PARACIDE

Chapter 7: The Gloves

Sam lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room was dim, the fading evening light casting long shadows across the walls. His head still throbbed, but the pain had settled into the background, a dull reminder that something wasn’t quite right. He could still hear Jen and her mother downstairs, the faint clatter of dishes as they cleaned up from dinner.

He should feel grateful to be here, he thought. Away from home, away from the suffocating pressure of his father and everything that came with him. But the longer he lay there, the more the memories clawed their way back to the surface, refusing to let him rest.

That night.

It came back in flashes, like pieces of a puzzle he wished he could forget.

The dining room was dark except for the chandelier that hung low over the long table. The light made the mahogany shine, every imperfection glaring under its glow. Sam sat there, his hands resting in his lap, waiting. Across from him, his father was silent, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

His father’s voice, when it came, was low and angry. “Are you just going to sit there?”

Sam didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the table in front of him, the untouched plate of food that was growing colder by the minute.

A fist slammed onto the table, rattling the silverware. “Answer me.”

Sam’s heart jumped in his chest, but he still didn’t look up. He couldn’t. He didn’t dare.

“Put the gloves on,” his father growled.

Sam blinked, barely registering the words at first. His mind had drifted, like it often did during these tense dinners. His eyes wandered to the side, catching a glimpse of the maid standing by the doorway, her expression blank. She moved toward him, holding out the pair of thin, clear gloves, the kind meant to keep things clean.

It was always the gloves. Every meal. Every single time.

His father couldn’t stand the thought of him touching the food directly. Everything had to be clean, sterile, perfect. And so, Sam had to wear the gloves. Even if it made no sense. Even if it made him feel like a stranger in his own body, disconnected from the simple act of eating.

The maid reached him, and Sam felt her hands gently take his. She slid the gloves on for him, one by one, her movements practiced, efficient. Sam didn’t resist. He never did. He just sat there, staring off into space as the plastic crinkled around his fingers. His father’s eyes burned into him from across the table, but Sam still didn’t meet his gaze.

Once the gloves were on, his father spoke again, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Now eat.”

Sam’s hands moved on their own, robotic, as he picked up the fork and began to eat the cold food. The taste didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment except getting through the meal, surviving the next few minutes of silence, and making it out without setting his father off again.

He could feel the sting of tears threatening to rise, but he shoved them down, burying them deep. Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.

The sound of footsteps outside his room brought him back to the present, pulling him out of the memory. Sam blinked, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of the past slowly faded, leaving him cold and drained.

He reached up, touching his forehead where the pain still throbbed. The memory of his father’s anger sat heavy in his chest, like a bruise that would never quite heal. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away. That was the past. He wasn’t there anymore.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the echoes of that night—the gloves, the silence, the anger—still lingered, clawing at the edges of his mind.

A soft knock came at the door, and Sam’s eyes snapped open. He sat up quickly, his heart racing for a reason he couldn’t quite place.

“Sam?” Jen’s voice came from the other side of the door, cautious. “You okay in there?”

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to sound normal. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Sam thought she might push further, might ask if he was really okay. But instead, she just said, “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Sam nodded, though she couldn’t see it, and after another beat, her footsteps retreated down the hall.

He sat there for a long time after, staring at his hands.