The Devil Child

Chapter Sixty-Two

 Minny knew what to expect when he arrived at his house. He knew how his mom was, and he knew what he was about to do.

But, the shock that crossed his face at the woman who opened the door was unexpected. The woman was frail, her eyes sunken deep into her skull, her skin a yellow sheen of what Minny knew was unhealthiness. She gripped onto the door as if it was the only thing holding her up, and when she smiled, it was thin and weak.

"Mom?" Minny started, his hands finding her bony shoulders. He'd been away from home for a little bit of time, but not nearly long enough to find his mother in this state. His mind whirled at why she looked as though she were on her deathbed, and all he could think about was his father's absence.

But when she staggered away from the door, he saw the wine glass in her hand and knew exactly why she looked the way she did.

Having an alcoholic mother was something Minny didn't share with others. It wasn't that he was ashamed of her, or that he was embarrassed to have such a mother, but it was that people didn't understand. Alcoholism wasn't sunshine and rainbows and empty bottles of beer and wine. It was deadly, poisonous, and traumatic.

And in front of him was his dying mother, all because of alcohol.

She'd been here, before. Minny could remember all the times the house nurse was called upon to treat his mother, ever since he'd been young. His mother never touched foot in a hospital, but the nurse had taken permanent residence in the house after his mother's liver failed the first time.

"Are you eating?" He wanted to ask why she was drinking so early in the day, but he knew better. Calling her out for her illness would be horrible of him. He'd dealt with this for so long, he knew her triggers.

His mother waved her hand, barely. "Honey, don't worry about me. Why have you come home?"

He was worried about her. In his life, it had been his nasty father that had pushed both twins away from their household, not their mother. He steered her towards the sitting room, where the lavish furniture met his gaze with disdain. He hated the riches of his own home. A reminder of who he was supposed to be.

When his mother sat down, he teetered between wanting to stay by her side or make her some food. "Mom, where's the house nurse?"

She took a drink of wine and waved her hand again, dismissively. "I sent her home once your father left for the campaign. I prefer an empty house. Especially now that you boys have abandoned me."

A dig, but Minny didn't let it hurt him. He knew how cantankerous his mother was when she was in this state of mind. "Alright, let me get you something to eat." He stood, watching as his mother's head lulled back, and he forced himself to move away from her. He hated when she fell this low, but he had a motive for the visit, and his mother wasn't going to stop him.

But, it would delay him. He could do everything after she had some food in her.

A stop to the kitchen told him that his suspicions about her food habits were true; there was absolutely no food in the fridge or the cupboards. He wasn't sure of the last time she had real food, but he knew she needed to eat.

He found an old box of pasta on a high shelf that his mother couldn't reach, and he put a pan with water on the stove. He waited for the water to boil while he looked around for some sort of sauce, but he found nothing. Just the pasta, and without butter or sauce, it wouldn't be that appetizing for a woman trying to kill herself.

Because that was what she was doing. Minny knew it, always had, but it was because she wasn't in the right state of mind. Depression did that to a person; completely strips a person of their true wants and feelings. His mother had always been lively and lovely when he was a young boy, but now, she was a shell of who she used to be.