Oddball

Chapter Eight

MICAH

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Rhea left my house shortly before my mum came home. Said something about seeing Lisabeth. It was a inky twilight, dark grumbly storm clouds threatened the world below. The smell of rain was intoxicating, in the way that sugar or coffee is. Not that I actually like a lot of sugar, or coffee for that matter. But you get the picture.

"Mama, can Rhea come back soon?" asked Toby pleadingly. He of course, knew the Oddball story. He knew that my mother might not allow her to come back.

"Hmm? Why's that darling?"

"Rhea got Toby to eat." I said bluntly, staring directly at my mother, daring her to say otherwise. "Two savory croissants. He finished them too. Now tell me that having her around is a bad idea." I know I might sound overly aggressive, but I know I have to get through to her. Rhea and I have to formulate plans, attack Peter, make him pay for everything he ever did.

She was speechless. He mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a fish out of water. You could see the internal fight she was having, and I internally laughed. Rhea was just a person, yet my mother refused to see that. No one saw it at all, except Lisabeth. And she was in a coma.

My father chose this moment to grace us with his presence after practically hiding in his office all day. "Dinner?" He grunted at my mother, accusingly staring at the empty dining table.

"I just got home, cut me some slack!" came the angry reply. I glanced down at Toby who was staring up at me with big worried eyes. I forced myself to smile at him and picked him up. "Come on, let's talk to Sam; like Rhea said." I whispered so my parents couldn't hear. Since Sam, they've been so aggressive... really, asking about dinner shouldn't make my mother so angry; it never used to.

I practically ran Toby up the stairs, away from the monstrosity that was my arguing parents.

"What's wrong with you woman?! I want my dinner!"

"It's coming! Fuck off!"

"What is this shit? It's burnt, and lumpy. You cooked it wrong, you fucking idiot!."

"Well if you think you can do better, you cook your fucking dinner!"

"I'm not saying I can do better, I'm saying you should do better! Cook me something else, I can't eat this shit!"

I placed Toby on his bed and tried to offer him comfort. It'll be okay, it always ends up okay...ish. Truth was, my parents weren't the same because of what Sam did. They never agree on anything, they act like they hate each other. They are like different people now. My father rarely speaks except for inconsistent grunts. I can't fix it, I can't stop them; all I can do is get Toby and myself out of the way.

"You always have to get the last word don't you?! Why can't you just accept things and move on?!"

"Like you? Like you fucking move on?! It's not my fault you burnt the food you stupid bitch."

"Stop it! Just stop it, okay? I'll cook you more food!"

"No don't, because clearly you are incapable of doing a simple task."

"Then why are you complaining!? Get in there and do it yourself!"

"You know what? I'm not hungry anymore."

"No! You will eat! I'm not gonna let you go back and stare at the walls of your office!"

"Fucking try and stop me."