Only a Game (Olympus Drive Chronicles)

Chapter 29: Nightmares

Viktor

When I lie awake at night, I try to remember the songs my mother sang to me. She played with me, all the time. When I was little she'd swing me around in her arms. When I was bigger she'd dance with me. And she'd tell me the most wonderful stories to go to sleep. I don't know if she made them up, or maybe she was recounting television shows. Maybe they were from books I don't know. But they were full of adventure, and magic. And I'd fall asleep to the sound of her voice. If I was very sick and couldn't pay attention to a story, or very tired, or whatever, she'd sing to me.

My dad was always working. Always. He was busy, and it was fine because I had my mother who loved me more than anything, ever. And my father would be there for some meal at some point, making my mother dance in the kitchen. Her telling him to stop smoking.

And for the life of me I can't remember what her voice sounded like. I should have recordings, videos. But when we were sent here, of course, we had nothing. Nothing at all. And I can't remember the sound of it, like what her particular voice sounded like. And I don't know if its stupid or tragic that it doesn't matter, I won't hear it again. I've thought up what I'd want her to say. "Hello Vik," like I was the most important person in the world. And she'd cup a hand to my cheek and kiss my forehead. "Precious boy." I felt special with her. That matters, to feel special to someone.

Ariadne and I would race into the kitchen, make her give us hot scones, laughing we'd hide and eat them. And then when she was off of work she'd take us down to the beach, but she never let us go in the water. She thought the water was angry somehow. She was probably right. I'm sure she was right about everything.

But I'd like to hear her voice again. Just that. No, not just that. I want my mom back. I just want her. Back here. With me. Taking care of me. Like she's supposed to because she's my mom. And she liked being my mom. She was happy to have me every single day and I didn't get enough of them with her.

"I can't sleep," I walk out of my room into the living room, rubbing my eyes with my fists, trying to stop the tears.

"Because you hardly touched your dinner you would be----why are you crying?" my dad turns from his projects, "What is it? Did you hurt yourself out there today----? You were gone half the afternoon, I tell you—"

"I miss mom," I say, hugging myself and crying, "I miss her."

"I know you do. But we had her for seven long years. That's what we got," he says, coming over to stroke my hair, then put his hands on my shoulders.

"But it wasn't enough. I don't care. I want more time. It wasn't enough," I sob, leaning into his shirt to inhale the thick smell of the cheap cigarettes.

"It's never enough with those we love," he says, tipping my head up to look at him with his strong, rough hands on my cheeks, "But I'm so glad she gave me you. I may not deserve you. But we have each other ---right? And we stick together."

"I want her," I mumble, tears running down my face.

"She would want you to be strong. You know she hated seeing you cry. What did she tell you to do when you were sad?"

"I don't remember," she wiped my tears and hugged me. But I was little. That's all I needed. I need words now, wise words. But most of all I need her. "I wasn't ready."

"She wouldn't like her boy crying," he says, wiping the tears from my face, "Here, drag your bed out, read something and you'll soon be asleep, all right?"

I nod, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

"You'll feel better once we're free. We'll have a house---you'll like the food better as well," he says, almost like he wants to believe it.

I nod, getting my cot and my pillow.

"Get some sleep now, you aren't hungry are you?"

I shake my head no even though my stomach is burning. I don't really think about it that much anymore.

"Of course not. Lie there, breath deeply. You'll soon be asleep."

But I'm not.