Lye

Lye shivered; these weren’t matters he was accustomed to. Love, what a beautifully brutal thing to hold witness to. He sat at the table, watching the small edges of the newspaper rustle. Warmth, he could see it settling happily into his mothers stomach, still, a cold remained in his own, an ice that muted him, not as though he was much tempted to speak otherwise. The hardwood floor felt strange beneath his bare feet, barren, not the coarse dirty carpet he was used to. The only thing that still felt familiar was the stale taste of smoke, which had as far back as he could remember, wafted within the air that filled his lungs daily.

Lye could see them turn to look at him in the reflection of the window. Bizarre, how everything could be so peaceful. He knew they were looking at him like he was a screw up, but perhaps somewhat in admiration as well. Though he wondered how far they thought his mind went.

Lye questioned himself much, if not too much. He wondered why, through the changes that he repeatedly told himself were for the best, the sting still ebbed within him, and he wondered, dimly, if he was still fighting the same currents. The foreign landscape fooled his willpower into retreating, though his mind was still weary and conscious.

Maybe change just scared him or maybe it went beyond that. Wounds had never had the time to scab and scar, and even if his mother’s life had finally turned for the best, his hadn’t. They didn’t share a life, far from it. Her happiness Lye was thankful for, and her drinking had stopped. Relief was born, but his own worries quickly devoured it. He had himself to take care of. Now, maybe, he could.