Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-9-If You Give a Boy Some Hate

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Chapter 9: If You Give a Boy Some Hate, And Maybe A Girl Some Love . . .

~Jacob~

Yeah, I couldn’t help it. I was a little worried about Jemma.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t concerned with how things were going in my own home-life, because, my mother’s car was in the driveway, and I remembered the letter I wrote to her sitting on my desk in my room. I would keep it for a while, maybe, give it to her the next time she left and came back.

Except, I never did know if she was going to come back. Our relationship was pure faith and trust, and I just didn’t invest a lot of that in her.

Reluctantly I opened our front door and stepped inside, hearing my mother clanking dishes around in the sink. Of course. Every time she came home from a business trip she went right to dishwashing, and then mopping, and if it was really bad she would dust. There wasn’t a lot of time for her to spend with us, but I didn’t care. I spent most of my own time skirting around her pretending not to hear when she called me.

If she called me.

Which sometimes she never even uttered my name. Not even a syllable.

Tony clung to Belinda like Mom was some stranger, and I knew it broke Mom’s heart, but that’s what happens when you’re never home. Reality hurts, Mother. Get used to it.

I walked right into the kitchen and stood in the doorway. I would do this now, and do it fast.

“Hi, Mom,” I said quietly, and she whirled around, hands dripping with dish soap.

“Jacob!”  She exclaimed. “My, you’re so handsome!” She wiped her hands on a dish rag. “I wondered when you’d be home.”

“I’m home,” I said emotionlessly.

Something in her eyes told me she caught my tone and she stared at me for a moment. “Jakey? Is something wrong?”

I smirked. I couldn’t help it. The sheer irony of it all was too much. My problem was standing right in front of me and she was asking if something was the matter.

“No, Mom, I’m just fine.” I muttered, wanting to move but not being able to. So I shoved my hands in my pockets and made myself comfortable leaning against the door jam. “You only left three years ago and left us alone without a warning. Why would anything be wrong?” I felt the anger and the venom dripping from my words.

“Jacob, please, don’t do this with me right now. I’m tired . . .”

“Goddammit, Mom, like I’m not tired too!” I screamed before I could stop myself. Her eyes widened and she looked taken aback. That’s right. It doesn’t feel too good to be on the receiving end of all the surprises.

“What did you say to me, Jacob Ethan Hall?”

I curled and uncurled my hands. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?” I hissed. “Don’t mind me, don’t mind Tony, your little son that you forgot to raise. Don’t mind Dad, who forever stays locked up in his study. God, I don’t even know if he’s alive! Now, do I care? Not really. Why? Because you guys haven’t done a freaking thing for me!”

My mother threw the dish towel in the sink and took a step forward. “Now, wait a second. I’ve done plenty for you . . .”

“Really? Plenty? Alright, you know? Let’s just say---figuratively---that you have done enough for me. What about Tony? You are never here for him. He doesn’t even know you. He doesn’t even know he has a father who’s in the same house as him, but never walks out to acknowledge his kids’ existence. How is that fair? How is that plenty?”