Her head is in his lap. He pats her gently. Smoothing down her hair. Her even breaths almost lull him to sleep. Almost.
It has been so long since he has been in her warm embrace. Listening to her steady heartbeat. It has been so long since she held him till he fell asleep.
He can feel her drool on his leg. The night feels like that drool. Sticky. Like he cannot wipe past it.
She snores gently. He smiles a little at the sound. He actually wants to be here. Every night she goes to bed without any thought of him.
His back aches from sitting to long. He tries to adjust his posture. The wall is cold. Cold like his home. Cold like the long forgotten dinner on the table. A simple soup. He spots a fly hovering above the bowl. He looks away.
She moans a little. Discomfort evident in her voice. strong smell of ammonia hits his nose. He knows already. A dark puddle of liquid where she is sleeping. The first time it happened, he wondered how a woman like her could dirty her pants like that. But now he is used to it. Used to smelling her urine almost every night. Used to helping her wipe the mess clean the morning after.
His stomach growls. With a forlorn look towards the soup, he swallows his hunger. Bite after bite.
Clock strikes. It’s 2am. Four more hours until she starts stirring in his lap. Five more hours till she wakes up. And exactly 5 hours and 5 minutes till she hugs him and starts crying with shame. With anger directed at herself.
This has been going on for so long. Still he doesn’t understand why she does it every night. Maybe he never will. He sighs.
‘Grownups are weird’ thinks the seven-year old as he plays connect the dots on his mother’s needle-punctured arm.
