This is a work of fiction created by the author
All characters involved in sexual acts are over the age of 18.
I woke up next morning my heart hammering against my ribs.
I slammed my hands onto my chest, trying to cage the frantic thumping, Was that a NIGHTMARE?!!
My own bedroom stared back at me, alien and wrong. Wide-eyed, I didn't recognize a goddamn thing.
Yes it had to be a nightmare, sure it was although the details were slippery, vanished like smoke.
Or what I felt at that moment was just a reaction to what happened to me last night, was it a nightmare too.
I hauled myself up, gasping for air, clinging to the lie that what happened from my kids were a nightmare and already gone
But as the panic started to recede, the more I thought about what happened the more I knew it was real.
It was too much for me, what my children did to me, what they told me, how they feel towards me, GOD.
Suddenly, the truth slammed into me: I was the goddamn living dead in their world.
I knew nothing, nothing about the sick filth they'd become.
My own mother, drilled by my sons. My daughter, a fucking whore for her brothers. And instead of any shred of remorse, they'd dared to rape me, the cunts, then they had the courage to spat in my face what they called a truth, calling me the worst mother in the world.
I shook my head violently, as if I could physically eject the reality with sheer willpower, but the throbbing ache deep inside, the raw, burning soreness between my legs, screamed the truth.
It wasn't a dream. It was real, and now the monstrous reality was here, breathing down my neck.
I fell back onto the bed, staring at the blank ceiling, my mind a goddamn whirlwind of impossible questions. How in the holy hell was I supposed to live with this? Forgive them?!! They should be begging for my forgiveness, the sick bastards.
Could I even stand living between them joining their twisted incestuous life,?!!! Or was the only sane thing to run, to leave this festering shithole behind and never look back?
"Why the fuck should I care anymore?" The thought echoed, a cold, hard stone in my heart.
My youngest twins were nineteen, practically twenty, each with their own lives, their own selfish pursuits. They could rot for all I cared. They could well take care of themselves.
It was time that I was waiting since I lost Mike, time to follow him to the other world, to finally leave this godforsaken world behind.
That had always been my escape plan, and now, with this fresh hell, it felt like the universe itself was screaming, NOW IS THE TIME
They'd had the audacity to say I was half-dead, stuck between their depravity and the life I once knew.
But NO, the ignorant mother fuckers were wrong. I was already dead inside.
My soul had died the day Mike left, and for so long, I'd been a goddamn ghost, living only for them.
But they didn't want that anymore, they didn't appreciate a goddamn thing I'd done, and in some twisted, fucked-up way, I could almost understand it.
I'd done my best, raising them in this shit world, even if it wasn't what they wanted, but now, the well was dry.
There was nothing left to give, not a single drop. It was time to walk away, FOR GOOD.
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Six AM. Like every morning since he left. I dressed, the familiar ritual a cold comfort, preparing for my pilgrimage to Mike's grave.
I walked into the kitchen, seeking desperately for my morning coffee, but once I stepped in the kitchen I froze.
Mom was already there, hunched over the counter.
She looked like absolute shit -- dark circles under her eyes, face blotchy, like she hadn't slept a wink. I felt a pity for her for as moment, she was my mother, the woman who brought me to life the woman who took care of my kids and helped me raising them.
God, I just remembered her with Mike Jr dick in her pussy, and all the sympathy inmy heart for her vanished, the rage surged back, a boiling tide. No pity for that fucking whore.
"Good morning, Jessie,"
she mumbled, her voice weak and hesitant as I stepped fully into the kitchen.
"Morning," I clipped out, not even bothering to look at her, just focusing on the coffee machine, "About last night..." she started, her voice cracking, her face flushing and paling by turns.
"I just... I wanted to ask you something."
I finally turned, my gaze flat and cold, pinning her where she stood.
Let her squirm, let her drown in the filth she helped create.
She faltered under my stare, her eyes darting around like a trapped rat. A long, agonizing silence stretched between us before she finally choked out,
"Do you... do you still want me out of the house?" Her voice trembled, a pathetic whimper barely holding back tears.
I stared at her for what felt like an eternity, a wave satisfaction washed my chest as I watched her writhe in her own discomfort.
Then, while locking my gaze to her I shook my head.
I drained the last bitter drop of my coffee and walked out of the kitchen without a single word.
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I spilled it all to Mike, every single detail of the horror they'd inflicted.
I sat beside his cold grave, the words pouring out of me like poison.
I needed him to answer, needed his voice, his guidance, hoped, in some desperate corner of my broken mind, that he'd reach through the silence and tell me what the fuck to do.
I waited. And waited. Just like the last twenty years, when he always had an answer, a steady hand.
I expected a sign, any fucking sign. A breeze, a bird call, anything to break through this suffocating reality, but there was only silence.
Thirty minutes passed into the quiet of the cemetery. I sat there, a statue of grief and rage, watching the dead world around me, oblivious to the storm inside me. And still, nothing.
"Answer me, you son of a bitch!" I finally roared,
The raw frustration ripping from my throat, echoing in the sterile quiet. but the only response was the crushing emptiness of the grave, the deafening silence of the dead.
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I dragged myself home, feeling like absolute dogshit.
I'd gone to Mike's grave expecting... something.
Approval. A sign. Maybe a goddamn butterfly flitting past, a bird singing a specific tune, even a single rose falling from a nearby tree.
Anything to tell me he was happy I'd be joining him soon,but that cemetery had been a tomb of silence this morning, colder and deader than usual.
By the time I walked through the front door, it was nearly eight.
I was already late for my daily routine but honestly, who gave a fuck about schedules anymore? What did anything matter?
They were all gathered in the living room, a goddamn ambush, waiting for me,.
I ignored their pathetic gathering, heading straight for the stairs, needing the sanctuary of my bedroom to change for the pointless charade of work.
Breakfast? How in the living hell could I eat with them after what they'd done, after they'd violated me in my own home?
"MOM, can we have a word?" Mike JR's voice, dripping with false concern, snagged me as I reached the first step.
I flicked a look over my shoulder, my eyes burning daggers, before continuing my ascent without a single goddamn syllable.
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When I finally dragged my exhausted body back home at six pm, the same goddamn scene awaited me in the living room.
But this time, Sam and Chris were there too.
The reinforcements had arrived. They must've called in the fucking cavalry.
I made a beeline for the stairs, but Chris, his massive frame a solid wall, blocked my path.
"MOM, we're here. Can't you even say hi to me and Sam?" His voice was deceptively gentle.
I tried to sidestep him, but he didn't budge, a silent, imposing obstacle.
I locked my gaze with his, the anger a molten core inside me, and spat,
"Move aside, kid."
He shook his head slowly, his expression almost pleading.
"Sorry, Mom, but not until we talk. Or at least promise me you'll talk to us tonight. We don't want you disappearing into your room like you usually do."
I glared at him, the simmering rage threatening to boil over. Through gritted teeth, I hissed,
"Or what? You'll fucking rape me again?"
Chris's eyes widened, the accusation hitting him like a physical blow.
He flicked his gaze towards Mike Jr. for a split second, a silent accusation hanging in the air between them, before tears welled up.
His voice cracked, raw with pain as he begged,
"Mom, we're your sons, your babies... please, don't do this to us."
Tears streamed down his face, and a sharp pang of guilt twisted in my gut.
How could I resist that raw pain? How could I turn away from my own child's tears?
His words started to chip away at the icy wall I'd built, but just as quickly, I slammed down my resolve.
With a sudden, brutal surge of fury, I slapped his face with the full force of my despair and rage. The crack of the slap echoed in the tense silence.
"Get out of my fucking way, you son of a bitch!" I screamed, my voice raw with pain and fury.
Chris stared at me, pure terror in his eyes.
It was the first time I had ever struck him -- any of them. Even through all the goddamn chaos, they had only ever known tenderness and love from me.
He recoiled, clutching his reddened cheek, his massive body finally moving aside.
I lifted my chin, my tattered dignity my only shield, and walked up the stairs to my bedroom, leaving them in the wreckage of their actions.
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The moment the door clicked shut, sealing me in the suffocating silence of my room, my legs buckled.
