He could feel her glare burning into the back of his head. He was used to it, that burning hatred, but it was always heartbreaking to feel it coming from his own mother. “We’ve been over this,” he sighed, not even bothering to turn around.
“I don’t like it when you come back here,” his mother spat the familiar refrain.
“If I don’t come back here to see her every now and then, she will come looking for me. We both agree that’s a bad thing, right?” Malcolm finally turned, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Yes.” His mother agreed begrudgingly.
“Look, I’ve been making the visits further and further apart so she’ll stay longer and longer without getting anxious about me. I will only stay as long as I have to. I have taken the necessary steps to assure that she will never meet our father. I am the lesser of two evils, and you know it. So, please, suck it up.”
As a boy, he never would have imagined talking to his mother that way. People around here were raised to respect their elders, especially their parents. But then his father’s true nature was revealed. It was too late for Malcolm, he was already a victim of his father’s influence, his father’s nature. It also didn’t help that he was nearly his father’s spitting image. But, Agatha, his little sister, she could still be saved. He and his mother didn’t agree on anything but saving Agatha.
“I just don’t like it when you come back here.” His mother repeated.
“Yeah—well,” Malcolm turned back to the sandwich he was making, “Neither do I.”
"Yeah. But So What? Everybody's Weird." 