Bully stepbrother

35. Indulge

CADEN

The gentle sound of curtain rods gliding against the polished stainless steel pole accompanied the warm, golden glow of the morning sun as it bathed my childhood bedroom in a soft, inviting light.

The radiant beams of the sunlight breathed life into the weariness that had taken residence within me over the course of the preceding two months.

"Get up, wake up, it's morning," she coaxed, her voice like a silken ribbon woven with morning tranquility.

Refusing to let go of the comfort of my cocoon, I drew the covers tighter around me, my body recoiling from the intrusion of daylight.

"I don't want to go to school today," I whined.

Her determination remained unswayed, and she tugged the comforter until I reluctantly surrendered to the brightness of the new day.

In her sedated voice that bore traces of both concern and resignation, she mandated, "You must. School is essential for your future. Besides, I need some quiet today."

School, however, wasn't the solace I needed. It was my twin, Cara, whose absence had left an unfillable void in my life for nearly three months.

As I sat up on the mini-size bed, a surge of emotion welled up, the sting of unshed tears making my eyes burn. "But I don't feel well."

Her expression softened, a mixture of patience and reproach. "Dishonesty isn't the path you should tread, Caden. Remember I told you not to do that again," She frowned from beside the bed.

With my head bowed, I offered a contrite apology.

Since the heart-wrenching loss of my sister, she had become a constant presence, ensuring I was tucked in at night and rousing me from sleep each morning, despite no longer cooking, doing laundry, or engaging in the family activities she used to be passionate about before the tragedy.

For seventy-five days, her tucking me into bed and waking me up were the only connections that brought warmth to my life. If it weren't for Cara's sudden and brutal death on the street, I might have considered these days to be the most peaceful of my life.

Finally, she loved me – I felt worthy in her eyes, just as I had always yearned for.

"Now, let's get you cleaned up. I've prepared some warm water for you. You'll enjoy it," she smiled and extended her hand.

Uncertainty clouded my thoughts, and I hesitated, gazing at her outstretched hand. "Why shouldn't I bathe myself? I am capable, I promise."

She had referred to me as a man. And a man should take responsibility and face challenges. She mentioned how she and Cara shared a bathtub because they were both females, leaving me with the maid to clean me up until I was able to learn to do it myself.

I had been self-sufficient since the tender age of four, proudly asserting my independence to the maid. I was a man now, capable of handling the simple task of bathing myself.

"You're my only child. From now on, I'll take care of bathing you," Mom promised, her smile sparkling, and I took her hand. "Okay."

We exited my room and stepped into the spacious hallway. As I looked up to ask if I could leave my shorts on, like at the pool, I noticed her eyes darting toward the door beside mine.

It had been a while since anyone entered that room. We all hesitated, only exchanging glances from across the hall.

What was once a pink, vibrant room that belonged to the prettiest young girl had now faded into gray, its power slowly engulfing the house and erasing the memories we held dear, leaving us with emptiness.

"Yes, you can," Mom smiled down at me, leading me to the room opposite mine and Cara's. But I can see how much force she put into the smile because we both know we're all grieving.

Stripping off my clothes from the previous day, I entered the waiting bathtub, dressed only in plain white shorts.

"Good. Is the water temperature to your liking?" she inquired, crouching beside the tub and using a loofah sponge to gently cleanse my skin.

I nodded in approval. It was the first time in all my memories she had ever bathed me, and it felt oddly comforting.

"What's for breakfast?" I asked.

Disappointment momentarily flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a smile as she replied, "I didn't prepare anything this morning, but you can have cereal. The maid bought your favorite last night."

"Why don't we have proper breakfast like we used to? Why don't you make pancakes anymore?" I questioned the woman attending to me.

"Cara liked pancakes," she stated simply, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

"But I like them too," I pouted.

Her hand ruffled my hair until it stood on end. "We all do," she conceded softly.

"Then make them like before," I pleaded as she applied soap to the loofah.

"Shh, close your eyes. I'm going to wash your face," she instructed gently, diverting my request.

"Okay," I nodded nervously, closing my eyes.

The sponge's gentle touch caressed my face, moving across my cheeks and every contour.

"My eyes hurt," I cried. "There's soap in my eyes."
Blind panic set in, the distress intensifying as I struggled to escape the burning sensation.

"Mom, it hurts," I whimpered, feeling her rinse my face with clean water.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," her voice trembled with fear.

I heard the sound of the showerhead being turned on, bringing it closer to my face.

Yet, the discomfort persisted. The soap's sting remained, harsh and burning.

"My eyes, I can't see," I struggled, my sobs growing louder.

"I'm so sorry," she kept repeating, sobbing herself, and she began lowering my body backward, laying me into the almost filled tub.

"Mom! Mom..." I dreadfully called, when the water began reaching my ears.

"I'm so sorry." She cried.

Fear gripped me. It was overwhelming, dark, and inescapable. I couldn't break free from it.

"Mom..." It was the last coherent word I uttered, as the rest dissolved into the water.

"Mmmmmm...."

In the bathtub, my tears mingled with the three hundred liters of water. My hands and legs struggled. My attempts to free myself were futile; she held me down with all her strength. She was thirty and I was ten. So vulnerable I couldn't help myself

"I'm so sorry," she continued to say, her voice filled with anguish and regret, becoming so distant in my head as I began drifting away.