Ian's POV:-
As I storm out of the hallway, I inhale deeply to de-stress.
Nobody.
Nobody is allowed to cross the red line.
Mom is that line in the red.
For her, I'm willing to kill and get killed.
I mean, how dare she mention Mom at all? My Mom.
I turn right and walk into the classroom without even glancing at the teacher.
Right now, my mental state is filled with fury.
I drop onto my seat, lean on the chair, and close my eyes.
I see just my mother's face. She's beaming at me while working like a crazy florist.
Her golden blond locks were arranged in a cluttered bun.
Her blue eyes gleam with so much affection and comfort.
The one trait I inherited from her.
I grin a little inside and shake my head, recalling the day she made me a flower wreath.
She chased after me as I raced about the house, avoiding her attempts to transform me into a girl.
But when I finally noticed her shoulders sag and her defeated sigh, I gave up.
I realized then and there that I never wanted to see that look on her face again.
She can never be defeated.
Not until I stop breathing.
My serene thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bell.
I grab my stuff and leave the classroom, not even looking back at Chris.
Right now, I can't stand to put up with his absurdities.
As I made my way over to the car, I noticed the person who was making me feel agitated was grinning and laughing with the new guy.
Why is it so hysterical?
I had never seen her laugh so freely.
Suddenly I want to seize this laugh right now and preserve it in the most mysterious corners of my heart.
Not in this world's sight, where no one can reach.
where it's just felt by me. Heard by me. Look at me.
Only me.
My thoughts abruptly stopped as I realized who was chuckling with her.
Clenching my fist I divert my gaze before heading to my car to avoid doing anything that will make her detest me even more.
The drive home ended swiftly.
When I got home, my mom was doing something in the kitchen.
Is she preparing a meal?
Alright. Not great.
Let me clarify.
Mom says she makes a delicious meal.
Well, that's what she believes.
I'm not sure how she turned the dish into a complete disaster by taking minor, inaccurate scales.
However, we never let her know this.
Dad and I.
We eat what she makes. And that's it.
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