The Imposter

The Imposter | Chapter Two [Odium]

The Imposter

[Chapter Two]

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odium \OH-dee-uhm\

(n.) 1. Intense hatred or dislike, esp. toward a person or thing regarded as contemptible, despicable, or repugnant. 2. The state or quality of being hated.

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When I finally got home I threw my backpack into the kitchen and headed down the hallway to my mom's office. "Hey mom, I'm home." I smiled when she looked up with a start from her desk. Her hazel eyes were large and owlish because of the glasses she was wearing and her hair was in disarray.

"Is it three o'clock already?" she asked. She could never keep track of time. Once she set her mind to a project she stayed that way until it was finished. It was up to me to feed my parents; otherwise they would starve to death.

"Nope, it's 4:30. I had detention."

"That's nice," she murmured absently.

"Mom, I just told you I got a detention," I said exasperated. I know most kids would be rejoicing that their parents didn't notice, but mine would only find out later and ask why I didn't tell them.

She looked up from her work again and frowned, "I'm a little busy right now, but we'll talk about your detention later." She looked more stressed than usual and I could have sworn there were new lines on her face. I didn't doubt that she had gotten less sleep lately than usual, it was all because of her job with...something...in the government? Eh, I don't really know what she and my dad do, it's one of those hush-hush jobs.

I forced a smile, "I'll start dinner in a little bit." She nodded and went back to concentrating on whatever new project or problem she had.

I headed to the kitchen and pressed the button on the intercom system that connected to the basement. "Hey Daddy, I'm home. What do you want for dinner?"

His voice crackled over the intercom a few seconds later, "Hi sweetheart, anything you make is fine. Just nothing spicy, please." He sounded exhausted too, but that might just be the intercom connection.

"You got it," I chuckled. Spaghetti and meatballs it was. It took me about a half an hour to prepare dinner, but when I finished I was pleased with the final product. I let my mom and dad know dinner was ready and pulled out my homework. From past experience I knew it would take them about an hour to finish up and come to dinner. Just enough time for me to get some homework done. I chewed on the tip of my pencil and started writing my essay out for English. I was just about done with the rough draft when my parents entered the kitchen wearily.

"Smells good, sweetie," my dad said. He slowly lowered himself into his chair with a grimace and ran a hand through his dark auburn hair. He looked like he was in pain. My mom followed suit and practically fell into her chair. I served them their portion and sat down with them.

"Is everything okay? You guys seem really tired." I strove for a casual tone, hoping they would talk to me. We weren't really close. It was hard because they were usually so busy with work and I had never really made an effort to spend time with them. Lately, though, I had been working on building a better relationship with them.

"There's just a small problem with work, honey," my mom replied, smiling tiredly.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" I asked worriedly.