He didn't believe her--he didn't have a frame of reference for anything other than the fact that she had killed him. His mother's words made Alonso tense his shoulders, though when her hand touched his hair, he didn't falter. It was his mother's touch; whatever ill he felt, however confused or angry he was, it was still his mother's touch.
But how could she? How could she look at him like this, talk to him in this way, after what had happened? Was she playing games with him? Alonso opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then screwed it shut, pursing his lips. What could he say that she didn't already know? Was it worth yelling at her? Would it not make him feel sick for lashing out, for expressing anger like that? That wasn't like him. As much as he wanted to. As much as the words clawed their way into his throat and pushed at his lips, tore at his stomach and made him want to punch something, to stab something, to grab Eularia by the shoulders and shake her until his father, alive and well, sprang forth from her.
But how could she? How could she look at him like this, talk to him in this way, after what had happened? Was she playing games with him? Alonso opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then screwed it shut, pursing his lips. What could he say that she didn't already know? Was it worth yelling at her? Would it not make him feel sick for lashing out, for expressing anger like that? That wasn't like him. As much as he wanted to. As much as the words clawed their way into his throat and pushed at his lips, tore at his stomach and made him want to punch something, to stab something, to grab Eularia by the shoulders and shake her until his father, alive and well, sprang forth from her.
How could you?the boy finally choked out, his voice barely a whisper. Tears started to form in his eyes, but he didn't try to hide them or wipe them away.
How could you?
03-21-2023, 11:59 PM
