The boy sat huddled in a corner.
"Alright, look, I need to leave now. Buying groceries is just something that people do. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I promise. Be a good boy and have your breakfast okay? Please don’t be like this?"
The mother sighed and headed out of the door, shutting it behind her. Half a year ago, she felt like the happiest woman on the planet driving her son home. She had wanted a child as long as she could remember, and she promised herself that she would love her son wholeheartedly and unconditionally and provide for him to the best of her abilities. But the one thing she could never understand was why her son always reacted so negatively to her leaving the house. Whether she was heading to work or merely going to pick up the groceries, her son would grow very quiet and nervous. She got him a toy to play with in her absence but the bright green frog merely sat on a shelf, untouched.
The boy loved his mother very much. Half a year ago, he knew he’d found a home and a family where he could feel secure and loved. But today, just like many other days, he sat in the corner, staring at the floor. He jumped at the sound of the closing door.
It was a rainy and grey evening 4 years ago. The boy sat and waited for his mother to come home. He sat at the dinner table expectantly, waiting for that familiar click of her key in the lock. She had said that morning as she left that she’d bring dinner home; she said that she would order the boy’s favourite pizza after work. As she walked out the door she turned around, bent down and kissed the boy on his cheek. He still recalled her flowery scent, the velvety texture of her red dress and her pale skin. He waved excitedly as she walked down the footpath, away from the house. He never saw her again.
Tears streamed down his face as he sat in the corner. He was already 12 years of age, but he could not forget. He desperately wanted to trust that his mother would return home, and he knew that it was not his mother’s fault that he felt this way. In fact, he could convince himself logically that his mother would return home. He knew that his mother would never leave the house behind without taking her silver and amethyst pendant, which at the moment sat proudly in its display case. But even that could not assuage his sense of fear and dread that stood firmly at the back of his head like the demons that they were, making him draw illogical and erroneous connections in his mind, as if leaving one’s house equated to abandonment.
He desperately wanted to be happy. He desperately wanted to leave the bad old times behind and move on with his life, but being left behind had broken him in more ways than he knew.
5 more years passed. The boy was 17. 5 years had passed, and he was still trying to numb the pain.
-to be continued-