2103:11:27:16:11:20

  I spun the wheel. Smeared words and blurred colors whizzed by as I kept my focus on the arrow. The wheel slowed, the continuous stream of rattles diminishing from a running river to the last, tiny rocks dribbling down after an avalanche.

  Then, it came to a stop.

  “‘You don’t like any of the lunch options the school cafeteria offers’,” Marianne read out from her chair – not the one behind her desk, but the one next to the couch I sat on.

  “My mom makes lunch for me,” I said.

  “Even with her emergency shifts?” my therapist asked.

  “Then there’s something in the fridge with a note on it for me to take.” It didn’t happen often, but it did happen.

  “Impressive,” she replied. “Then let me rephrase: ‘you don’t like the lunch your mom made for you’,” she said.

  I shrugged. “I tell her I don’t like something and she doesn’t make it anymore. Doesn’t really happen anymore – now it’s mostly the same ham-and-cheese sandwich. Plus lettuce and tomato, if she has the time.”

  “And in the cases she did make one you didn’t like; what did do you in that moment?”

  “I ate it. I mean, isn’t that what you’re supp- what you should do?” I almost said the word ‘supposed’ again – something my therapist had once addressed. I hadn’t liked the direction the conversation took afterwards.

  From the look she gave me, Marianne had caught the near slip, but graciously let it go. “Do you always do that?”

  I nodded.

  “Even though it tastes bad?”

  “It’s not like it’s painful or anything. What else would I do with it?”

  “You could’ve thrown it away,” she replied.

  I frowned. “That seems… disrespectful?” It was kind of odd, actually. I didn’t need to eat, so throwing away bad-tasting food would have the same end result as eating it: wasted food. In fact, it would be a better result; I wouldn’t have to taste it.

  On the other hand. “Like you said, what Mom does is ‘impressive’.”

  She smiled at me. “That’s very considerate of you. When they were your age, my daughters were not nearly so considerate. But what about other situations? Is it still disrespectful then?”

  I rarely ate or drank anything other than what Mom made for me. Those times I did was with either my friends or while masking with Crowsong – who is also my friend, of course. Still needed to get used to that.

  “I… don’t really have any examples,” I said. “The times I ate with my friends, it all tasted fine. Well, except that one time when Jolie ordered a bad lunch for me on purpose.”

  “On purpose?” she asked.

  That sounded bad. “She didn’t mean anything by it, I’d just never had a specific kind of bad fast food and she thought it would be funny to have me react to it.” I smiled. “It was pretty fun, especially since the joke was on her in the end.”

  “And what did you do then?”

  “Hm?” I said, refocusing.

  “What did you do with the food?”

  “Oh. I ate it.”

  “For the same reasons as before, or was something different this time?”

  “I…” thought about it for a second, frowning. Why did I do that? “I thought it would be funnier?”

  “You don’t sound sure about that.”

  “I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t really remember it.” The event itself was crystal clear. The reasoning behind my decisions were not. An oversight in my memcording abilities as far as I was concerned.

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Do you have more to say about it or do you want to continue?”

  We’d been doing this for a while. Spin the wheel, work through a scenario, and discover something about myself. The question or scenario almost always directly involved some form of social situation – like ‘when is it appropriate to make a joke’ and stuff like that – but sometimes it began like this one, a seemingly innocuous question about a bad lunch spiraling into my social behavior around eating.

  I stretched out in a Millie-style flop across the table. “This sucks,” I said, the words leaving me before I could stop them. No doubt I would regret it in a second.

  “Does it?” she asked, raising her eyebrows inquisitively. “Do you have something you want to talk about?”

  And there it was, the reason I normally didn’t comment and preferred to go with the flow of whatever game, set piece or conversation chart Marianne had set up. I didn’t have many topics – not topics I could speak about with her, at least – and those I did I’d already brought up.

  My normal life was doing great. My friends were my friends, and my list of potential hobbies was a continuous project heading right on course. Next Saturday I would join Saga’s sambo training, while Sunday Mom and I would go to a classical music thing – a requiem, a musical piece about some guy dying. Hopefully it sounds better than it, well, sounds.

  Still, it was something to do with Mom, and Mom herself had never been to a live orchestral performance, so she was super excited about it. She’d wanted Michael to join as and while he hadn’t outright denied her, I doubted he’d come. He was a stubborn man. Now if only-

  “Sam?”

  Oh, right. “Yes, I do have a topic.”

  Marianne looked pleasantly surprised at that, a smile starting to form. “Go on. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “So, I’ve been trying to talk to my brother more, right? Try to solve whatever’s going on between him and Mom?” I said, and she nodded – albeit somewhat hesitantly, I noted. “Well, he keeps deflecting, saying that he can’t without Mom saying something to me, but he won’t tell me what it is and Mom won’t say it.”

  “Have you tried asking her?” she suggested all too reasonably.

  “Well… when she first broke the news he’d be visiting, she kept trying to defend him without explaining why. That I shouldn’t blame him for him not trying to contact me, or him cutting off Mom – and I hadn’t even said anything by that point!” I said, irritation seeping into my voice. “And after he got here, she keeps saying that it’s her fault, or that I shouldn’t be so harsh on him, or just outright avoids the conversation altogether. It’s getting really annoying, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “But have you tried asking her?” she asked again. “Face to face and outright, without tricks or deception – have you asked of her what Michael might’ve meant when he said that?”

  “Well… no,” I said.

  “Then I advise you to do that first before anything else,” Marianne said. “You can try it in a relaxed setting with just the two of you – after the performance Sunday, for example, or just at home whenever you two are alone. Try to be open and honest, put how it makes you feel first before asking specifics. If she’s really trying to avoid talking about the topic, just reemphasize your feelings – she cannot avoid those.”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “And if you do ask, try not to corner your Mom with it, alright? From what you’re saying, whatever she’s hiding must be very personal, especially if it’s the reason her relation with Michael is so strained. If you pressure her, you will do more harm than good. This is a delicate situation, so do try and be careful.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Good,” she reiterated. She looked at the clock. It read 16:25, almost time for the session to end. “Unless you have anymore questions, I think we can call it here. No homework for this session – I think you’ve already given yourself work enough.”

  X

  I sat on a bench outside, waiting for Mom in the carpark near the therapist’s office. I was listening to the news – well, something like the news.

  “-here to tell you about the new clashes in this gang war, this time between the Jannacht and Dead Hive in Charm’s Riverside!” the NurTube newsfluencer said way too enthusiastically as he gestured toward pits and patches of green-and-purple glowing asphalt. “It was right around here on Aberdeen’s edge that the hiver Hexeminar and Syndicate villain Trinitall fought, to five unlucky Jannacht henchies’ tragic demises! The heroes, late as always, managed to scare off the villains right before Hexeminar’s deadly drones could deliver the deathblow – how sad! Now, the only one the Jannacht haven’t fought yet is Magistry, for obvious reasons – even the great Jannacht Syndicate fear our resident cultists’ awesome power!”

  Normally, I would listen to more reputable sources like the Charm Announcement Service or something, but unfortunately for everyone this guy had gotten the scoop on it. I mean, he thought Magistry was a local instead of international gang, so he clearly wasn’t as well informed as he thought he was. And the fact that he didn’t include Trinitall’s capture by the heroes spoke to another clear bias of his.

  On normal days, I would take the subway and a bus to get back home, but with the continuous escalation of the Jannacht and the other gangs… well, Mom was getting a bit paranoid.

  Which was somewhat odd. Sure, the fights were bad, but so far they hadn’t affected civilian life much. Almost all the fighting had been masked versus masked, henchies versus henchies (yes, law enforcement were henchies), with very little of it spilling over – as long as people’s businesses weren’t involved with the gangs that is. Aside from a few scratches, scares and the rare broken bone, there’d been no real civilian casualties, and any harm they did catch was either because of their own involvement in the underworld, or because of mundane side effects, like a car crashing near a shootout.

  The only exception so far was the latest bombing – the fourth since the trainyard battle three-and-a-half weeks ago kicked off fighting in earnest. And no, it wasn’t Nth-Sight; that had been the first thing we checked.

  Strangely, what was peculiar about this one wasn’t its targets – Magnifoil Systems, Bayside Charmers Consultancy, klj Designers and TLO99 Services were all companies that could be fronts – but the way the heroes responded. Their street-level presence and number of patrols had increased enormously, they were patrolling in larger groups, and there had been an announcement of closer cooperation between the Wardens and Guardians to fight the Jannacht.

  In fact, it was thanks to that heightened cooperation that Trinitall had been captured today.

  Still, it was disproportionate compared to their previous responses. Sure, the bomb was bigger and had targeted multiple business at the same time, but their effects were still minor. And it wasn’t like there had been social or political outrage calling for the heroes to react that severely. Even after combining it with the other three bombings, the average civilian still felt they had little to worry about as long as the Treaty held. And as long as they believed the Treaty held.

  The news was a good example of that, actually. Though the newsfluencer was a bit over the top, even the CAS was on the edge of sensationalism when discussing masked battles, albeit with a heavy dose of ‘be careful’, ‘don’t go outside at night if you can help it’ and ‘obey the curfew in the areas it’s been called’.

  Another example was what was going on at school. You just needed to listen in the halls at the talk of the students to know that they weren’t really worried about the battles affecting their lives. Instead, they argued about where certain heroes and villains were seen those days, talked about battles that both did and didn’t make the news, and, of course, discussed which masked would defeat another in a fight and how their powers would interact with each other.

  Both reflected the general attitude more broadly; that of a mix of wariness and morbid curiosity. The Treaty prevented masked from going after civilians, and like with any gang, there were too few general members to really threaten all of the city. So as long as you stayed indoors and under city shields during fights, why not enjoy some of the spectacle from the safety of your own home?

  Of course, such an attitude only lasts until the unassuming office across the street suddenly blows up. But Charm is a large city, its population nearing two million people. There were too many streets that needed blowing up before civilians would start getting worried. And even when things did get rough – like in Northside recently – people didn’t fear for their lives or anything.

  Except Mom, because of course. She wasn’t as ‘chill’ – Saga’s words – about it as the average civilian. Which made sense considering her job. Charm’s Urban Search and Rescue was working overtime – literally, if Mom’s example was anything at all like the average.

  All of that to say, Mom demanded she pick me up from therapy. For my safety and her peace of mind.

  Two short beep-beeps and a quick flash of the headlights announced Mom’s arrival. I picked up my schoolbag and walked to the car, opening the door on the passenger’s side.

  Immediately, I was blasted with old synth-pop playing far too loud.

  “Heya Sammy,” Mom said, turning off the music – thank God. “How’d it go?”

  I threw my bag on the backseat and sat down next to Mom.

  “Fine,” I said, thinking about what to say exactly, and what to avoid saying. Mom backed up the car and made way towards the carpark’s exit. “Talked about progress with hobbies and stuff, and did that spinning wheel thing again.”

  We exited the parking lot. “The problem-solving one or the feeling one?”

  “Problem-solving,” I said, watching the office towers slowly go by as we headed north. “Did one about confrontation with a friend, what you do if you don’t like something, and one about lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Mom asked, taking another left.

  “Yeah.” I stared out of the window as we headed up the ramp for the intercity highway.

  Quiet filled the air.

  “Sooo… anything else you talked about?”

  I hesitated. Part of me wanted to rip off the proverbial band-aid, while another part wanted to procrastinate on having the conversation until the end of time. I didn’t even know why I couldn’t just be direct with Mom. It’s not like she’d become angry, I don’t think – she’d never gotten angry before at least. But there was something deeply uncomfortable about this exact topic to Mom, which made me uncomfortable in turn. But even then, it shouldn’t be enough for me to try and avoid the conversation altogether, I don’t think.

  But apparently, that level of introspection was still beyond me. I wished not for the first time that my creator had given me greater access to my personality matrix, but alas.

  “Something wrong Sammy?” Mom asked.

  “No, it’s just…” Know what? Now’s as good as time as any. Even if it wasn’t the ideal place as proscribed by Marianne. “I’ve been talking with Michael sometimes, you know?”

  Mom nodded, smiling. “I know! I’m very proud of you! It’s great to see that-!” she began brightly, then cut herself off and tensed as she saw my expression. “What’s wrong? You two not getting along?”

  “It’s fine. He can be annoying sometimes, but that’s normal for sibling.” Or so I’d been told. “But… when I try asking him what his problem with you is, he refuses to say. And it’s bugging me.”

  “Oh Sammy,” Mom said. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. It’s just- like I said before, there’s a lot of hurt there from the time you and your dad disappeared. It’s not the kind of thing that can be solved just like that.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Can’t you just… talk about it or something?”

  “I want to Sammy, but…” she hesitated, probably trying to find a way to not blame Michael for his reluctance. “But it’s not that easy, okay?”

  “Why?” I asked again, prodding further. “Why can’t you two just talk it out?”

  But I might’ve made my prodding a bit too forced. “What are you asking, Sammy?”

  The direct route it was. “Michael said he wanted to explain, but that he couldn’t. That it was something you had to tell me.”

  Silence returned, the sound of Mom tapping her ring against the steering wheel in irritation the only noise present in the car. Outside, traffic had slowed considerably, rush hour meaning we’d be stuck here for some time yet.

  “It’s not…” Mom began with a sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, Sam. It’s just…” Her hands tightened around the steering wheel.

  “Just what?” I asked.

  Mom pulled a hand through her hair. “I-I just… I can’t tell you. I want to, but… I can’t. Not yet.”

  A spike of anger went through me like a nail. “Why? Why can’t you tell me?” I asked bitterly. Unreasonably. “Why’re you hiding things from me?” Petulantly.

  Mom’s head snapped to me. “Stop it, Sam! God…” She turned her eyes back to the road, her hand squeezing the bridge of her nose. It was the first time I’d seen her genuinely upset with me. “Just… just drop it, alright?”

  It felt like a punch to the gut. Worse, even. I felt myself flush, a core of heat burning harder and harsher than Drake’s flames had burned my skin. I wrung my hands nervously, my eyes lowered and head turned away from Mom.

  The car was silent for a moment

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” she said softly. “I-I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I know how difficult it is to ask personal questions to those you love, and I think it was really brave that you went ahead and did it anyway.” Her voice was hoarse as she said it, but the pride felt genuine. "But I- everyone has boundaries, you know? Lines they don’t want others to cross, things you don’t want others to know. And that’s perfectly normal – natural, even.”

  From my peripherals, I saw her head turn back to me. “And I know it might not look like it sometimes, but I really, really try and respect yours. To let you come to me when you’re ready to share whatever’s on your mind, instead of- of badgering you with questions at every step. And I have those lines too, so I hope you can respect them in turn.”

  I nodded, gaze still lowered.

  Mom sighed and I felt a hand brush my hair. “I’ll try a bit harder, okay? I’ll talk about it with my therapist and… and see if she can help figure things out. Try to confront things a bit more.” She bent down and kissed me on the top of my head. “If my baby daughter can be so brave, surely so can I?” she asked in a babying voice.

  I scoffed. In retaliation she mussed my hair. I batted it away, but like a viper, it struck back. And so, as traffic crawled ever so slowly onward, our battle began.