Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-21-Numb

Chapter 21: Numb

~Jacob~

“Jacob, come and get breakfast.”

I groaned in response to Belinda’s voice.

“Jacob? Don’t make me come in there.”

I pulled my blanket over my head and furrowed deeper under it. I wanted some time alone so I could try to sort and figure out this feeling I had, because it was strong and I didn’t think it was going away any time soon.

“Alright, you’ve left me no choice. I’m walking inside.”

True to her word my door opened and I saw her come in through the tiny peep-hole in my blanket. She bent over a little and squinted, and smiled when she spotted me. “Is that you beneath that cave, Jacob?”

“What do you want?” I moaned.

“You lied in bed all day yesterday and I have a feeling you’re not getting up anytime soon. I don’t do breakfast in bed, so, you’re going to have to come to the table.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are. You’re always hungry.” My bed creaked as she lowered herself down on it. “What’s wrong, Jacob?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t say that. Now, what’s wrong Jacob?”

I emerged from my refuge beneath the covers and stared her in the eye. “I really don’t know, Belinda. I can’t describe this feeling.”

Belinda scanned my face for a moment and placed her hand on top of mine. She rubbed her thumb against my own and smiled sadly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she told me quietly. “But until then, breakfast?”

I sagged my shoulders at her hopeful look and gave in. “Fine. Pancakes?”

Belinda smiled. “And bacon.”

I stood up and walked passed her to the door. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s eat!”

I sat down beside Belinda and Tony and my mother at the kitchen table. I loaded my plate with pancakes and drizzled syrup on them. I shoved bacon in my mouth and stabbed my fork in the pancakes. The only sound cutting through the silence heavy with awkwardness was Tony’s absentminded humming. He was haphazardly coloring a picture of a dog while his pancake remained untouched.

“Tony, you better eat that,” Belinda scolded him, pressing his fork in his hands. I saw my mother tense out of the corner of my eye. Nothing hurt her more than knowing her child was sitting two feet away from her and she couldn’t reach out to him.

I mean, even if she could, why would she?

I finished my breakfast and deposited my plates in the sink. My mother stood up from the table, her chair skidding along the tile, and walked up beside me. “Can I talk to you, Jacob? Privately?”

I stared at her, then turned away and walked into the living room. Wordlessly, she followed.

I looked at her and crossed my arms. “What?” I asked.

“I’m leaving in a few days,” she started hesitantly, as if she wanted to find another way to start the conversation but couldn’t.

I clenched my jaw tight. “Oh, yeah? Well, no surprise there. I didn’t think you would stay.”

She curled her fingers together into fists. This is how I could tell she was my mother. We both had a clashing, furious, burning fire. We both had a temper, and neither of us forgot anything. “Please don’t do this with me now, Jacob. I just want to ask you something.”