CHAPTER EIGHT
His mother was in her bedroom, watching one of her stupid morning game shows. Her bedroom was in the back of the house, off in the farthest corner, and the noise filled the rest of the house like a muted explosion. She’d laugh every now and then, laughter that would morph into her loud, dry coughs. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to him. Every time he heard it, he wished she’d die. Maybe he’d finally get the courage to kill her in her sleep—to place a pillow over her stupid fat face or to just hold his strong hands over her nose and mouth and watch her suffocate.
It had nothing to do with a lack of courage, though. He had all the courage in the world. What it came down to was that he loved her. He loved his mother very much; she just got annoying and extremely inco
