Shadow of the Rebel

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"I know it's all you got to just be strong" by Brian and Jenn Johnson 'you're gonna be okay'

A few days after the incident at school, Tom found himself caught in another exhausting cycle of his mother's demands. This time, she was hosting a party for her friends, and Tom was thrust into the role of the household servant. He spent the entire day scrubbing floors, dusting surfaces, and making the house sparkle—an effort that seemed to go unnoticed by his mother, who lounged on the couch watching TV.

Mother, "Tom, I need you to go to the store and buy food for the party. And don't forget to use your own money. We need plenty of snacks and drinks."

Tom, feeling a mix of resentment and resignation, gathered his last few dollars and trudged off to the store. After returning with bags full of groceries, he immediately set to work cooking. He prepared an assortment of appetizers and snacks, pouring his effort into making everything perfect.

By 8 PM, the house was spotless, and the food was laid out just as his mother had instructed. Tom, exhausted but satisfied, allowed himself a rare smile as he surveyed his work. It was then that his sisters returned from their after-school activities, excited for the evening's festivities.

When the doorbell rang, Tom's mother leaped from the couch, her earlier disinterest replaced by a bright, cheerful demeanor.

Mother, "Hello! Welcome to our party! I'm sorry, the house was such a mess earlier, but I've been cleaning and cooking all day."

Tom's heart sank as he heard his mother's false claims. He had spent hours laboring to make everything perfect while she had been lounging, taking credit for his hard work.

Veronica, "Oh, nonsense! This place looks wonderful. So spotless!"

Mother was giggling, "Oh, stop it! You're too kind."

Tom's frustration bubbled over. The disparity between his mother's casual demeanor and his grueling efforts was too much to bear. Unable to stay silent, he blurted out:

Tom, "Yeah, actually, I did all the cleaning and cooking while she just sat around watching TV."

The room fell silent. His mother's smile faltered, replaced by a look of sheer disbelief and anger. The guests looked between Tom and his mother, their expressions a mix of confusion and discomfort. Tom didn't wait to see the fallout.

Tom turned on his heel and fled up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it, sinking against it as he fought to control his racing heart.

In the quiet of his room, Tom's breaths came in ragged gasps. He could hear the muffled sounds of the party downstairs—laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversation. The contrast between the festive noise and his own seething anger was almost unbearable.

The weight of his mother's deceit and his own mounting frustration felt like a heavy stone lodged in his chest. He knew that the party was just another display of his mother's ability to manipulate and control the narrative to her advantage. Tom felt isolated, caught between his own sense of injustice and the superficial world his mother continued to create for her friends.

Hours passed in the silence of his room. Tom remained locked away, grappling with his emotions. His mother's anger and the guests' whispers were a constant reminder of the disconnect between his reality and the facade his mother maintained. As the party continued downstairs, Tom sat alone, contemplating his next steps and longing for a respite from the constant cycle of abuse and manipulation.

Hours later, after the party had ended, Tom's mother came upstairs and entered his room. Tom was already asleep, exhausted from the day's events. Without warning, she began to hit him.