Like Father, Like Son - 33

Declan watched in disbelief as Nicky left the apartment.  

What the hell just happened?

But he knew. And he didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t the fact Nicky had left he didn’t like, although it bothered him more than he might have expected. It was what Nicky had said. It sent him to pacing the apartment like an animal looking for a way out of its cage.

She doesn’t control my life. She upsets it, and me, but I’m the one who’s in control. I only go along with her wishes because it’s easier.

Not true.

True, damn it! It’s just…easier to play along than argue. But… why do I get so angry? Why do I always become so enraged the only release is to kill something?

Because you’re a weakling, a coward, afraid to stand up to her.

She’s my mother.

And?

Declan banged his fist against a doorframe as he passed it. She brought me up.

She trained you to be subservient to her wishes.

I control my life. Me, Declan Hill, I’m in control of my life.

No. You control people and things. That’s it. That’s all of it. But there’s one person you can not control, your mother. And deep inside you know it, so you kill those women, you kill her in absentia. She’s the reason; she made you to do that by her actions. You fear her so much and yet you do nothing about her.

But at the airport… He ran a hand angrily through his hair. Nicky’s right, I knew I could say what I did because…shit…damn it. But I can’t, I can’t kill her. What if… It drove my father insane. His own brother, and it was only his brother. She’s my mother.

It seemed as if hours passed, and for all he knew they had, as he paced, his mind whirling, the same thoughts playing over and over.

  

I’ll go insane if I kill her. I’ll go insane if I don’t. Father, please, what should I do?

“What should I do?” he shouted.

His shout faded to a whimper. He slammed his fist again and again against his thigh, then stopped when his eyes landed on a picture on the wall next in the entryway. A picture his mother had insisted he hang there where everyone could see it as they came into his apartment. Her picture, taken at one of the many charity parties she attended. He tore it off the wall, his hands shaking with rage as he stared at the face he hated beyond all sanity.

“You deserve to die,” he screamed. “If it drives me insane then so be it. I can not go on living in fear of you, you controlling bitch. I can’t!” His voice rose in rage. He smashed the picture against the corner of the wall. As the frame shattered and shards of glass hit the floor he fell to his knees, picking up the photograph, tearing it to shreds. “You. Will. Die.” His words were sharp with promise.