(Angst BxB) Misguided Ghosts

-𝐈𝐈𝐈-

╔══《"Lord what will become of me,》══╗
once I've lost my novelty?"

       The gentle brush of knuckles against his forehead slowly woke Corbin up. His mind was hazy; the graze of skin against skin was warm. The feeling sent tingles through his body, causing him to twitch in his half-asleep state. His locs fell around his face, revealing the patchy skin beneath.

       The hand was tracing the areas of white, as if the dark skin was contagious. "Hello dear," the voice spoke gently. The fog in Corbin's brain cleared instantly. No longer asleep, he bolted upright--the voice having sent shivers through his spine.

       His eyes opened wide, and he found himself staring at the one person he wanted to see least. Her short bob was sleek and shiny the fluorescent lights reflecting off of the surface. If Corbin squinted hard enough, he was positive he could see his reflection on the strands.

       Genetics are weird. He scoffed, reaching up to brush his dense locs away from his face. The area his mother had just touched was still tingling. The large patch of white stood out, and he quickly positioned his hair to cover it.

       "You're not going to say hello to your mother? Even after I drove all the way to pick you up?" she guilted, looking at her son with a sad expression. "You're a grown man, you shouldn't get sick. You're weak. Don't let this happen again," she sternly intoned, her voice changing from whining to yelling in a single second.

       "Thanks for coming to get me," Corbin whispered, "It won't happen again," he promised.

       "Good! Now let's go, the school day's over," she smiled, standing up from the stool next to the bed. Corbin sighed, shuffling out of the tight blankets wrapped around his body, pinning him to the mattress.

       His bones were stiff, the body parts having fallen asleep when he had. The pins and needles feeling spread through his whole body, the sensation unpleasant. Stepping his feet on solid ground, Corbin hoisted his body weight up, stumbling forward towards his mother as he lost balance.

       She took a large step back in retaliation, wincing in reaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed, as if she was telling him, I wouldn't catch you if you fell forward. 

       She recoiled from her son's touch, though Corbin didn't mind. The faint smell of cigarettes lingered on her blazer. The stench made Corbin scrunch his nose, flinching backward. Her attire indicated that she had come directly from work. 

       The heels on her feet were inky black, clearly freshly polished. The sheer tights on her slender legs were clean, showing no rips along the thin material. The pencil skirt was straight and modest--falling right above her knees. The baby blue dress shirt was ironed, not a single wrinkle residing on the linen. The navy blazer was crisp and sharp.

       The persona she eluded was one of power and formality. However, the closer one looked, the more imperfections they would find. 

       The bottoms of her shoes were scratched up, despite how clean she polished the tops. Underneath her skirt, a large rip in her tights followed her waist--having been clawed away. If one looked at her skirt closely, they would see that in between the brown plaid colors, a stain of deep red resided on the bottom, the underside even more infected. In the pocket of her button up, the outline of a lighter was visible. And of course, the effluvium of smoke was something she couldn't conceal.

       No amount of expensive floral perfume could cover the years of built up filth. It seeped from every pore in her skin, unescapable.

       Her neat hair, tucked behind her ears, was short because chunks had begun to fall out. When the hair clogging the drain was pin straight, it wasn't hard for Corbin to determine the origin.