the thing
pumbloom-initiative
It was cold that drove Nikita from the safety of the tiny bed Vincent had set up in the corner of what used to be the family dining room. Earlier they had opened the window for some fresh air and Nikita had napped with her head on his chest as they lounged in a warm ray of sunshine. The window had remained unlatched and a cold breeze had shaken the cambion from her fitful sleep. Bone thin fingers re-hooked the latch and she was just drawing the curtains when she heard a voice.
More specifically, she heard her son’s voice, very low as it spoke. Nikita moved closer to the corner, around which was the living room she no longer liked to enter. Very slowly, her head peaked around that corner to see her son pacing up and down the floor with a phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t see his small mother as she listened to him talk.
“Yeah, Dad, I think she’s getting better. She hasn’t cried or screamed at all in a couple of days. … I know, I’m still watching her. … No, not for a couple of weeks. … It’s starting to grow out a bit. It’s not peach fuzzy anymore, it’s grown to the tips of her ears.” Nikita’s hand went to the short strands of hair that had grown in wild fluffs around her head. She was actually surprised to find her son correct, it had begun growing more than she thought.
“I’ve washed it for her a couple of times and she doesn’t seem bothered. It’s actually really soft.” Nikita smiled gently at her son, despite the fact that he couldn’t see her. “I miss you too, Dad.” The smile began to fade on her face. “Maybe in a couple more weeks. … Soon, Dad. Soon. … I love you too.” The telltale click of the phone ended the call and the dark haired boy tossed it down onto the couch.
It was then that Nikita saw his face. Coated in tears, despite the absolute lack of shaking that had been in his voice. It had been completely steady. Nonetheless, his face was red and blotchy with the silent signs of crushing despair. Vincent didn’t see her, the heels of his palms were pressed into his eyes and Nikita recognized the stance. It was the look of gathering oneself before facing something one really wasn’t ready to face.
And that was her. In one instant, everything clicked together. Her. She had done this to her son. Her baby boy. Taking care of him, it had led to this. Now that she looked closely, he resembled his mother in more ways than he had before. Now he was bony like her, his cheeks were hollowed in an unhealthy looking way, his skin was pale. There was a tightness in her throat and chest and she struggled to breathe.
Eros had always promised her she could never do anything to harm their baby. It was how he had convinced her that having a child would be okay. Utter fear that she would destroy that child inadvertently, by failing at motherhood, it had stopped her from wanting children ever since she was a teen, ten thousand years ago. When Vincent had come along and she had held his tiny form in her arms, she had sworn she would protect him no matter what.
He was supposed to be the one to escape all this. He was supposed to lead the brightest and happiest life, to never give into the crushing despair that had haunted his parents. But Nikita had thrust him into the role of her guardian by not being able to stand her husband. Little Vincent had only been eighteen when he started caring for his destroyed mother. Nineteen now, he was giving in to what she and Eros had struggled to keep away from him for so long. Hatred at what she had done filled her chest until she felt she would vomit there on the carpet.
It was her fault. She did this to him. She had destroyed her baby. She had lost the protective mother side of her and Vincent had begun to care for her, to protect her. Everything was so backwards now. She had failed her baby boy. Sick with the thoughts in her head, Nikita stumbled back to the bed in the corner before Vincent could know that she had seen him. She fell heavily on top of the covers, curling into herself before a storm of weeping overcame her.
She cried for her baby boy, for her failure. Her body shook and she gasped with her inability to breathe. Her nails dug into her scalp, her hatred for everything she had done bubbling up all at once. She didn’t hear Vincent come in, but he alerted her by gently rubbing his hand up and down her bicep, a slow, soothing motion. This caused her to cry all the harder and she was almost positive that she heard a nearly inaudible sigh of exhaustion.
Vincent crawled into the tiny bed with her, wrapping his arms around his shaking, gasping mother. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m here. You’re safe.” Burying her head in his chest, Nikita felt sick with the words he said to her. She was supposed to be the protector, the comforter, not her son. This wasn’t his job. Despite that, he wore soothing circles into her back, whispering words he thought were comfort to the cambion.
Slowly, her weeping passed and the two were just laying together, Nikita with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep, and Vincent with his face hidden in her hair. After waiting near two hours, she realized that her son would not sleep. Had she truly taken that from him too? How tired he must be, how exhausted. He was always there in her midnight terrors, he mustn’t have slept in all this time.
For the first time since the gods had finished with her and tossed her out like a piece of garbage, Nikita’s magic pushed out. It wrapped soothingly around Vincent, coaxing him slowly into sleep. His mother waited until his breathing was even and his arms limp around her before wiggling out of his embrace. She brushed the dark hair out of his face to see the dark circles beneath his eyes. How had she never noticed before what she was doing to him?
Leaving him to the first sleep he had had in months, Nikita entered the living room. This room was easier for her than the bedroom, she still couldn’t go in there. But Vincent had worked her up to going in here most days. She crossed to the couch where Vincent had discarded his phone. Her fingers were fumbling and unsure as she slid the button to unlock it.
She held the phone to her ear, listening to the ring on the other side. There were only two short rings before a voice picked up on the other side.
“Vincent? You never call twice in one night. Are you okay? Is your mother okay?” Nikita swallowed deeply, closing her eyes to steel herself.
“Eros, it’s me. It’s Nikita.”
