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Summary
“Family? Family doesn’t do what you did.” His vision is hazy, he tries to blink the moisture away. “You have no idea what the thing did to us… wanted to do to us. What it tried to do to me, like, multiple times,” Naim says. Sometimes, he can still feel phantom hands pulling at his belt, turning him over, smashing his face into walls, clawing at his hips. Fingers so deep in his throat they scratched his esophagus until he vomited blood. He sniffles. “Fucked up shit, Mum. So much of it.”
She reaches out to grab his hand. Naim doesn’t pull away. Tears fall for real now, hot and sticky, rolling down both his cheeks. “Mom, how could you do that to me?”
It’s Christmas eve. Naim’s present to his mother will be their first face to face conversation in almost five years.
Series
- Part 9 of All that's holy