Silence | Book 2

2-12: Clash [M-G]

His mother laid open a bible on the dinner table, and began a long, animated reading of the passages that spoke of Jesus's birth. Her gaze fell on each of them while she read, as if to threaten the words into their minds. Between passages, she gave her own interpretations; that one should always be grateful to their mother, that good would come to the poor who sacrificed, and how hell would await those who didn't accept God. With each of them, Tristan couldn't help but connect it to the things she wanted, and what she wished for; it frustrated him, knowing she was spouting her own desires as gospel. It frustrated him that he had believed in them for so long, and had waisted so much time trying to attain a god that had been constructed only for his mother to get what she wanted – and she never wanted him.

He balled his fists underneath the table and went with it, listening and nodding along hoping to keep the peace. Not just because he was afraid of the consequences, but because he didn't want Anya to get caught up in any of it. Yet the longer it went on, the more he felt his mind buzz with anger. Even bowing down to her and not taking a stance made him feel weak, and he didn't want to be the eternal, silent victim anymore.

It's only for tonight... what am I going to do? If I make her angry nothing good will happen. Just calm down. But why am I the one supposed to be patient? She insulted me,- beat me. Why don't I deserve to get angry just once? She's going to hate me anyway.

",- and we praise you oh great Lord, we thank you for this meal that you provided for us. Amen."

God didn't do anything. I did it. I spent hours on this.

"Amen." – "Amen."

He bit his lip and remained quiet in anger. I'm not going to bow down to you. I'm not going to praise your excuse to be like this – what you used for years to abuse me. I won't do it,- I won't.

Even when his mother glared at him, he kept looking, refusing to look away and let her intimidate him. For a second there hung a dark, intense hatred between them. Despite the fear clawing its way up his spine, he didn't give in.

She grasped his hair and pushed his face against the table. The cutlery clattered and he let out a startled gasp. With both hands he tried to push her away from him, but she used all her weight to keep him down.

"Are you refusing to praise the Lord?" She growled, and he glanced up at her to see only burning rage. Fear and anger tore at him, digging into his thoughts and ripping them apart. It was like his mind snapped in two. Hatred coursed through him. Drowned his inhibitions.

"There is no God." He hissed back between his teeth. "It's just your focking excuse. The only thing you have because you're nothing but an abusive, hopeless bitch."

Every word satisfied him. For a second his mother was stunned, and he used it to push her off of him. She stumbled back, but he grabbed her by her shirt. It was surprisingly easy. Her eyes went wide when he loomed over her, and her fear made him laugh.

"There is nothing there for you. You're going to die alone, pretending you're better than everyone else. And you'll wait and wait, and there's never going to be a heaven for you. And I want the last thing you realise when you die to be that you wasted your entire life. That you're nothing."

Everything went quiet, except for his heavy, laboured breaths. In that short moment he felt satisfied, like years and years of pain had left him. The fright and hurt in his mother's eyes pleased him – but then the rage that caused it fled him.

There was just one thought; is this what you feel when you beat me? Am I like you... with trembling hands he let go of her and took a step back. Only to see Anya look at him. She was terrified. I'm not,- I'm not like... I'm so sorry Annie...