Her piano still lingers in the corner, polished and cared for. Maintained. Immaculate.
Of course it is.
That fucking, stupid instrument …
Mother’s face brightened every time she glanced at it.
Always eager to step out of her room and play withhim, teach him piano, or just exist next to him. I mean, that’s what any mother should do.
But she never did that with me.
She saw the bane in me and chose to rub my face in it every fucking time she could.
I used to watch her like a dog watches a table, hoping something would fall. One glance. One sign that I wasn’t just a mistake breathing in her house. That she saw me. That she was proud.
Nothing ever came. She never fucking looked.
My fingers trace the lines of the piano, bringing back memories of that night. The night something snapped in me and made space for the monster inside.
I’ve always had something chewing holes in me from the inside out. A parasite with good manners, I’d say, patientlygnawing at the walls inside my mind. I didn’t know what it was, only that it didn’t belong to normal children.
I must’ve been … what, six? Seven? When it first scratched. Old enough to understand fear, too young to understand that the fear was coming from within.
Back then, I didn’t have a name for it. I thought it was instinct, some kind of clumsy self-defense mechanism. Like my brain was trying to warn me of monsters while conveniently forgetting that the teeth weren’t coming from outside.
They were mine.
It was a quiet night, like this one, when I walked into the room again, carrying what I thought was a brilliant fucking idea.
I’d made a cardboard guitar. God, it took me days. Cutting, folding, taping that piece of shit together. The only thing missing was the strings.
So I grabbed a pair of scissors and came in here. It was empty, like always, which meant I could take my time.
I cut four strings off the piano. Just snip, snip, snip. Enough to finish my perfect little guitar.
I knew it was wrong, but I was so damn sure Mother would be happy—surprised by what I’d managed to pull off.
Maybe this way, I’d look more like him.
Or at least like someone she might bother to look at.
I’d set it on the table and tried to adjust the strings.
“What have you done?” Mother’s voice sounded behind me, already trembling.
I jerked around, heart slamming, my eyes darting everywhere at once like I’ve been caught naked.
“Mom, look!” I thrusted my hands out, the cardboard guitar wobbling between them. “Now I can play with you and Cain.”
I was smiling too wide, holding my breath.
“You filthy ape!” she snapped, already coming at me.
Her eyes were red and manic, bulging with that familiar madness. Even then, I knew something was wrong with her. I saw something rabid, something barely human. I remember thinking she looked like a monster from a horror movie. Back then, it scared the living fuck out of me.
“You destroyedhispiano!”
She scrambled toward me, her bare feet sliding on the marble, her nails scraping for balance. Her hair spilled over her face, wild and tangled, and I couldn’t tell where my mother ended and the thing wearing her began.
