Chapter 22 #3
Mal could feel his hand rolling up into a fist as the yelling continued.
Now, losing his temper, that would be a big no-no.
Then suddenly they’d turn into the victims, and his siblings would come to their parents’ defense as if they hadn’t just been berating Mal for existing mere moments ago.
Mal took a deep breath, and forcefully unclenched his hand, spreading his fingers out to what felt like the opposite of a fist. Mal could leave soon, have a massive panic attack, and then this would just be another shitty family memory.
He could feel his breathing getting ready to peg it already.
“What are you doing with your hand?!” Mal’s dad said, as if running out of things to be fake mad about. “Are you even listening, you ungrateful cretin? Well, say something!”
“Yes, I’m listening.” Mal said, forcing the words out as if throwing up chunks of dry metal.
He looked at the glee on his siblings’ faces (except for Jocea).
Why did they hate him so much? Surely keeping their parents alive should garner him some goodwill?
Mal knew it wasn’t about hate; it was about his parents’ love.
They’d learned this routine from them the same way Mal had.
Mal had learned it so well, he mistook their words in his head for his own.
If you spend enough time hearing something, you start to believe it.
And Mal did believe it—at least a part of him did.
Monster. Evil. Freak. Though another part of him thought it wasn’t true.
Mal saw the look Des gave him after the massacre and felt something within him that was new, and slightly scary.
It said things like, “What do you actually owe these people? Leave and live your own life.” These words tugged at the strings of guilt his parents had puppeteered him with for years.
If he left them, they’d die. Then he really would be the monster they saw him as.
Mal looked down and got the egg-timer-hourglass-thingy out of his pocket.
This was supposed to make things easier.
So far nothing about this had been easy.
It was okay; the tirade would end soon and he could leave, and everything could just carry on as it was.
Draining and anxiety inducing, but at least everyone would be happy. His family would be happy.
“So that’s all you have to say for yourself?” Mal’s dad said, winding down into his chair.
“Well that’s it then, isn’t it,” Mal’s mum said. “You will have to move back in with us. Clearly you can’t be trusted to do what’s right.”
“What? That’s not happening,” Mal splurted out.
“Who do you think you are?” Mal’s dad screamed.
“I won’t hear another word about it. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
The new part of Mal remembered something he had forgotten a long time ago; something Walters had reminded him of earlier that very day.
Mal did have a choice. He didn’t have to let their words control his life.
He didn’t have to sacrifice his happiness for theirs.
They would always hate him because of who he was, but Mal didn’t have to join them.
If Mal was a monster, he would be the monster he chose to be.
He stared down at the egg-timer-hourglass and wondered if it would work.
If he should just leave them with it, or if he should finally break the bond for good.
Let them die. Let his family move on. Let himself move on.
Perhaps that was too big a decision to make while tired and angry and full to bursting with Sunday roast. He placed the hourglass-thingy on the table in front of him.
“I love you. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”
There was a shocked pause as his family froze, then Mal embraced all that he was.
The lights flickered and Mal vanished. A creature appeared behind his parents at the head of the table: a skeleton emblazed in shadow.
Mal’s parents collapsed onto the dinner table as the anima was taken from their bones.
Mal’s siblings looked at him with all the horror and disgust his parents had.
Even Jocea could not hide her fear. The hourglass-thingy began to shake with the room.
Slowly, it opened. A small shadowy ball floated out from Mal, suspended in the air.
It moved steadily toward the pink hourglass-thingy.
Scratching, clawing at the air around it.
All eyes were fixed on the horror show. It landed in the hourglass’s opening, which snapped swiftly shut around it.
In an instant, the room was back to normal, and so was Mal.
Shock and terror still filled the eyes of Mal’s siblings.
“I’m done. These two are your problem now.
” Mal pointed to his parents before turning to Jocea and whispering, “Sorry.” Mal’s parents were slowly coming back around, getting up from the table as if they’d both nodded off.
Mal went back to addressing the others. “That thing”—Mal pointed to the pink egg-timer-hourglass that gleamed in the middle of the dining table—“will keep these two going in my absence. It should go off once a week, then reset itself. Don’t touch it. ”
Mal let out a long, slow breath, one he felt he’d been holding in for over a decade. Then he turned around and walked straight out the front door.