It started when I was young, about around the age of three. My mother at first thought it was cute and funny but as time went on it stopped being cute and started to worry her. She blamed herself for it. You see my father wasn’t in the picture and I was an only child. She thought she did something wrong we some how in some way. When I got home that fateful day she was there waiting for me with worry plastered all over her face.
“Nick please come talk with me.”
“What’s up mom? Did something bad happen?”
“No hun, I just need to talk to you about something that is very concerning. That’s all.”
S**t! Did she see me talking to him again?!? OK, just calm down maybe she didn’t see us. I took a deep breath and spoke.
“OK what is it then?”
“I think it’s time to see a therapist.”
As my jaw dropped she sat there quietly waiting for me to speak.
“Hell no, Mom!”
Worry was now replaced with anger. I didn’t care. I don’t want to f*****g go… not again. I could not deal with it again.
“Do not raise your voice at me young man. What you keep doing is not normal for a boy your age to be doing this! Your almost sixteen!”
“We have done this before and it didn’t work out.”
“That’s because you kept fighting with me about going there. So I stopped making you, but now I’m putting my foot down and you will be going if you like it or not!”
“Ugh! Your ruining my life! I hate you for this!”
That was it, that was the very moment I regretted what I said. I had no right to say that but at that time I wasn’t thinking of her I was thinking of me.
“Go to your damn room!”
I stormed up to my room and slapped the door and grab my hunting knife from my desk and looked up. I could hear my mother about to open my door when I blacked out and all I could hear was screaming, crying, begging then soft gurgling. When I came through I was standing over my mother’s bloody corpse staring at him smiling from the other side of my mirror…