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Stan silently laid on his back, staring up at his ceiling from where he was on his bed. He tossed a baseball up in the air and caught it in his hand, as he had been doing for the past thirty minutes to pass the time. He was really starting to get worried.
His mother was supposed to be home hours ago. At first he’d been perfectly fine with her staying out late because that meant he could stay up and play on his computer longer. At least, that was until about forty five minutes ago when Shelly had walked into his room and told him that she had to go pick up their mom because ‘something was wrong’.
Stan was known for overthinking things, and the first thing that came to mind was that his mom had gotten beaten or raped or roofied or something . So yeah, he was worried.
He huffed quietly and let the ball roll out of his hand and onto the floor, getting up as he decided that he needed some water so he could relax. His mom was probably fine , she always was.
So with that optimistic thought in mind, he goes downstairs to the kitchen and gets a glass out of the cabinet, filling it with some cold water and taking small sips at a time.
He looks over at the garage door when it suddenly opens, seeing his mom quickly stumble through it and upstairs to her room as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. She was speaking to Stan quickly, not even looking at him as she starts repeating the same thing over and over again, “Please don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, please please please -“
Her voice cuts out when she goes into her room, he heard muffled noises but couldn’t make out any more words.
He slowly walked upstairs after a moment of silence, standing in the doorway of his parents room as he cautiously called out, “Mom..?”
The response was quick, “Stanley please don’t come in here. I don’t want your empathy!” She yelled, loud sobs escaping her lips afterwards.
Stan was so confused, he didn’t understand at all what was going on.
He then looks at Shelly when she finally came inside the house and up the stairs with them, seeing her throw their mother’s favorite pair of heels on the floor with a bored expression on her face.
“She’s drunk.” Was all she said, moving past Stan and into the room so she could find their mom.
Stan slowly backed away from the situation, drunk adults never seemed to end well in his experience.
“Bring him in here! I WANT STANLEY! BRING HIM HERE! ” His mothers loud wails echoed through the house, making Stan whine quietly as he slowly trudged back into the room.
Shelly was leaning against the open bathroom door connected to the bedroom, unimpressed eyes staring down at Sharon and not moving away from her even as Stan pushed his way inside to slowly sit down by their mom.
Sharon was sobbing on the cold tiles, naked from the waist down and laying on her side. She was saying everything and nothing all at once, incoherent babbles leaving her mouth.
It hurt to watch. It made Stan want to cry, but he didn’t. This wasn’t about him. He needed to take care of his mom.
His sister started ordering his mother around, telling her sit up, put her pants back on, try to go to bed.
That hurt even more.
His sister talking down to his mother like she was a child made him feel uncomfortable. He knew that if his mom was in the right state of mind, she wouldn’t have accepted that from her daughter.
Sharon started talking to Shelly about how grateful she was that she was here, how much she loved her and appreciated her. How proud she was of what her baby was becoming.
Then she looked at Stan.
And god he wished she didn’t.
Her eyes were fully red and puffy, and one of her false eyelashes had come off due to her tears. Her eyes couldn’t stay focused on anything for more than a few seconds before they traveled somewhere else.
She’d never looked like this before.
All his life he was used to her being the strong one, someone he could rely on when he had nowhere else to go.
And here she was, crying on the floor about how tired she was of life, about how he and Shelly didn’t understand because they were too young. About how much she loved them, but she was tired. Oh so tired .
And he wanted to cry again.
He loved his mom more than anything. To see her like this made his heart break.
They eventually got some pajama shorts on her and got her to stand up. Shelly brought her to bed and laid her down, barking an order at Stan to go get some water for her.
Stan did as told, going back downstairs and grabbing his unfinished glass of still cold water sitting on the counter. He put one of their little plastic bendy straws in it before bringing it back up to the bedroom.
He crouched next to their mom’s bed and brought the straw up to her lips, “You need some water, Mom. Please.”
She obediently drank a little bit, almost half the glass before she stopped and he set it on the nightstand for later.
“Go to bed, Stan. I have her from here.” Shelly told him, a bit sternly as her eyes still stayed on their mother.
“But-“ Stan was prepared to argue, but Sharon spoke up, “Go to bed baby, I’m alright.” Her voice was soft and quiet.
The urge to cry came up again.
She’s not alright. He knows she isn’t.
But he gets up anyways, says goodnight, and leaves the room.
He tiptoes to his room, and the moment the door closes, the tears start spilling.
It’s a silent cry, but he felt the need to let it out.
He sat on his bed and stared at the ceiling, just like he did before this all happened.
“Not you too, Mama.” He bites his lip as the tears spill faster, not a whimper or a hiccup of any kind leaving his mouth. The cry stays silent. Even when he hears his mom start to sob again, even when he hears her yelling at his sister even though he can’t make out the words.
Even then, he doesn’t make a sound.
“Please. Please , not you too.”