After pain // Bakugou Katsuki

Week Two

Inserting the charger into my chromebook, I left it as my school assignments were done for the day. My feet touched the carpet with an extended groan, massaging the muscles on my shoulders. I went downstairs and saw my mother, continously reading the books of text that littered the television screen on conspiracies, regarding the virus.

She kept concentrating as I sat next to her, curious to see what caught her attention, if it was anything new. I deeply exhaled out my nose, crossing my arms. She still didn't move and I was left with nothing else, I called out to her.

She turned her head and slippers to face me, "sorry, so much is going on the news today. Look, did you see what else China has done? It's disgusting!"

I cowered under her spite, reluctantly nodding as my brain was torn and refused to hold the thoughts on how I could begin to disagree with her statement. She was ever entranced by the topic, spending all her home time researching and reading upon any new (more likely reworded) parts of information. There was a couple of times where she had forgotten to serve us dinner, her elbows smudging the table whilst her phone played a video. My father wasn't interested, ignoring her speeches about the crimes committed so I was the next person on the list. It became ridiculous, each day containing a moment of her informing me of the news and continously persuading me like she was a war hero. That was my mother's knightly ego.

I'm not against being informed or aware to things, in fact, I would advocate for it. But in all, this differed to me. She was too engulfed by the statistics and the story being fed to her, indulgence becoming a mythical creature. Sometimes, I wanted to relax and switch off after the hours of typing away on a metal board. Boo to me as some days would consist with our exchange of words only relating to the updates on China's connection to the virus. I had forgotten about the time she "discovered" that Chinese people made love to bats as it was in their tradition. Then the virus took flight, according to the Maily Dail. Complete stupidity and I never would think that the old hag -- my fairly intelligent mother -- believed in such rumours, only rumours as there was no way in hell it was facts or realistic.

Our times partially synced throughout this week, her shifts would finish around two o'clock, when I finished past three. Conveniently for her, it was the hour when the news twirled across and in no less than ten minutes, she knew every single event that could be used to critique China's Government that took place during the time she spent at work. American's preaching on a corrupt channel that people never gave a second glance to, the best way of ending my day as I stomped down the stairs and gripped the scarred railing.

My father always finished later, just before dinner took place as my mother found it courteous to eat collectively. The last consistencies of normality.

The steam of a ready made meal hit my nose as I moved forward on my chair, facing my father. "You alright?" He piped out, the daily question that earned it's same response each time.

"Yeah, 'm fine."

Then we dug into our food and only the scrapings of metal could be heard until she began... again.

"Have you heard? People say they are killing the scientists to get away with being unfounded! I say we got to put them down for once and for all."

I clutched my fork. "Really, this is the only fucking thing we talk about?"

She didn't acknowledge me, continuing on her rampage as I sunk further into my seat, surprisingly not becoming a part of the wood. My ears were tired of the same conversation, was this the only thing worthy of being talked about? I drop my plate in the sink and march back to my room, soothing myself as I laid into the bed and curled under the covers. I will brush my teeth in a bit, I'm comfortable right now. In a bit.

I submerged myself into the mattress, amongst the blistering silence around. The time was way too early, even for me but I didn't want to go on that app. Maybe, maybe if I didn't... then they would check in?

How petty is this?

I closed my eyes, wincing at the scolding of my inner thoughts, reminding me to act better. I could do so much better than this.

By some disgusting miracle, I dreamt of the man that night. Which man? That man. On the corrupt American channel, stars a bald egged man who screams at the television about all the nonsense my mother believes in. His name isn't anything memorable, a basic name like Jonathan or Daniel? He was in my fucking house, sitting with my mother as they talked on and on, she stared at him with her eyesockets in the shape of hearts. Sick. When I woke up I was partly relieved and also bewildered about what I just experienced. A dream or not, still very weird.

I guess it makes sense when he has basically become a part of this family, I see him when I'm having breakfast before school (by breakfast I mean a glass of milk if I am feeling generous), I see him after school and then he claps in the background as some soup is poured into my bowl. He even sings me to sleep as my mum opens the door and pops in.

A few nights ago she opened the door and I turned to face her with a scoffed "what".

She leaned against the wall and pranced to me about how the man has found statistics on China's coving numbers, and somehow that matters. I don't remember it as I was half-asleep, treading off into some peace and there she was with the man in her brain. No, that's it. His name was something with an M, Matthew? No, damn it.

This man will be the end of me.

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