Family Business and Compensation

“What mom?” I asked, rolling my eyes since I knew she couldn’t see me.

“Get down here and do that damn laundry I asked you to take care of 10 minutes ago!” she squawked back up. She was such a pain. I already did that laundry. Was she sane enough to realize it? No, she wasn’t. She may never be that sane again. But I never knew her well enough to know. I had always lived with my dad after the divorce. The court didn’t want me being around a whore like my mom apparently. Now that my dad was dead, and my mom had been married to her fifth husband after she cheated on my dad, for a total of eight. Most of which have mysteriously died. But I know she wasn’t responsible for my dad’s death, though it may be the only one. Even though I was only five years old at the time, making it nine years ago, she still blames me for causing the divorce. Not like she was ever going to get away with it. And what’s worse is that her current husband, Jeremy, has just as bad of a record if not worse. Which basically gets me to present day.

I don’t know my mom very well. She runs a dance studio part time and sells make-up the other part. She doesn’t know much about me either I guess. I like rock, alternative, and that sort of thing. Nickelback and other sorts of death metal. She was into classical. When I danced, I did hip-hop and she did ballet. I loved reading and I read emo books and things that were graphic in anyway. She wasn’t a reader and was into too-good to-be-realistic romance novels. The only things we’ve ever had in common is being violent and having many deaths in our past. Even though I think she’s a murderer. But that’s not where our history ends. Ever since I started living with her about a month ago, she’s been abusing me. Badly.

Anyway, I packed up my track stuff for tomorrow, crawled onto my bed, and went to sleep. I was basically asleep when I heard talking, loud talking, eventually escalating to shouting in the kitchen. Which lets noises conveniently through the airways into my room where I can hear everything.

“Jeremy, what do you want to next weekend for our anniversary?” she said in what my guess was supposed to be a seductive tone.

“I was wanting to go hunting in southern California but you know I have to work.” He said slyly.

“I bet I can strike a deal with you.” She continued in that same tone.

“Really.” He stated with a bit of a challenging air to his voice.

“Yes, really.” She went on. “I’ll stay until the guys putting in the septic tank are gone and then I’ll take some stuff and we’ll both fly and meet up at the beach house. Think of it a second honeymoon.” I heard a pause, then a pop, which I assumed was kissing.

“I think you are a great negotiator. You have your self a deal.” More pauses, and moaning, which was the point I closed the vent on.

No “Mom” and no Jeremy for how long? Who cares! They were going to leave. It didn’t matter how long or why they were going. There would be no asinine man-whore of a step-dad and no abusing bitch of a mom. Maybe once she was gone for a while I could go get help, turn her in and be free. If they don’t believe me then I can just take all of my stuff and run-away with my cousin. It’s not like I had friends here I was going to leave behind. I sure as hell didn’t have a good reputation I would have to remake. It would be great.

“So you’ll leave tonight and I’ll be gone tomorrow.” She whispered.

That was good enough for me.

*

When I woke up the next morning, I felt great despite the awful bruises and slashes my damn mother had left all over me. I walked down the stairs to make myself a pop-tart and then sat at the table. Mom had packed up her stuff and left it by the door so I assumed she was leaving soon. She had some guns lying out, probably just something Jeremy forgot.

“Good morning.” I mumbled as she walked down the stairs from her room into the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare talk to me in that tone of voice!” she screamed.

“Whatever.” I said as I got up and threw my napkin in the trash. She stepped behind me, next to the knife rack.

“Whatever? Whatever?” she asked in a crazed sort of astonishment. “You do not say ‘whatever’ to me you insolent little girl!” she hollered.

“Chill.” I tried to stay calm but it wasn’t really working for me.

“You don’t ever talk to me like this! Ugh! I will teach you respect!” she squealed. Then it hit me: her huge, bony fist square in the nose. I backed slowly into the sink where I abruptly made the mistake of turning and watching the blood not drip, but pour out over the sink and down the drain. Then it started coming so fast there was more in the sink than it could take down in the drain.

“You bitch!” I spat at her furiously. “What the hell is wrong with you? Abusing me the second I walked in this house for something I did when I was five? Why aren’t you in an asylum?!” I asked, still feeling the rage I had flush my cheeks. That’s when she really snapped. She picked up a knife and ran at me with, screaming the whole way. I was too scared, stunned, and a whole bunch of synonyms for the two to move, so she stabbed me in the side.

“YOU BITCH! DAMN!” I wailed. I did the only thing I could do, and with all the blood rushing out of my body that was pushing it. I ran.

“Come back here you coward!” she cried maniacally. I went into the front hall, and saw the gun. I didn’t figure it was loaded or it would do me any good but I picked it up anyway.

“One more step and I shoot.” I threatened, barely audible. “I swear.” It wasn’t going to do me any good. I doubted it was loaded but I could only pray it was. I saw a look of hesitation and fear flicker in her eyes. There was time, and I could’ve used it but I was stupid. She saw my brief moment of relief and charged at me with the knife. Lacking faith in the hope it would do me any good, I did I said I swore I would and pulled the trigger.

BOOM! I was expecting a dry-fire, and for me to be dead, but no. I was alive, but I was the only one in the house who was now, at that particular point in time, going to be within minutes.

I had just murdered my mother.

I must’ve had some of her genes. I got rid of the body, re-opening the hole the new septic tank was buried in and closing it with her body and suitcase. Getting her suitcase I didn’t mind. Her body was creepy as hell though. It had just as much blood as I did. I took out the trash, then cleaned up the blood we had shed between the two of us. I put one trash bad inside the other and then put all the paper towels and used up magic erasers I had in there. Not wanting to get caught, I delivered it straight to the junkyard. Jeremy has evidently died too, went missing, or completely ditched my mom. He never came back. I called my aunt and told her my mom went missing. Knowing what happened between her brother and my mom, she came to live with me with no questions asked. I guess I am like my mom was in a new way: I’m a ruthless murder.

Compensation, in the form of what is now apparently the family business.