Twisted Scars by Natalie J. Reddy

Author:Natalie J. Reddy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Natalie J. Reddy

I rubbed my forehead as I walked down the stairs towards the kitchen. My mind wouldn’t stop racing, and I couldn’t sleep. I’d laid in bed, my mind swimming with questions and what-ifs about the raid in the morning. My brain seemed to conjure up every possible way the raid could go wrong. What if it wasn’t actually the Resistance compound? What if they weren’t there when we got there? What if they were there when we got there? What if my friends got captured? Or hurt? Or killed? What if Wren did? But worse of all was, what if we failed? What would happen to Jyoti? Or Wren? What if she really was a prisoner and needed help and we weren’t able to save her? I wasn’t sure when I’d become the type of person who always felt the constant strain of stress and couldn’t even escape for a few blissful hours of sleep. I felt old. Like my soul was aging and shriveling up.

I shoved through the kitchen door and halted to a stop, cursing myself for not peeking in first. My mother stood at the kitchen counter, a rose-printed china cup and saucer in her hand.

“Darshan?” She lifted a dark brow. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I shrugged. “I thought I’d grab something to eat.”

“You shouldn’t eat before bed, have some tea instead.” She got up from her seat and rounded the kitchen island. “I’ll get you a cup.”

“I don’t want any tea, Mother.” I heaved a sigh as I headed into the pantry. I dug around until I found a box of chocolate chip cookies and carried them out.

My mother’s brow pinched as she closed the cupboard and settled herself back on the stool. She picked up her cup and took a tiny sip. “Junk food like that is why you can’t sleep.”

“I’ll take my chances.” I headed towards the door. “Goodnight.”

“You’re not going to stay and talk with your mother?” she called after me.

I stopped, not looking at her, the cookie box clutched in my hands. “Talk about what?”

“You don’t know how to talk to your own mother?”

I turned. “Will talking change anything? Because I have been talking, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve been listening.”

“A mother hears everything her children have to say,” she fiddled with her teacup, “but sometimes she knows better.”

“Better?” I scoffed.

“Yes, son, better. I’ve lived longer than you, or have you forgotten how to respect your elders?”

“I respect my elders just fine. But just because I respect you doesn’t mean I have to respect your decisions.”

My mother sipped her tea and set her cup back on the saucer with a soft clink. “Which decision of mine do you not respect?”

“You know exactly which one.” I glared. When my mother didn’t answer, I tossed the cookies on the counter. “Jyoti.”

“Jyoti,” she sighed. “I don’t know why your sister’s happiness is so upsetting to you.”

“Because she isn’t happy, and you know it!” I growled. I spun away from her and strode for the door.

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