The night was pierced by a sharp chill, lingering on the noses and ears of the few people who were still outside. Liam stepped inside the Harrod household, his head held down. The door’s creaking hinges echoed through the worn-down house, reaching all the way to the front yard. The sounds of flesh hitting against something mixing with echoes of laughter replayed in Liam’s mind. The dry blood on the side of his face overlapped with the image of fresh, hot blood dripping down to his collarbone. But that moment was nothing more than a sliver of the past, fading away as Liam entered the house, the floorboards creaking with his weight. As he entered, he saw food on the table: chicken with fries. It was all homemade and once brimming with colour and flavour. But they had long ago lost their warmth. It didn’t look appetising anymore but Liam was hungry. He neededto eat.
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A clatter of plates echoed from the kitchen, followed by a loud ‘Screee’ as a chair scraped across the floor. Mom’s in the kitchen, he thought, I need to finish dinner quickly and go to my room.
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The sound of the chair scraping across the floor was too abrupt. Liam winced at the loud sound. To his dismay, Ms. Harrod’s footsteps started echoing, coming closer from the kitchen to the dining room.
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Oh, here she comes.
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“You just arrived?” Ms. Harrod wiped her hands on her apron, “You didn’t even say hi.”
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Liam muttered a half-hearted greeting, “Hi, mom.”
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He shook his head a little to allow his hair to fall and cover his face. He hadn’t cut the front part in a long time. Usually, it was his mom who cut it, but she rarely had time.
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Ms. Harrod gazed at Liam, her eyebrows knitting in concern. As her eyes scanned his face, they settled on his cheek where dried blood was visible. Her eyes flashed with recognition.
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She hurried to her son’s side and grabbed his chin, turning his face toward her, “Who did this?”
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The pace of Liam’s heartbeat hurried. He didn’t want to say anything. He couldn’t. If he does then it’s all over... The memory of the earlier events sent a shiver down his spine, as though electric shocks pulsed through his body. He turned his face away.
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“It’s nothing, Mom, really. I just…” He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, trying to think of an excuse.
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“Fell?” Ms. Harrod tried beating him to his excuses, “What, did you accidentally run into a wall? Did the wall do this? You fell and, somehow, the floor gave you these bruises? Is that it?”
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“Mom.” Liam started, but before he could continue, his mother spoke over him.
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“Your days at school… were they okay? Were they really okay? You can’t keep…”
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“Mom,” He tried again, keeping the same monotone voice.
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“You can’t keep lying to me. This has to stop. You have to let me-” She choked, clearly trying to maintain the upper hand.
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“Mom,”
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“You have to let me-”
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This time, he shouted, “Mom!” trying to calm her down, but she had already lost her composure.
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“Liam!” Her hands slammed on the table, the utensils clattered, scattering on the table.
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They both froze, even their breaths, surprised at the abrupt shout. Ms. Harrod hadn’t intended to raise her voice. Her panicked eyes slowly softened, and she awkwardly righted a spoon that had fallen before speaking.
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“I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that—Liam, you know I’m just worried because I love you. I need you to know that, okay?”
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Liam looked down at his food, thinking the chicken looked a bit stale, “Okay,” he answered.
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“I won’t talk about it anymore… If you’re ready, talk to me, okay?”
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“Okay,”
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“I love you,” Ms. Harrod got up, the chair making a screeching sound but, this time, it was more muted than it was earlier.
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“I love you too…”
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A few moments later, silence settled once again over the run-down house in the middle of the barren valley.
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