The Final Project

Chapter 105

Aaron

We're already packing when I hear my mom knock on the bedroom door. "Get out here, Aaron. You have some explaining to do!"

"Coming," I say back, dreading the lecture that awaits. I look at Ivy. "You okay?" She's stopped folding her clothes, and her eyes trail to the door. In instinct, I walk toward her, and kiss her on the forehead. Slow, and sweet, and calm although I'm anything but.

"Yeah," she breathes out after a moment. "Open it." And so I do. At the door, I see my mom standing in front of me, her mouth downturned, and eyebrows creased.

"What was that? Why's our guest bleeding, and how is she," she looks at Ivy now. "Okay with it?" I stand there, unsure of what to say, or do.

A part of me wants to scream at my mom. I want to tell her this is her fault. If she hadn't bought Ivy's dad here, none of this would've happened. But if he wasn't an abusive asshole, none of this would've happened either. If I had just stayed with Ivy, none of this would've happened either...

And another part of me wants to cry. I want to ask why she had kids at all if she never wanted to raise them. I want to ask her why her, and dad are hell bent on ruining any good thing I have. Why they somehow enjoy watching me suffer?

"Ask your guest why he's bleeding," I say instead, not wanting to bring up things that my parents would never admit to.

"Oh, I would love to ask. Except I can't!" She exclaims somewhat sarcastically. "He's unconscious on the couch!" I laugh.

"So, you're more concerned over a man you don't know than you are over your son." 

"He's our guest," she starts again.

"Cut it out. Ivy's your guest, and how've you treated her?" I ask. "You only wanted her dad here because of your fucking business bullshit. You wanted to use my relationship for your own gain. That's the only reason you cared, right? Why you were suddenly so invested in what I was doing?"

A secret part of me hopes she'll reply with a different explanation. I wish she would say, "No, son. You got it all wrong. Your father, and I aren't shitty people who only care about money. No, no, no. We love you. No, no, no. We've always cared about you. No, no, no..."

But instead I get silence, and with that my answer. "Whatever, mom." I look away, my eyes stinging, and face contorting into an expression that's all too familiar when I'm in this house. "I just didn't know you could be this cruel."

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