Chapter 11
“Happy Birthday.. baby.” The vile woman coos through slurred words.
I can’t even bear to look at my mum any longer. Her face is ashy and grey, like she’s on the brink of death or the constant drink and drugs are eating away at her. Either way, I can’t live like this any longer.
I just want to run away. So far away to a place where she’ll never find me again. I want my dad to come home from wherever he went to and save me.
That’s what I wished for when I blew out the single candle that my mum stuck into a cheap cupcake. I should probably eat the cake, considering I won’t know when my next meal will be but I don’t want anything from her. I’m so tired of her hurting me.
I push the cake away. “Thanks mum.”
“What’s up with your face, why are you sad?” She spits out then lights up another cigarette. White smoke swirls around us both as we sit at the rickety kitchen table. This is her fourth one in a row, soon she’ll be sending me to the shop for another packet.
I keep my head down, focusing on the scratch marks that cover the top of the table. “Nothing, just tired, that's all.”
She scoffs and blows out another plume of smoke. “You’re always tired, Kincaid. Don’t you think I should be the one that’s tired? I do everything in this house. I’m always seeing to you. Don’t be such an ungrateful little boy.”
She always calls me that, a little boy. I’m not a little boy anymore and she’s a liar. As soon as I come home from school, I’m given a list of jobs to do around the house and if I don’t finish the jobs, I don’t get to eat. Or worse.
If only there was a way I could get rid of her, so I wouldn’t have to go through this anymore. I could escape her forever and she wouldn’t be able to hurt me.
Slowly I lift my head to face her. Her eyes are cloudy but I can see the anger in them. She’s annoyed with me again.
“I’m not being ungrateful, I’m just–”
My mum slams her hand onto the table, making me jump. “Why are you upsetting me like this, hm? I do everything for you and you choose to treat me like this. Apologise.”
“What?”
“I said.. apologise to me.”
Tears threaten to fill my eyes. “I’m sor–”
My mum rolls her eyes and stubs out the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. “Not like that, baby. You know the right way to apologise to me.”
No. No please. Not again. Not on my birthday.
My hands begin to shake in my lap and I can feel my bladder threatening to burst. I can’t wet myself again. The last time I did that she hurt me so badly with a wooden spoon that I couldn’t sit down for days.
I shake my head, allowing the tears to fall down my face. “I don’t want this anymore, mum. You’re hurting me.”
She pushes her chair back, the wooden legs scrape against the dirty tiled floor then she rises from the seat. “This isn’t about you, Kincaid. This is about me. I deserve this. I’m your mother and you will do as I say, won’t you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, “no, I won’t.”
She snaps her head to the side, causing her greasy hair to fall over her frail shoulder. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you won’t?”
I do my best to shove the fear away because I have to do something, anything. I need to be brave, like the hero in my books. There’s a kitchen knife to the right of me that she used to make herself a sandwich before. She probably expected me to clean up after her, like usual.
I couldn’t possibly use that. Could I really hurt her like that? But if I did, I’d be free to run away.
Slowly she begins to walk around the table and I sink further into my chair, my fingers itching to grab the knife.
“ANSWER ME!” She roars like a wild beast, fury bursting from her.
Everything happens so quickly. One minute she was standing above me and now she’s on the kitchen floor. There’s blood leaking out of her stomach from where I shoved the knife into her. I didn’t mean to do it, did I? I don’t know..
I just wanted her to stop hurting me. I wanted this nightmare to end, and now it has.
My hands shake and all I can see is blood.
It's on my skin like spilled paint but there’s even more on the floor.
Quickly I scramble to the sink and turn the tap, as soon as the filthy water comes out I shove my hands underneath the cold stream to rinse away the blood.
Pink water swirls around the dirty sink.
Once I’ve washed it away, I turn off the tap and dry my hands on my pants.
“Ki.. Kin..”
I turn to face my mum. She lifts her hand from the floor, attempting to reach out to me. Blood covers her gangly fingers. “Please.. help me.”
Help her?
Why didn’t she help me every time I begged? Every time that she made me touch her. The acrid smell that came from between her legs still makes me sick. The way she would hold me down and force herself upon me.
I begged for help. I cried and cried, and yet she continued.
Anger floods my system and I fall to my knees at the side of her.
“Oh.. thank–”
I grab the handle of the knife. “Fuck.. you.” I say through gritted teeth as tears stream down my face.
My fingers tighten around the handle and I use all the strength that I have to pull the knife out, then I slam it back down into her chest. Blood sprays across my face as I continue to stab my mother.
Over and over again the blade sinks into her chest.
“I,” I stab again, “hate,” and again, “you!”
Blood coats her yellow-stained nightie and with the final stab, I grow tired. My arms are weak and sore, so I let go of the knife and lay down on the floor in my mum's blood, her body slowly dying beside me.
Where the fuck am I? Why’s it so dark?
Confusion fills my system as I drag my hand across whatever I’m lying down on. It’s soft and squishy, and across the room I can see the time on the microwave in the kitchen, glowing red.
I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I don’t know how long for, but it’s pretty dark outside now.
Sweat clings to my skin and I swear my mind is still reeling from that vicious nightmare.
It’s been a while since I’ve dreamt about my mother’s death but recently those horrific memories have been creeping up on me.
Maybe I’m just feeling stressed.
I run my hand through my hair, feeling more exhausted than ever. My eyelids begin to grow heavy and just as I’m about to fall asleep again, the tracking app on my phone begins to beep.
Sitting up I grab my phone from the coffee table to check the notification. The bright screen causes me to squint my eyes at the intrusion of light. “Where are you off to, love?” I mutter to myself and watch as the tracker I placed underneath her SUV blinks across the screen.
After I left Brynne in bed, I remembered the note she left on the table.
I knew that if I asked her what it was, she probably wouldn’t have told me so I had to take matters into my own hands, henceforth, sticking a tracker to her car.
This way I can find out exactly where she’s going because I refuse to let her go through with this alone.
She’ll probably rip me a new asshole if she finds out about my little plan but that’s fine, I can take her on.
The little red dot speeds down the road and if I’m to make it in time to catch her there, I need to leave now.
So, I stand from the couch and make quick work of grabbing a set of keys from the hook near the door, then I take my helmet and head outside.
The air is bitter. I can feel it biting through my t-shirt but I don’t have the time to wrap up, I just need to get to Brynne.
Before I put on my helmet, I mount my phone onto the tank of my bike and start the engine, allowing it to warm for just a moment, then I slip on the helmet.
Through the blacked-out visor, the front of my house looks misty, like it’s smothered in black smoke.
Once I’ve secured the clip underneath my chin, I swing my leg over the bike and kick up the stand, then give the engine a couple of revs. The Fireblade purrs like a cat with every turn of the throttle.
I could have taken the Mustang but I know this will get me there quicker.
Energy reverberates through my system. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins like a drug.
My body is itching to be near Brynne, it’s desperate to feel her again so I give it exactly what it wants and fire the bike down the road.
The biting wind whips against my bare arms as I weave in and out of traffic, manoeuvring the bike with expert precision.
I white-knuckle the handlebars, carefully flicking my eyes between the moving tracker and the stretch of road in front of me.
The little red dot begins to slow and just ahead, I clock Brynne’s SUV.
She slips between the traffic and that’s when I decide to stay at least a car behind.
The last thing I want to do is scare her off, but I also need to keep her in my sight too.
After a few moments, Brynne flicks on her indicator and signals to the right, then begins to pull off the busy road onto a quieter street.
Keeping my distance, I allow her to slow the SUV and watch from afar as she makes a few more turns, then she pulls up outside of a random house. Amber street lights illuminate the run down cul-de-sac, revealing overflowing bins and broken children’s toys in the front gardens.
The sight alone has all the moisture in my mouth evaporating.
I can feel my throat closing up as I scour the mess, the vivid images of my childhood flood back to me like a tidal wave.
Our bins were constantly overflowing with rotten food and rubbish that my mum just never threw out, she would leave it for weeks until we had an infestation of rats.