Behind Closed Doors

CHAPTER 49: Mark Smith

His mother placed a fresh plate of food in front of him.
"Here you go, darling," she said to Mark, then proceeded to set Joe's food down in front of him.
"And this is for you, honey." She smiled warmly at both of them before returning to the kitchen to grab her own plate. She settled beside Joe.

"I added some greens. You've been liking them a lot... lately," she said softly to Joe.

Joe chuckled. "It's good to eat healthy, you know. I'm monitoring my weight, so this is perfect."

She smiled at him, stabbing her fork into the chicken. "Protein helps build muscle. I'll have more of that... than greens."

Mark watched them talk, as though they were flirting, while his food remained untouched.

"Greens are better. Our body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, and we should keep it fit," she added with a chuckle.

Joe joined in her laughter.

But Mark wasn't smiling, nor was he moving. He couldn't feel the love they seemed to share. Just days ago, they'd fought, and he had hit her. Why would he hit her, only for her to come back here and sit with him like nothing had happened? Why was she such a disgusting cheat? Was this what love was—fighting, then pretending all was well?

"You know, Mark's a young man," his mother joked, "so maybe he can tell us about the trendy fitness things young people are into these days. Maybe we'll try them and look twenty years younger."

"That's true!" Joe said. "Mark, what do you know about fitness these days?" They both turned their attention to him.

Mark looked away, his gaze fixed on his food.

"Mark, honey, your food's still untouched. Is there something wrong? Don't you like it?" his mother asked, immediately concerned.

He picked up his spoon and pushed it into his mashed potatoes. "It's fine."

The joy on their faces began to fade.

"Mark, is something wrong?" Joe finally asked.

"Nothing at all. I just don't... I'm not hungry." Mark dropped his spoon onto the table, giving up the pretense of trying to eat.

"If there's anything bothering you, you know you can talk to us. We're here for you..."

Before Joe could finish, Mark stood abruptly and walked out.

He hurried to his room and slammed the door shut. His mind was a mess. His gaze landed on the Bible on his shelf, but he quickly looked away. He wasn't reading that book anymore. He was tired of everything. Pierre and the gang were the only ones keeping him afloat, but tonight had been rough—he'd seen horrible things being done.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Son, can I have a word with you?"

He sighed deeply. What do these people want now?

He opened the door to see Joe standing there, with his mother standing further back, worry clouding her face. Mark stared at her with such anger in his eyes that she turned away, unable to endure the bitterness in his gaze.

"Can I come in?"

Mark stepped aside, and Joe entered. He shut the door and moved around the room, his eyes taking in the decor.

"Golf champion," Joe murmured, smiling at a framed picture of Mark holding a trophy with a golf club by his side. "Number one doer of the Word," he added, pointing at a photo of Mark receiving an award in church alongside a pastor.