Valeriana

14

My bird was chirping at me the entire time it took to write this

CWs/TWs: mentioned/referenced eating disorder, Stockholm syndrome

.•°*°•.

"What do you mean I'm going away?" Mumbo stared at his father, half confused and half terrified. "I said I don't want to!"

Michael sighed. "Mumbo, I am your father and I know what's good for you better than you do," he said. "This is going to help you."

"Dad, I don't need help!" Mumbo shouted. "How could you know what's good for me anyway?! You left me! You left me and Mum because you don't love us-"

"That's your mother talking," Mumbo's father interrupted calmly. "I do love you, that's why I'm doing this."

"You don't love me," Mumbo said, starting to tear up. "How could you love me and still do this to me? You hate me!"

Michael paused. "Kid, I don't hate you-"

"You do hate me!"

"I don't."

"Why?!" Mumbo sobbed.

Michael took a moment to breathe. "Why do you think I hate you?"

Mumbo looked away. "Because Mum said-"

"What your mother said is wrong," Michael said. "Everything she said and did to you is wrong."

Mumbo let out another sob. "You're lying!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face. "You're a liar!"

"I'm not lying."

"Yes you are!"

Michael paused. "Do you want me to hate you?" he asked quietly.

Mumbo didn't respond, simply continuing to cry, as he covered his face with his hands.

"Please don't say you want me to." Hs paused, waiting for a response as his son calmed down a bit, but he didn't get one. "Mumbo-"

"Just say you hate me already, please," Mumbo begged. "Stop lying to me."

Michael took a deep breath. "Why do you believe her over me? She hurt you-"

"So did you!"

The two of them went quiet as the tension in the air thickened, Mumbo practically panting from yelling and crying.

"You hurt me, too."

Michael reached out to Mumbo, but the boy swatted his hand away. "Kid-"

"Leave me alone." Mumbo turned his back to his father. "I don't want to talk to you right now."

Michael groaned. "Oh, come on," he grumbled. "I'm only doing this so you can get better, alright? I don't hate you and I never will. This is for you to get the help that you need so you can be healthy again."

Mumbo didn't answer.

"Kid, don't give me this crap. Please."

Again, Mumbo stayed silent.

"Son-"

"Don't fucking call me that," Mumbo snapped, glaring at Michael over his shoulder. "You don't have the right to call me that."

"I sure as hell do, young man," Michael said. "I'm your father."

"You're no father to me."

Michael huffed. "Fine," he said, and Mumbo's glare softened in confusion. "You don't have to go to the rehab program. You don't have to get better or be healthy. But don't come crying to me when you realise I was right because you ended your ass in the hospital again and got a feeding tube shoved up your nose and down your throat because you refused to eat a single goddamn thing after disobeying me. I won't be there for you to cry to. Why? Because I hate you, right?"