Black and White

Chapter 33

It is my birthday.

My sweet sixteen. Another slightly frivolous thing that Amaya might see as a huge accomplishment. She had looked forward to this, and wasn't even trying to keep her distaste with my confusion at the event silent. The voices, Amaya loudest of all, wait for their moment to strike.

It's not a typical party. Amaya is unhappy about this, somehow agreeing with me. It would've been nice to say goodbye to those who I will never see again. But, no one is here. It is just mama and I, sitting at the lonesome corner table. There are not any streamers, nor guests, but there is a cake.

Chocolate with peanut butter frosting, three layers, no candles, for we have none, and no fancy piping, simply a cake that mama and I worked together on. Amaya, when she envisioned her own party, her dream, planned on being at Arden's house by now. I had planned on that as well.

It would've been nice to see him, but that plan was made too long ago, made long before everything went to hell. Going to his house is not an option, it will only bring questions, bring danger, bring pain into his life. I absently wonder if he thinks I'm dead.

So, it was here I found myself, sitting at the dining room table across from mama, a cake in front of me, mama singing the birthday song in a high pitched voice, my final day in this world. My birthday. It is the last thing on my mind as I smile blankly, eyes set on the frosting, sounds almost completely cut out from the world. My vision falters, sliding in and out of focus as the song reaches its end.

As mama slides the knife through the layers of frosting, I watch silently. She drops it onto a plate, handing it to me as she stretches in an awkward way to avoid falling onto the cake. I grab it quickly, grinning widely in a half-willed copy of what an actor on a kid's drama might do. The cool plate is calming, it helps center me slightly, letting me partially return to the moment at hand.

The cake does not have a distinct taste.

Typically my favorite food, now only something to fill my stomach, to eat up the time between bigger events, to fuel me as I wait. As I wait for the moment a creature shows their painfully beautiful face, for the moment I can slip outside, finding my way to the portal I don't know how to open. Mama will understand eventually. I'll leave a note, telling her I love her, I'll miss her, and that I hope she knows I don't mean to hurt her.

And then I will leave.

There will not be a face to face goodbye, I can't let mama know until I am far away. So, for now, I eat, quietly, trying to return myself to the present moment. These are my final seconds with mama, after all. No matter how much I try, I cannot, will not, return fully, half of my mind left in the future.

My "plan", if it was considered one, is shaky at best, leaving no guarantee of success. It depends on trust, the horrid thing, in those back--and stomach--stabbing, creatures. It seems Amaya has worked her way into the plan, wishing me to trust the things that brought hell, also known as Estruebar, to life.

There isn't time to be stressed, or worry with the logistics of willingly placing my life in the hands of things that have tried to kill me multiple times, there is only time to plan this breakaway. Though this also leaves no time to enjoy the food, enjoy a conversation with mama, or even just let myself sink into the moment at hand.

"How's the cake?" Mama's voice is unconcerned, unknowing of my plans. The guilty rush of bile rising in my throat distracts me for a moment, rendering me unable to answer. I swallow loudly as I look around the room, trying to signal that I cannot speak at the moment.

"Good! It's really good!" My voice is too high, too sweet, too distracted, too something. Something that mama picks up on.

"Is something wrong child?" Mama raises her eyebrows, and my mind is finally fully devoted to the now, just a few words too late. The air, the sounds, the smells, all wrapping themselves around my hands and tying them behind my back.

"No, no I'm good, just tired. I slept badly last night." Taking a few more bites of cake, I try to seem less different, less strange. Mama doesn't buy it at all.

"You're thinking about leaving," She waves her fork around, "Or maybe, maybe you are thinking, or are even nervous, about one of them coming to our house?" She ends her sentence with a pointed stare, taking another bite of cake.

Silently I continue eating, trying to think of a response as the words in my head jumble, my face flaming with heat, my eyes filling with salty tears that beg to fall. As I discreetly blink them away, I finally find the words I have been looking for.

"Why wouldn't I be nervous about it mama?" My feet tap out a fast pace against the ground. "You aren't?"

"No, no I am not." She steels herself, placing her fork down and placing her hands under her chin. "I was afraid for too long, ground under their heel for too many years. I won't let myself be afraid any longer," She gazes at me, her eyes narrowed into cold, dead copies of what they once were. Her hands fall to her lap.

Though she seems to be present, her eyes, upon closer inspection, are glazed over, lost in thought, in memories long buried. Memories that will stay six feet under as long as my plan works.

It forces me to remember that mama has been through near the same, if not more than I have, a veritable feast of trauma. My comforting skills once again fall short of what the moment requires. Amaya is better at this, after all, for every naive bit of trust, she does come through with being better with people.

She is caring. She is kind. She is trusting. She will get everyone around her killed.

When I bring my fork down to pick up another piece of cake, to have an excuse to not talk anymore, I find my plate empty. The metal drags along, scratching against the glass plate, my only response to what mama has just said.

"I'm cleaning up mama," My voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound as I make my way to the sink, washing off my plate and putting it away. Mama doesn't move, but I collect and wash her empty plate before cleaning up the leftovers of the cake.

"We should get to bed," Mama's voice remains strong, her eyes still staring at the wall directly ahead of her. Slowly, even though she can't see me, I nod kissing the top of her head and hugging her tightly, trying to put her at ease. Trying to say goodbye.

"I'll see you in the morning mama," I make my way into my bedroom, closing the door gently, moving to lock it, before remembering only those outside control the lock. My breath leaves my nose quickly.

Fine.

Turning on the lamp on my bedside table, I bask in the warm light while I make my way to the wall of chipped white folding doors. My hands pull them open, doing so gently as to not let the closet make any loud noises. I cannot alert mama, I cannot let anything get in my way. I have a job to do, to do well.

It is time for me to leave.