I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 21: grenade pin

'Don't!'

Má seizes my wrist before I can roll up the blinds from the kitchen window. Her fingernails indent my skin, and I let go of the beaded string so she can yank the fabric back down, plunging us into the dark.

Her skin is sallow, the circles around her eyes darker than usual. She hasn't been going to work, I assume. She hasn't even gone outside, if the drawn blinds and empty fridge are anything to judge by.

Iris is staying at Chloe's for their GCSE period, and Má has gotten worse than I judged over the phone. Left alone, she'll only get worse.

Challenging her when she gets like this does nothing but make her angry, so I don't. I ease my arm out of her grip, tugging my sleeve over the crescents, and turn on the lights so I can unpack the groceries I brought.

I'm supposed to be watching Before Midnight with Ziri right now. We've been looking forward to it since it was announced and booked tickets to the premiere a month ago, but instead, I'm here.

After four hours on the phone with Má trying to stop her from reeling, I knew I couldn't avoid coming. Ziri said he's not angry about it, but I imagine that he is, or maybe he didn't expect enough from me to get angry. After three years of us living together, he no longer expects enough from me to get angry.

What am I supposed to do, though? I can't ignore her; she's my mother.

Má stops peering out the window and yanks at my hoodie. 'Aren't you hot in this?'

'No,' I lie, tugging the sleeves down my wrists to make sure my tattoos stay hidden.

Má's glare is an oil burn on my hands as I stab open the packet of chicken. I decided to make bánh xèo because they're quick and I don't think Má's eaten in days, but she doesn't seem pleased by the alteration of the recipe.

'I don't understand why you can't eat pork.'

We've had this conversation enough times for me to know how it'll go, so I don't answer. It's just much easier for us to eat the same food, but Má refuses to believe it was my idea and my choice.

Her stare hooks into mine and reels in an invisible wire until I'm forced to face her. Her reddened eyes brim with tears, though I can't tell if it's just her body trying to counteract the dryness or if she's genuinely crying. 

'He's turning you against me.' When Má whispers, it's somehow thrice as loud as when she yells. 'He made you move to Brighton just to take you away from me.'

'No, he didn't.' I bite the words too late and catch only my tongue. I scrub the taste of iron against the roof of my mouth as I wash my hands. 'He's my boyfriend.'

'You're my husband!'

'I'm your son.'

'I know that.' Má's voice is splintered and shrill. 'Why d'you think I don't know that?'

Drying my hands, I try to breathe through the grave opening in my chest. I might collapse inward into it.

The watery aura seeps from her eyes to the rest of her, like she isn't entirely solid. When she collapses into my chest, I almost expect her to pass through, to become a puddle permanently inside me. Her hands root to my back. Somehow, it feels as though she's inside my skin.

'He's going to take you away from me. Just like your dad, just like his parents. They're going to take you away from me.'

Wrapping myself around her, I allow my eyes to fall out of focus. My body knows how to hold her even if my mind floats to the attic. Má doesn't notice the absence — or more correctly, she never notices my presence and can't tell when it's missing.