Do I Love My Bully? [Rewrite]

[CHPT. 8] Speaking out, Keeping in

     When Jonas finally had gotten home he went straight to his room after saying a rushed hello to his mother. He sat on his bed and dug through his backpack for his binder filled with new assignments to finish tonight. He placed them all on his desk next to his laptop and plopped down into his computer chair. His mind was flowing with random thoughts that he couldn't clearly focus on. He glanced over to his open laptop at the blank writing program. He had a small writing assignment to type up and email to his English teacher, a two-page History sheet to answer, and he has to finish up a small science project that he'd finished halfway during class. He sighed. These last few days were some of the weirdest and most stressful days he'd ever gone through. His other first days at school had been simple, route almost. Nothing had changed, until now- the school, the students, everything was off in an odd way. He felt strange disconnected from himself, as if he watching everything happen from the outside like his life was a TV show.

     He swiveled forwards to face his laptop head-on and tapped a clawed finger against his keyboard. After a moments' thought about how to start off the paper he began typing. Minutes flew by as he mindlessly began writing his paper, starting with swift paragraphs that he'd edit later. Perhaps getting something down and just messing with the wording afterwards would be a good way to get this paper done, after all, he hadn't any other ideas. After about an hour of composing his paper he had thee paragraphs down with his general thoughts down. Pausing to look at what he'd finished he noticed his phone screen was on out of the corner of his vision. A notification sat teasingly in the middle of the screen, a text message, and not a message from the chat app he used for friends. It had to be from his parents. Grasping his phone in tired paws he studied the message more closely, and yeah, his mother sent him a small and neatly written message.

      Mom: You doing okay Jo'? You didn't stop to tell me about your day today, and I made banana bread for us to share. If you'd still like to you can come down and eat with me and we can talk. Love you.

      Shit. He'd forgotten to even really speak to his mother, being too caught up in his emotions to spare her a real conversation. Since Jonas's father was usually busy with work until late into the night he and his mother had made a habit of keeping each other emotional company. Neither of them particularly liked having to move around so much, losing friendships and stability, but since Jonas's father was the "bread-maker" for them they had no choice. Jonas's mother, Clara, usually kept low-brow full or part-time jobs at grocery stores and retail places to make her own money to spend while Jonas's father, Harvey, primarily took care of bills and the sort. She bought groceries and he kept their water on, it was a deal they'd made without really talking about it. Jonas knew that his mother needed him and his presence to feel sane at times. She'd partially lost her husband to a life of work and traveling, and now she clung to her son in hopes to have some connection to her family. Jonas knew she needed him.

     He stopped typing and scooted away from his desk to get to his paws. Phone in pocket he headed out of his room and immediately was hit with the warm scent of baked bread. His mouth was suddenly watering for banana bread, whipped cream, and cherry sauce. He was padding down the hall and down the stairs at a moments notice. At the base of the stairs was the living-room, the TV was playing a drama show softly in the background. His mother was sitting by herself on their soft, cream colored couch looking down at her phone. She seemed to be scrolling through a social media app, if the images flashing by were any indicator. She was a orange-furred fox like himself, with the same emerald eyes. She'd dyed her long head fluff black, and it drooped from her head down over her shoulders. Her eyes were bigger and softer than Jonas's, giving her a naturally kind and caring look. He decided to make himself known.

     "Hey Ma." He said almost too softly, luckily his mother caught it and looked up.

      "Jonas." Her face was awash with relief when she recognized him, a smile pulling at the edges of her muzzle. "How are you, doll?"