Charlie's Angel

59 pt 2

Chris

"Chris," my mom called, snapping me from my thoughts. "Did you hear me?"

I stared at her blankly.

"I said the timer is going off for the pie."

I looked past her and jogged to the kitchen. "Damn it!"

I turned the oven off and pulled the door down to look at the crispy, golden-brown crust sitting perfectly in the pan. With oven mitts on my hands, I placed it on top of the stove to cool off. I felt their eyes on me, but I avoided their gazes altogether as I got down some plates for them. Vanilla ice cream was in the freezer, but I was honestly too pissed off to do anything else. If they really wanted some ice cream, they could look for it their damn selves.

I felt someone come up behind me as I got the little knife thing to cut a slice for Charlie. My mom. "Chris, you should–"

"Momma," I uttered. "I got it."

A steaming piece of apple slipped out from inside the crust and onto my index finger, burning the shit outta my hand. I let out a low curse to myself and tossed the knife away angrily, biting onto my finger to pacify the burn and so I wouldn't lash out on her. It wasn't bad enough to leave a scar or anything, but the motherfucker hurt like a bitch.

"Angel, you're supposed–"

"Momma!" I grumbled angrily. "What the hell was that, huh? What the hell did my dad just do and why didn't you say anything?"

She went extremely quiet.

"You let him disrespect my girlfriend–the mother of my child–and you just sat there and watched!"

Everyone who had conversations going on, got quiet and turned to look at us.

"Why'd you let him do that?" I went on aggressively. "What, is he hittin' you or something?"

She shook her head, her eyes widening at my accusation. "Of course not, that's ridiculous."

"Then why do you worship the ground he walks on, Momma?"

Again, she couldn't say anything.

I scoffed at her and picked up the plate with the pie, brushing past her slowly. "Don't say nothin', it's cool. Enjoy the pie."

I was way past fuming. I was downright furious and I knew I was able to beat the shit out of him, but he is my dad and I have to respect that–despite what he does to me on a regular basis. I didn't understand how someone like him could be so damn bitter about everything. He had all the money he could imagine and he still found some way to be angry all the time. I know life ain't unicorns and rainbows and shit but damn.

And the fact that my mom just sat there and ain't say shit to her husband for disrespecting not only me, but my girlfriend and our unborn child. Shit was way past fucked up.

I fished my key from my pocket and unlocked the bedroom door quietly, closing it behind me as I let myself in. My eyes drifted upwards to look at her in bed, enveloped in the mess of blankets and pillows on the bed we shared. Her palm was on her bare belly, and her back was facing away from the TV, even though NCIS was on.

Making my way over to the bed cautiously, I sat in front of her and just watched her as her tears soaked the pillowcase under her head. They weren't her usual overwhelming tears that shook her body, but you could obviously tell she was upset.

"You and Baby want some food?" I quietly asked her, trying to lighten the mood.

Slowly, her eyes looked up to meet mine but she didn't say anything at first. "Thank you..."