Fiore Mortale (mxm)

21.

Now:

"Have you made up your mind yet?" Mom asks, folding my clothes for me. She insisted on doing absolutely everything for me, convinced I'd lost all sense of reality and wasn't reconnecting with life well.

"On what?" I sigh, not wanting to fight with her anymore and decide to put the tv on so if it got awkward at least I could pretend the shallow jokes from a random sitcom would drown out the tension.

"The reunion. I personally think it's good for you to go out and be with your friends. Your doctor agrees with me." I roll my eyes continuously flipping through channels hoping to find something.

"They aren't my friends. Dr. Hemsworth is the doctor, Mr. Clayton is the psychiatrist you think I need to keep seeing." I correct.

"Eli, they don't care that you had an episode in Italian when you first returned, I've talked to some of them and they're excited to see you." She tries to ease into the topic like it made a difference either way.

"No, I had a mental breakdown because too many people were in my face. Second, I wouldn't personally give a damn if they wanted to see how I've been, because I'm trying to go back home and never see them again." I snap, watching as her finger slightly shake.

I had to stop raising my voice at her when she pissed me off. I could do it at home, because either Arsenio would instantly correct me, and Carmen along with everyone else would ignore me. But here in America, Mom was nervous around me, scared she could cause me to relapse as she told my psychiatrist.

"Sorry, I just don't want anything to do with them." I breathe.

"That's a problem. Why would you want to go back? I'm not understanding why you're so caring of your kidnapper. That's Stockholm syndrome." Rolling my eyes I choose not to reply. "Don't shut me out Eli, I just want to help."

"And you wonder why Doug never visits, look I could've left at anytime I wanted to. If you haven't realized by now that I was forcefully dragged back to the United States, forced into medical analysis, repeatedly questioned by the authorities, trapped in my mother's house in a town full of people that feel like they're walking on glass as if to be fragile with my life." I rant, keeping my voice even and never taking my eyes away from the television screen.

"But they're not your family! We are!"

"Keelie's dead, dad left for another woman, and Doug never comes home. Real family like." I allow the sarcasm to drip.

"Eli, I just want to you better. You're defending them, what connections could you have with them? Besides being brainwashed?" I'm about to correct her for daring to speak down on my family.

She could find out whenever I figured out how to get away. I just hoped he'd be in a forgiving mood and realize it wasn't my fault. Because I refused to allow them to even come close to here.

  "Like I said, I'll think about the reunion thing." I finish the conversation, seeing her eyes well with tears, but I don't fix what I said.

She'd already struck a nerve by speaking bad about things she didn't know. There's a long pause of silence between us as she continues folding my clothes.

"Is there a closet that you're coming out of?" She asks making me laugh briefly.

"Mom, there was never a closet. If you're asking if I'm gay, be straight forward, but yes I am." I answer like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I can get you medication, I did it for Doug, we can do it again."

"Mom! We're not focusing on changing who I am, that's not going to happen.  It's crazy that you knew all this time Doug was gay and made him convert, that may be why he doesn't come around. Anyways, if I didn't take the other medication to begin with, there's no drug I'd be taking now." I'm half heartedly joking, knowing it would take more than a few alone moments with my mom for us to ever be on the same page.

She could either get with the program now or later. "So, are you seeing anyone?"

"Mom, I promise you don't want the answer to that question because you'll be signing me up for more sessions with Clayton talking about Stockholm syndrome." I reply turning to meet her intense gaze burning holes in my side.

She sits for a while in blank silence, not accepting the same answers I have been giving her all year. She'd just worked up the courage to ask me if I were gay.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry Elijah." She murmurs rubbing my leg and not waiting for a reply. Mom grabs my folded clothes, puts them in the basket and heads up the stairs to put them up.

I know she didn't get a chance to finish raising me, send me off to college, and all the other parent stuff she would've gotten to do between the ages of sixteen and twenty seven, but she had Doug and Keelie to do that with. I mean, well really just Doug. Keelie hadn't even finished high school. I think.

***
It took me the rest of the afternoon and well into to evening to realize she meant she's sorry for what happened to me. Without her saying it, she felt like I was mentally suffering and enslaved to my other family.

But that's not the case, I was given several opportunities, where I had an entire passport, and plane ticket to come back to Kansas without ever having to hear from them again. It wasn't a trap, because I'd decided I'd been missing so much of the love and attention I really needed.

So I didn't leave home because there's nothing to return to as Keelie so kindly put it all those years ago. I briefly ponder Eleanor and wonder what happened to her? Was she okay?
After all she is a part of the family regardless if they didn't acknowledge her.

Sometimes I wished I'd done more, paid greater attention to detail, but like I'd learned, everything happens for a reason.

Sighing I turn over again, trying to get comfortable. This bed would never be comfortable enough for me to get a real restful night of sleep. I know it was only because Arsenio wasn't lying in bed, coddling me. Instead all I felt were cold sheets, separation anxiety, and despair. I missed my family, but I missed my mom too. Somewhat.

Turns out I was better off in Italy than America to begin with. Too bad I'd have to keep waiting. I was on protective watch, with a handful of cop cars patrolling my neighborhood, and an ankle bracelet that tracked my location at all times because I'm a flight risk.

Not that I was in trouble, they just wanted to make sure I wasn't suicidal, or running away since I'm still mentally enslaved and suffering. Or whatever. My every movement, monitored by the government whose been trying to put the Morandi family and others behind bars for generations.

I'd seen my family work first hand, the FBI, CIA, nor swat would ever be able to physically trap them. I'd be on watch for at least the next five years, hopefully I wouldn't have to wait that long before I found a way out of here.