18+ | Eva French relocates from sunny Florida to the gritty streets of Detroit, seeking a fresh start. But her new beginning takes a dark turn when she experiences a traumatic assault on her very first night in the city. Haunted by the incident, Eva...
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Eva French
On one of those rare nights when we managed to have dinner together, our small dining room exuded an overwhelming sense of tiredness, mirroring my mom's emotions. It was as if the entire world had been drained of its colours, leaving only shades of black and grey. Over the past months here, she had changed. She used to radiate warmth and vitality, her laughter filling every corner of my old childhood home like sunlight streaming through a window. But now, her presence seemed muted, as if she were a mere ghost of her former self. I could see the weight of her worries etched into the lines of her face, the exhaustion in her eyes reflecting the battles she fought silently each day.
Sitting across from my mother and simply looking at her was enough to make me cry. The strands of hair that framed her face were now tinged with silver, and the sight of it made me incredibly sad. I held it in. My sorrow at seeing her this way lay dormant beneath a facade of calm, hidden behind a mask of forced composure.
Amidst the silence, the gentle clinking of our cutlery against the plates filled the air.
"Who's that boy who always walks you home?" She casually twirled her fork in midair as she broached the subject with an air of nonchalance.
"A friend," I replied instantly, the words slipping from my lips almost mechanically.
"You sure spend an awful lot of time with him," she said, disapproval evident in the creases forming on her forehead. "He rides a motorcycle, doesn't he? You don't ride on the back of that thing, do you?"
"He's good at riding, Mom," I replied, anticipating the conversation ahead with a sense of dread, "He works at a car shop, he knows a lot about vehicles. He drives safely."
"I'm not convinced a motorcycle could ever be safe." She frowned while expressing her concerns. "And he looks quite intimidating, don't you think? How old is he? How did you meet, anyway? Why are you spending so much time with him? I'm not sure I approve of this."
"He's just a friend, Mom," I muttered sheepishly, overwhelmed by the sudden torrent of questions. "He's nice to me."
"Well, I'll have to meet him then," she concluded, "Maybe one day when I'm not so busy. Speaking of which, I have work to finish tonight. Could you please clean up dinner, Eva?"
The winter progressed slowly.
Every day was almost like a routine.
I would rise early to prepare breakfast for both my mom and myself. After finishing my own meal, I'd leave her portion neatly set on the table, ready for when she wakes, before heading off to work.
I didn't mind working, especially since it was with Jay. Since the beginning, he has always made me feel comfortable and welcome. He made me laugh and my shift flew by quickly with him around. At times when we were alone together, I sensed an unspoken barrier between us, a wall of tension hovering in the air. I often wondered if he felt it too, especially when I caught him gazing at me with a distant look in his eyes.
