The wax figure

#1

The walk to his car was filled with laughter. He drove a black Porsche, detail that did not go unnoticed.
Opening the door for her, he smiled warmly "ladies first".
She chuckled, "such a gentleman."
"Chivalry isn't dead."
"Yet it's getting rarer by the day."
"That's because you have never been on a date with me."
"Maybe."

Her eyes fell on his tattooed arms, intricate patterns of black ink covered his skin.
"So, tell me more about your sculptures."
"What do you want to know?"
"How did you discover your talent?"
"That's a sad story, I fear it would ruin the mood."
"I want to get to know you."
"I lost my mother when I was young."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. As he drove through the dimly lit roads, his pain was evident in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"She was an alcoholic. My father had left us for another family, so she was all I had. She ate nothing all day and drank herself to sleep every night. Even now, after years from it, I can still hear her sobs from her bedroom."

She waited for him to continue.

"One day, I suppose her body had decided that it was enough, and she quietly died. I found her lifeless body on the bathroom floor. She had hit her head on the sink. The bathroom tiles are still stained with her blood to this day."

"It must've been hard", she squeezed his shoulder.
"It was. I was thirteen."
"No one should live through that."
"Yeah."

A brief silence fell between them, until he decided that he had more to say.

"She wasn't a bad mother. She was just like me, a victim of my father's actions. I wanted to find a way to keep her alive, beautiful, untouched. I needed to remember her like that."

"So wax figures." She concluded.

"Yeah, wax figures. They're more human than you think."