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When Carlos’ turn came, he felt like he was going to drown.
He wanted to run as fast as he could and never return, but he knew that wasn’t possible.
He had to do it.
Carlos felt as though his legs didn’t belong to him when he made his way nearer and nearer to the door.
The door behind which his mother was.
Others did it. I can too.
Even if they looked more broken than ever when they came back and had their faces stained with tears.
Carlos pushed these thoughts back and reached out for the door handle.
When his fingers made contact with it, he expected something to happen. He didn’t know what, just something. Perhaps a scream from behind the door.
But nothing happened.
Carlos slowly turned the handle, opened the door, and went inside.
The minute he was inside the room, he turned around and closed the door.
He stayed that way for a while and tried to relax his breathing and growing anxiety.
At last, he took a couple of deep, calming breaths like Evie taught him and turned around.
The room was surprisingly nice. Not that he expected that they would lock her up in some dirty jail, but he expected something that would at least resemble a prison.
This room was not it.
The walls were covered in a deep green colour, there were many bookshelves and even a table with paper on it, and the windows didn’t have bars.
Carlos noticed that there weren’t any sharp pencils, mirrors, or other possible weapons she could harm herself or anybody else. Including her cane.
He let out a breath of relief.
There was a big white bed in front of him.
His mother sat unusually quiet and still in the middle, with her hands clasped together in her lap. Her black and white hair fell around her face, tangled and full of knots. Her face was blank, lips cracked and red with blood, her green eyes fixed on something by his left side.
She was dressed in a simple black and white dress, her red coat around her shoulders.
Carlos made a few steps closer to the bed and bowed his head.
Seeing her after so long was worse than he had imagined.
All the memories flooded his mind, and he was drowning in them.
“Mother,” he managed to speak after a while, even though it sounded like a whisper.
She didn’t look like she heard him. She didn‘t even move a muscle on her face. As if she was in some kind of trance.
She was starting to scare him a little. And this time, he was not scared of her, but for her.
The feeling was strange, and Carlos didn’t understand why he felt this way. The only thing his mother did was abuse him, scar him, and make him a ball of anxiety, stress, and fear.
Not every time.
He tried to silence the voice that apparently didn’t feel this way. If he’d let him win, if the few good memories he had of her would cloud his mind, he would never leave this room, longing for something long gone.
She loved you once before you ruined it.
He stepped a bit closer. Still no reaction.
She smiled at you, genuinely smiled, her eyes shining.
Another few steps.
He was almost touching her now.
Carlos stopped fighting and let the memories consume his mind.
Seven-year-old Carlos running around Hell Hall, laughing, trying to hide from his mother. He hid in the closet, careful not to close the door fully.
After a short while, the door opened, and his mother stepped inside.
“Found you, my little darling.” She smiled, her eyes shining with happiness and love.
She kissed him on his hair, and he laughed again.
Six-year-old Carlos running to his mother, crying, and holding a hand over his knee. His mother rose from her chair, the half-finished dress design left behind, and spread her arms.
He ran into her and hugged her tightly.
“My knee,” he cried into her shoulder.
She made him let her go and looked at his knee. She kissed the already forming bruise and softly blew on it.
“There, everything will be alright.” She ruffled his hair, and he smiled.
Five-year-old Carlos sitting on the ground before a couch on which his mother lay. They were watching television.
Her hands were in his hair, almost tenderly brushing his black and white locks and massaging his scalp with her nails.
He never felt happier.
Four-year-old Carlos lying in his mother’s lap, laughing and gasping for breath. His mother tickling him, refusing to let him go.
The flow of memories stopped abruptly, and Carlos returned to the present time.
At first, he didn’t know what caused it, but then he felt strange wetness on his cheeks and slight pressure on his hand.
His mother’s hand was holding his own, and he was crying.
He stared at their hands, too shocked to react.
Carlos lifted his head and met his mother’s gaze. It was fixated on him, and there was a kindness he never expected to see again.
He collapsed on his knees and bowed his head. He couldn’t stand that gaze. The gaze he had wanted to see for so long.
It has to be a trick.
But why would she do that?
His mother slowly, ever so slowly, put her hands on his face and lifted it up. Using her thumbs, she wiped away his tears and gently caressed his cheeks.
“Carlos,” she breathed gently.
He noticed that her eyes were beginning to water.
His mother? Crying?
What happened while he was away?
“Darling, I’m so sorry.”
Carlos was getting more and more confused and, at the same time, hopeful.
What if his mother finally regrets her actions, and everything will be like before?
“Mum, I... I don’t understand. What happened?”
“Listen to me. I don’t have much time.” She took a deep breath, and her whole face flinched slightly. Her eyes were full of hate when she looked at him again, but then instantly warmed up. It was so quick. He thought he imagined it.
“I am so sorry for all I’ve done to you. I tried to stop it. It was not your fault.”
Her touch on his hand tightened, and she closed her eyes like she was fighting with something.
Then she opened them and whispered: “I love you, darling.”
She let go of his hand and put them back in her lap. Her whole body slightly flinched, and when she looked at him again, he saw nothing but disgust.
“Why are you crying? Did I give you a reason to?”
Carlos blinked and, as quickly as he could, recoiled from her. He fell on his back. He wiped away his tears and scrambled to his feet.
She laughed, and his head was once again swamped with memories.
Eleven-year-old Carlos running around Hell Hall, crying, trying to hide from his mother. He hid in the closet, careful not to close the door fully.
After a short while, the door opened, and his mother stepped inside.
“Found you, darling.” She smiled, her eyes flashing with ice-cold fury.
She grabbed him by his hair, and he screamed.
Ten-year-old Carlos running from his mother, crying, and holding a hand over his stomach. His mother rose from her chair, the half-finished dress design left behind and went after him.
He ran from her and hoped she wouldn’t catch him.
She did.
“Please, stop,” he cried and caught her cane.
She made him let go of it and looked at him with fury. She crouched and hit him in the knee.
“There, everything will be alright,” she whispered in his ear in a sickly-sweet tone while he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Nine-year-old Carlos sitting on the ground before a couch on which his mother lay. They were watching television.
Her hands were in his hair, brushing his black and white locks and dragging her sharp nails across his scalp to the point of hurting.
He had never felt more scared.
Eight-year-old Carlos lying before his mother’s feet, crying and gasping for breath. His mother hitting him, refusing to let him go.
His mother stopped his memories once again, but this time she slapped him.
His cheek began to itch, and he looked at her with fear.
What was happening to her?
It’s like she was a whole new person before. But that can’t be possible.
Carlos grabbed the door handle.
He opened the door and backed away on the corridor. He shut the door before she could follow him and locked it.
Then he began to run. He didn’t know where. He just wanted to get as far away from her as he could.
His face was stained with tears, and he didn’t see where he was going. He wiped the tears away. He tripped a lot, and his clothes were all dirty, but he didn’t care.
At last, he stopped before the doors to his and Jay’s room.
He went inside. The room was quiet and empty.
Jay wasn’t there.
He was probably with Mal and Evie in their room. They decided that they’ll meet up there.
Carlos wasn’t in a mood to talk to anybody right now.
He closed the door, collapsed on his bed, curled up into a ball, and let his tears fall.