Lost

Written for https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2024/12/05/reenas-xploration-challenge-359/

Lost in a maze of tangled thorns, he searched through tough branches of his negative emotions. Life, whatever that meant, surged past in the hope he could find a solution to his problem. As a boy, taught not to cry.

Be a man; his father used to shout, before a belt buckle scarred his back.

After his first therapy session, he emerged from the flames of his fear. A memory of his mum when he heard bumps in the night. Another bruise, another excuse, and the record scratched with her words. ‘I just bumped into a door, darling. Go to your room and read a book? I will be fine and be up in a minute.’

‘Not the truth,’ he whispered, his tears falling without shame. ‘He brought you roses, which shrivelled against his sorry. I tried to look after you, but you defended him.’

Legs crossed, he refused to obey an inner voice.

His mobile, calm and quiet, and he ran his bitten nails over a number he wished he could speak to her. Even if it included a simple hello, before she ended the call. It rang for an eternity; about to give up. His stomach fell into the depths of a fractured heart.

‘Can I …’

‘Mum, please …’

‘Dean. Is that you, sweetheart?’

‘Yea, I’m sorry, shouldn’t have called.’

His body shrank into itself. He struggled to sit upright and folded into himself similar a pack of cards. Why did he have to choose today? Their anniversary always proved a bit disorienting.

‘No, it is okay. Dad … drink got him in the end.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Would you have gone to the funeral?’

‘Probably not.’

Dean pulled his knees up to his chest.

‘I’d better go. So much to do.’

‘No, I want to tell you something. You had every right to leave. I thought you would survive away from all my mess. He was incredible at your birth. Something changed. Not your fault. Or mine.’

‘He hurt me, and you let him.’

‘I wanted to keep you safe, but he made it seem the responsibility fell on us.’

‘Mum, I’ve got to go, but I’ll text you, I promise.’

Another day, and a slow approach best served his mental health.