Bookworms | ✔

forty-seven

*Trigger Warning*

Knock Knock. 

Nicholas glanced around his apartment one last time, meticulously scanning his surroundings to make sure that nothing stood out of place or out of order. He didn't want to give his parents another failure to add onto their growing list of disappointments. Once he checked the living room, he felt confident that today would be a success. 

He was going to fix his relationship with his parents. 

Rain or shine, storm or sunlight, Nicholas had to do what was best for not only him but his parents as well. Summoning all his courage, he forced his inhibitions into mental cages, preparing himself for what was to come and guarding his emotions with caution. 

None of these visits ever ended well. 

With his hand on the doorknob, he felt his body tremble. One turn and his lifestyle would face the heaviest scrutiny from his parents. One turn and Nicholas would have to bite his tongue to withhold all his anger. One turn and his parents would enter.

Well, it's now or never.                                 

Opening the door, Nicholas stared at his parents, offering a nervous smile although his body begged to sneer at them for all the heartaches that they caused, all the suffering they ingrained into the crooks of his mind. The phony light in their eyes brightened. 

Come on, Nick. Pull it together. They're still your parents.

"Hey..." he trailed off, opening the door wider to allow them entrance. "Come in."

His father grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth that seemed like they were ripped off from a men's fashion catalog. He straightened his classic red tie, smoothing the wrinkles from his crispy white shirt as he took slow, long strides into Nicholas's living room. The man was dressed to negotiate, but for what Nicholas had no idea. 

His mother was not that far off. Her painted red lips stretched across her slender visage, matching her husband's superiority the second she stepped into the room. Her silky brown hair was tied into a stern bun, not a single hair out of place from her perception of beauty. Like her husband, his mother wore her signature attire, a white blouse tucked into a knee-length skirt just tight enough to invoke lustful stares. 

"It's good to see you again," his mother greeted, voice soft as if she was afraid. She hesitantly touched his shoulder, an action that prompted a flinch from Nicholas. "How are you these days?"

Better than I was with you, he wanted to say. "Fine."

Her features softened, relief flooding through her. "No more acting out?" she questioned, slyly referring to his suicide attempt. 

A sweltering toxin pulsed through his veins, an irregular rhythm tapping against his blood as fiery surged forward, heat waves emanating off of Nicholas. His suicide was not "acting out" like his mother claimed. It was an act of pain-stricken misery, of the unbearable weight that threatened to trample Nicholas at every crossroad.

Nonetheless, he managed to extinguish the flame with a simple thought. He was doing this for a better relationship, for his family, for himself. 

Exhaling slowly, Nicholas let the burn pass. "No, Mom," he said instead. "It's been rough, but I'm living."

She seemed satisfied with that answer and joined her husband on the couch. Her evergreen eyes roamed his small apartment, the gears turning in her head to formulate another insult. Sitting across from them, Nicholas felt a quaking in his body, an irrevocable fear of their meeting.