Daddy Issues

2 - Mom's boy toy

'Fucking hell.'

The wheel on my suitcase got stuck on something, making me almost stumble and causing the dufflebag I put on top of it to fly off.

When I chose my university, I decided to choose one far away enough from home to have a plausible excuse to only come home for Christmas and the summer. But while I usually make the trip with just a light bag, it's no joy to do it with a large suitcase, a duffle bag, and a backpack. I had to take everything back home with me and now I have to drag it all across the airport, to a bus and then finally from the bus stop to my home.

I texted mom to ask if she could pick me up, but she said she was busy. Working, of course, preparing for her important project. And obviously there's no way she could take an hour out of her day to pick me up.

Whatever, I've made the journey before. I put the duffle bag back in its place and try to get moving again. But the suitcase doesn't move as smoothly as it did before. On closer inspection, the little wheel turns out to be busted. Great. This day just gets better and better. I got crammed beside an arguing family with two kids on the plane. The heat is so terrible, I'm sweating my tits off. Now this.... And I haven't even encountered my mother yet.

The bus is no better. The AC's not working and it's filled to the brim. The guy beside me smells like cigarettes and sweat which does not help my motion sickness so I spend the whole journey breathing through my nose, trying not to throw up.

Finally, I'm there. I reassamble my stuff once it's all been loaded off the bus and get started on the ten minute walk home. I guess it's a good thing she'll be at the office. At least I won't have to face her in the mood that I'm currently in.

By the time I reach the house, at least the motion sickness has worn off a little. But I'm desperate to take a shower and change into some clean clothes. After I get all this shit up to my room.

Of course, the key has fallen into some sort of deep crevice in my backpack, but when I've finally managed to fish out out, I open the door to my childhood home for the first time since December.

It's a nice house. My mom has always worked hard and it shows in the elegant interior of high quality furniture. Her career has always come first, allowing us to live in a large house like this, even when she was on her own.

But the sight of it doesn't excite me. I was glad to leave for college 5 five years ago and I haven't felt home here in a long time. Mostly, I'm annoyed by the sight of the daunting stairs leading to the upper floor.

'Home, sweet home', I mumble. Then I turn around with a sigh to grab my belongings. Let's just get this huge suitcase over with first and then come back for the dufflebag and the backpack.

With a grunt, I pull it up the first few steps. Why is it so heavy? Must be all those damn study books. Should have just burned them all in a ritualistic fire, but they were very expensive so I figured I might try to sell them.

The sound of the suitcase banging on the steps when I pull it up some more, echoes through the house. If mom was here she'd tell me I'm ruining the stairs, but she's not here so there's no-one to complain about it.

At least, that's what I thought.

'You need some help with that?'

Startled by the sudden voice, I let go of the suitcase and fall backwards, landing on my butt while the suitcase tumbles back down the stairs.

'Goddammit!'

'Shit. Didn't mean to scare you.'

I look back when I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs and find myself looking at a man that seems vaguely familiar. Right. The man from Christmas. In my nerves about facing my mother and all the stress of the day, I'd half-forgotten about him. And I guess I'd assumed he wouldn't be here when I arrived, anyway.