Pseudo-Mother

An alarming buzz carries throughout the house, Thomas walks down the corridor to turn off the security system. Their house was modest but required some form of protection, still, this was often triggered by a slippery young adult. Alison’s nephew and their adoptive son had the habit of coming back in the early hours of the morning. Thomas grunted as he flipped off the alarm and heard a window slam shut in the house.

“Is everything okay?” Alison makes her way down the steps, gathering her sense as to what happened. Thomas looks up to smile with a bit of snark behind it as he thinks of how to word the comment.

“Your child decided to burgle his way into his own living space,” if he were anyone else Alison would have killed him for making a comment like that about a family member, but on account that he was her husband and paid for their house, he had a pass to partake in snark with her.

“I plan on talking to him, he’s being bratty for sure,” Alison purses her mouth and Thomas softens his eyes. He tugs at the doorknob to check it, toggling the gold handle before turning around and seeing Alison’s eyes cast down to the floor. 

Thomas begins to walk upstairs, he stops and gently touches his wife’s arm. They make eye contact and her concern turns into a mirror of his reassuring smile.

“Let’s go to bed, it’s better not to have a discussion with him where he could turn it into a fight.”

[...]

Jesse rolls over from his bed, clearly hearing his aunt call his name from the other side of his closed door. The door slams open as the alert middle-aged woman walks in. She walks to the other side of the room and swings the blinds open, the dazed young man's chest heaves. There was nothing in him that wanted to be seen under the light of day. Feeling the bed next to him, he thinks of a familiar figure he has slept next to, Aelina. Far gone as she was from him now, he could still miss her closeness and intimacy. The small brushes of her fingertips on the bottom of his chin had become a desired sensation that made him feel like a hollow willow whenever the action came to mind.

“Jess, are you gonna get up?” Alison stands with her arms crossed, the thin matriarch looking as salty and tired as ever. Then again, without that disgruntled look on her face, she would be another person. Angry as it was, he found that face comforting, it looked like a slightly more weathered version of his long-past mother. In all the pictures he had seen of her, she had an air of sweetness to her. Alison looked much sterner in comparison, if not a little more reserved. Still, the two share a warmth, his aunt was a physician who often fell into the trap of over-extending herself. The mark of both a workaholic and a good doctor.

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Jesse sat up and glared as his eyes took in the bright room around him. The cold January sun exhumed a cold sterility that he felt in his heart as well. He missed Aelina, more than he could say. If he had his way she would be on the other end of a phone call or lying next to him. The girl’s voice lulled him into consciousness in memories that he now had to bury for the sake of not feeling as though a ton of lead had been placed in his chest cavity.

Alison could sense this, she had come to know him, she had once been him. Her early relationships had been as turbulent as his. If not for the man she had married she would more than likely pick loneliness over companionship in her life. Jesse would at times draw on their commonalities in his mind. Despite one of them being blonde and the other a brunette that ran close to raven black, he could draw similarities with her. He had the same eyes as her, both ranging from a browning gold to a swimming pool of black in the right lighting. He resembled his deceased father, but the small sparkles of his mother that he had matched Alison’s. Maybe they had always been meant to share grief. A red thread not of destiny but of blood and kin.

“You gonna sulk over Aelina?” The hardened woman’s voice is slightly teasing but with much sympathy in stock as she sat at the edge of his bed, picking up his alarm clock to see it was broken. Aelina was conjured to his mind at this comment, her small frame in the door, or the ice skater purposely bumping into him. His feelings were never inconsequential, they were a hidden storm inside him. Behind a stoic facade raged passion and disaster, all drawn out and encouraged by one person. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jesse crosses his arms. The closed-off boy feared that the moment words fell out of his mouth, tears would also fall out of his eyes, causing him to turn back into the mess of a human being he was last night. His chest felt as though a hammer pounded into it at the thought of her, as he looks up he could see the sarcasm of his aunt dissipate and become soft. 

“You don’t have to,” she grimaces and pats his back. There’s some solace in her tone. Her eyes go off a distant understanding of what it feels like to be separated from someone you love.

“Well, good,” the stubborn boy pulls the covers over his head as he sinks back into the mattress feeling like a child despite not being one. After all, he was on academic probation and had lost his sports scholarship. If anything, he had made it to some stage of adulthood and shot himself back into childhood because of his irresponsibility. He could feel the shadows of his own cage cast over him at this thought. He felt like a once exotic bird stripped of all its vibrance and color.

“If you need to, you know me and your uncle love you,” Alison drops her head in understanding. Her eyes met with her pseudo-son. A small twinge of similarity sparked between the two, and a loss of vibrancy stared the currently dying creature in the eyes.

“I know.”

“You know I’m always in your corner,” after Alison says this, there’s silence. Jesse somehow knew this and simultaneously disregarded it. It was accepted, but the concrete slab of apathy had him firmly barricaded from responding to anything.

He often wondered how spoiled he was in comparison to those he loved. Something in him told him he was a victim, even when he knew he was the one with blood on his hands. Alison seemed to disregard this and march toward him. It may be the only thing in life he truly considered an act of unconditional love.

“I know,” Jesse curls up again, looking disappointed still.

“Jess,” Alison says gently.

“What?” Jesse hums as he tries to go back to sleep.

“Come get some lunch, it’s almost noon,” she grips his arm gently and meets his gaze. He cannot mirror the kind smile on her face but he feels the concern and warmth. She gets up from her seat on the edge of the bed and walks towards the doorway. She glances over her shoulder before walking out and leaving the door cracked. If he had strength to say it, he would have whispered ‘I love you’.