Killing Stalking-KMS

Momma

Sangwoo Jr. chapter. I wanted to add a bit of backstory of mom and son. :)

To be honest, when you first found out you were pregnant with Sangwoo's kid, your first thought was to get rid of it. The fact that you would end up pregnant after you found freedom felt like some sort of revenge on his part. It was Bum who had convinced you to take it to term, it had been Bum who picked the name. It had been Bum who took care of him throughout his infancy. You were scared to stare into his face so scared that even your breast milked dried. You pretended to be a doting mother despite that every day he looked more and more like Sangwoo. But at the same time, you did love him. You felt bad for pushing him away especially when he did his best to please you. He went out of his way to win your love as if he knew in his little mind, that just as much as you loved him, he repulsed you. You hated yourself when you pulled away from his embraces that lasted too long or when you didn't allow him to sleep in bed with you when the storms would scare the shit out of him.

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"Why doesn't mommy love me?"

You had overheard him ask Bum. He was about five years old then.

"Of course, she loves you!"

"No, she doesn't. She hates me."

He broke down in tears and so did you.

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The ping of the drying machine announcing its finish wakes you up from your daydreams. Your tears dry on your cheeks as you begin to fold clothes in the routine that is mostly Bum's, but he is still asleep. Only you wake up so early on Saturday. By the time you finish, you have the wicker basket full. You head up upstairs making laundry drops. You open your bedroom door expecting to see Bum curled in the bed, but he isn't there. You place the folded clothing on the edge of the bed and peer into the open restroom.

"Bum?"

Silence.

You shrug and carry the wicker basket towards Sangwoo Jr's. room. The door is half-opened and you stop halfway before you reach it. You hear squelching sounds and suppressed moans that only one person can make, your pulse races. You place the wicker basket down and look in. Bum sits on the floor not too far from Sangwoo's bed. His legs are opened and he masturbates under his skirt looking at Sangwoo. Sangwoo is in deep slumber with an arm draped over his face. The covers have tangled between his naked thighs and just the edge of them covers between that soft bulge. He doesn't look like a typical 18-year-old boy.

"Bum," you whisper harshly and when he turns to face you, he clenches his eyes in his orgasm. His immediate reaction after that is shame.

You squat in front of him and shake him by the arms. He averts your gaze.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I-I am sorry," he utters shakily. "It's just that he looks so much like Sangwoo, doesn't he?" He turns to face him and you clasp him by the chin before he turns.

"No, he doesn't," you spat.

"He does!" He says more loudly than he wanted and Sangwoo Jr. lets out a slight groan. Bum clasps his hands over his mouth and whispers, "I think that Sangwoo reincarnated as a baby in your tummy because he didn't want us to be alone."

You stand up and he does too.

"Go clean yourself up," you say flatly, ignoring him

"Don't you think so? Look, I think he even has the same mole Sangwoo had in his--"

The rest of the words don't come out because you slap him. Bum falls to the floor holding his heated cheek with choking sobs.

"Go clean up," you say again enunciating each word without looking at him. Quickly he flees like a punished child.

You don't have time to feel guilty because his words play in your head. You walk to him and stare at his sleek dark hair, his strong body. The arm that covered his face rests gently over his trim tummy now. He is tall for a boy his age. His lips are perfectly sculpted and they open with each breath. You brush the back of your fingers down his cheek and his dark eyes fly open and he captures you by the wrist.

He sits up, his narrowed eyes dazed with sleep try to figure out who you are. Once he fully awakens, he smiles. The tight grip on your wrist loosens. You stare at the dimples in his cheek that look like tiny caverns.

"Momma? You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," you apologize and you flinch when he cups the side of your face and begins tracing the thin scar just underneath your eye with a strong thumb.

"You're so gorgeous, momma."

His eyes are intense, but you are not sure if it is your imagination making them that way, or if it's the way his curled bangs fall over his face.

You attempt to give him a smile and he frowns, "Why are your smiles always crooked when you look at me?"