was treating you badly. As for how I was dressed..."

I bit my lip. This was bad. There was no real way to talk about this without admitting a few things that I wasn't even comfortable thinking about, much less discussing.