"нope" [h.s.]

тнe ѕмell oғ coғғee

*** 3 Months Earlier***

My eyes can see a new dawn. I gaze out of my window. It is amazing how the snow can cover every single piece of land. I am shocked at the sight of the enormous white layer which seems unending. It is freezing, so I managed to put on my robe before turning into an ice cube.

I thought that I was alone at home, but I can feel the pleasant smell of coffee just being done. I rub my eyes and go downstairs, trying not to tread on my robe since it is too long for my tiny body. My soul is still fighting against sleep. My eyelids are heavy and the only thing that keeps me from returning to sleep, is to know where that evolving smell of coffee is coming from.

Going down the stairs I realise it was my mother preparing the magnificent coffee. I can hear someone sob, it's not strange to hear her crying, but this time it's different. She is crying heartbroken, on her knees. I can't believe what I am hearing. I thought she was talking to someone or to something.

I try to have a peek of who she was talking to, but as soon as she notices me, she turns to the coffee pot again. I go down the few steps left.

"Good morning, Mum. How did you sleep?" I ask her, making her think that I haven't seen or heard anything.

"He didn't let me sleep. I couldn't sleep because he was staring at me." My mother whispers as if she didn't want 'him' to hear her.

"Mum, don't be stupid, there isn't anyone in your bedroom." I tell her trying to comfort her. I can see fear in her eyes; she is truly scared of 'him'. I try to change subject.

"What are you preparing?" I ask, to release the tension.

"Coffee, I was making coffee." She answers, pale face.

"Here, have a cup."

"Oh, thanks." I tell her with a little smile on my face, though it doesn't have sugar at all.

She gives me one of her half smiles and turns around to the pot again.

"Mum, are you okay?" I ask her. I know that there is something wrong with her.

"Yes darling, but don't shout. He doesn't want us to speak loudly." She whispers as she stares at the floor. I can tell that she is frightened by him. She is shivering as if she is immerse on the coldest of the dreams, without any open doors to scape.

I can't stop thinking about who 'he' is. I don't believe that there is someone in our house. Someone who stares at my mum while she was sleeping. Someone who can get through the door, into our house without anyone noticing. I can feel how my heart beats faster just at the thought of who it could be.