Focal Enemy | ✔

Putrescent (the process of rotting)

The lukewarm water poured like a waterfall onto Theodore’s hands as he ran them under the sink. No matter how much he attempted to clean them, they were filthier than the streets. They were covered in scum and dirt and blood that could never be washed away. Even when he was eighty – if he made it to that day – they would be feculent.

Josephine moved around the bathroom, still as quiet as a mouse. Theodore watched her through the mirror as she searched for the hairbrush, toothbrush in her other hand. The way in which she moved fascinated him. She was so effortless. It was plain to see that she was a model, even when she had on a face of pure fury. The silent treatment was what she was punishing him with, though it was not working much. Theodore still had his mind set on doing Nolan’s job, as soon as he got a date and time. She’d come around eventually.

“For fucks sake...”

Theodore couldn’t help but smirk as Josephine began to get riled up. A teasing remark made its way to the edge of his tongue, and then he stopped himself, seeing the devil eyes that she had as she snatched up the hairbrush.

The water continued to pour onto Theodore’s hands until they were wrinkled and the water was boiling. His hands were red and sore as he turned the tap, cutting off the running noise which always got on Josephine’s nerves.

“Thank you,” she said, voice full of sarcasm.

“You're welcome,” Theodore retorted, grabbing the hand towel. He sighed, eyeing her as she smarmed foundation across her face. “You can’t still be mad at me, Jose.”

“I can be mad at you for as long as I like,” she snapped. “You obviously don’t care, anyway. If you did, then you’d give up this little habit of yours.”

Theodore could not say anything to that. Josephine mattered to him in a way of which nobody understood. It wasn’t love, but more of a knowing that she was the one for him; the one that would never leave. And, all Theodore wanted was someone to go back to when he was fucked up, broken ad numb, like he always was. Josephine expected something real, and that was exactly what Theodore had given her. Love wasn’t real. Pain was real.

“I can do whatever I want,” he said, drying his hands roughly as his frustration grew. “You’re not my wife, and you’re not my mother.”

Something flashed through Josephine’s eyes as quick as a bolt of lightening.

“I might not be your wife,” she said, “and I might not be your mother, but I do know one thing. Whatever you do affects me, and you can sure as hell bet that it affects her, too.”

“It can’t affect her,” said Theodore simply. “How can what I do affect someone who is dead?”

He put down the hand towel and exited the bathroom.

#

A heavenly flood of sound echoed through the church halls, peace and serenity wreaking from the walls. Voices sung in identical motion, praising the creator from above, and everyone else was silent. At peace. Head bowed in unison, hands folded together as they thought and prayed as one.

Theodore's hands fidgeted as he felt Charlie's foot clash against his own. He did it back.

"Ouch!" hissed Charlie. "You hit me."

"You hit me first!"

But, their quiet bickering earned a tight lipped stare from their mother's face as she carried on, playing the piano as though she had not been interrupted. Theodore immediately stopped, propping his legs up against the bench in front.