The Love of a Son (Haunted Dreams x Fetish Kitten)

[Fetish Kitten]

Anne sank into the couch, the narrow neck of the Merlot firmly clutched in her hand, her wineglass abandoned on the coffee table, a dark red ring staining the manilla envelope with her name on it. Her long, rusty auburn hair fell over her shoulders in a haphazard tumble, candles casting flickering highlights in the tresses. Her eyes were red and puffy as she wiped at them again.

She leaned forward to pour herself another glass of wine, one bottle already emptied. She traded the half-full bottle for the glass and sipped it as she picked up the television remote. A frozen image showed a woman, may years her junior but with the same beautiful hair, small waist, and wide hips smiling brilliantly in a long, beautiful white gown, a light veil pushed back over her hair. Her arm was coiled through that of a tall, dark-haired man whose smile did not reach his predatory grey eyes.

She pushed play and laughter and applause filled the room as they walked down the isle, exiting the church. Anne wiped at her tears again as she took another long sip of white. Her blouse was rumpled, unbuttoned so that her cleavage was evident but not scandalously so. Her skirt was tight at the wast but flared until it reached her knees, her beautiful, manicured feet bare. She tucked her toes between the couch cushions as she attempted not to cry loudly. She knew that her son could home any time.

Guiltily, her eyes flickered to the door, and she considered moving to her bedroom, but she found she just didn't have the energy to pull herself there. She took another sip of her glass only to find it empty as she stared blankly at the wedding video.

 

[Haunted Dreamer]

Andrew loved his Mother.

Coming home was something heartbreaking to that young man, but it was not for him that his heart broke. It was for her. He knew his Mother hurt deep inside and he could not help but share in that pain. It radiated out of his very core, it was something that often touched his face when they were in the room together. This young man who seemed to have all the empathy his Father lacked, this young man with the very same grey eyes that reminded her of him. He tried to console her, often touching her hand or hugging her in the times when he saw her stiffen just the tiniest of bits at a reminder of what she had lost.

He often knew that deep down he did nothing for her and always made it worse.

It was this young man who returned home from going out and watching the Avengers. This young man who intellectually was brilliant, who had played sports all his life and had the physique of a walking bull, and seemed rather popular. He was a young man who did not seem to lack for anything, save for the love of a Father and a Mother who pined for him. He had never understood why he had not measured up to the wishes of his Father. Perhaps it was the lack of a cutthroat demeanor, an unwillingness to just be cruel. That might be why his Father disapproved of him.

Or maybe his Father was merely jealous that the son might be a better man.

Regardless, he noted his Father once more was not at home....the fourth night in a row. It was his parent's anniversary, he should be here should he not? He paused, frowning as he got out of his car and looked around at the quiet house...before walking inside, there would be no doubts as to where his mother was. No doubts as to how she felt as he entered the room and saw her and he just stood there for a moment before whispering.

"Mom...what happened?"

 

[Fetish Kitten]

Anne, even having expected her son, started guiltily at the sound of his voice. She quickly turned off the tv, throwing the room into near complete darkness as she almost spilled her wine. She set the glass down quickly, wiping at her tears with both hands, trying to clear them from her face, and clearing smeared mascara as well. She sniffled and attempted to pull herself together, but as she stood she swayed unsteadily, sinking back into the soft couch. A bottle and a half of wine had left her less than capable.

She looked up at her son, her eyes meeting his, and what was left of her heart shattered. She began to sob as she sank in on herself, trying to pick up the envelope on the table, but knocking over her wine, instead. It quickly soaks into the envelope, and the documents, intensifying her reaction.

"Oh no! no!" She sobbed, sinking to her knees between the couch an the table. "Divorce... I've ruined the divorce... p-... papers." She wiped at the wine but smeared it further, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She only seemed to grow more upset by the moment, rising too quickly and growing dizzy as she dashed for a towel. She tripped at the edge of the couch, toppling forward, little hope of catching herself on anything close by.

 

[Haunted Dreamer]

Well he was the one who was there to catch her. Him. Not his Father, not anyone else. No friend was there, no relative, just the young man she had helped raise. He moved quickly to catch her, holding her and pulling her near. There was no room for confusion at that particular moment, his Mother needed him and he would be there for her. His fingers slid to grip behind her shoulders, his large arms comforting as he brought her up from that fall and against his chest and then he just stood there with her.

How many men would have done that, how many men would have stood there with the woman to comfort her and just reassure themselves of her happiness? Oh, there were so many reactions that a person could take. He could rage, sit her aside and demand to know why his Father was such a shit bag. He could be dismissive, uncaring and cruel, perhaps even blaming her for it. He could be hurt, upset himself, and needing comfort. But no, not this particular young man. This particular young man said only one thing, only one thing for her.

"Shhhh, it's okay Mom...shh...I love you. It's okay."

The words were said quietly, not with a hint of desperation or weakness but with the overall certainty that it was a true statement. Things would be okay, he would see to it. If his Mother need him to step up and take care of her in this moment then he would. Who cared about the divorce papers, there were always more to be printed. Who cared about the wine falling to the floor, or the man who had left them....all that mattered was the two of them, cast together in this moment...and he was there for her. Pulling her close and laying her head on his shoulder, comforting the woman he called Mother.