In my heart maybe, but I wasn't much for that stuff, the pretty words and poetry, but you know what I mean. I didn't see Mom like I was her son, I saw her like a man would, a stranger. One of those guys at the mall who was always watching her, checking my Mom out.Mom was hot, no doubt about that. My friends at school would say stuff, like how they wanted to fuck her, but they didn't say it around me. Not since I'd kicked Dean Harmon's ass. I didn't want to hear that stuff. She was my mom, but more than that, if anyone was going to fuck her it was going to be me. Not one of those punk idiots.And I'd come home from school, being just 15 which has to be the worst age in the world, I'd come home and she'd be there in the kitchen, cooking something up. Wearing those old faded tight jeans and a little t-shirt maybe, showing off her perfect ass and sweet tits.Or maybe she'd be out by the pool, in that little bikini she liked, bright blue with the thong back wedged tight between her round. There was a comfortable if worn looking couch a reclining chair and sturdy wooden coffee table in the center of the room. There were no windows but the flickering candle light illumination intricate and beautiful murals painted onto all of the walls. Sabina and Lily were both amazed by the artwork but their worry for Ethan distracted them from the decor. The woman cleared the coffee table of a few cups and had Bernard lay him out on his back on the flat surface. "You may go," she told Bernard. He paused and looked at Sabina and Lily for a moment then bowed his head and walked back out the door they had entered. The woman knelt and pulled a knife from her boot which oddly seemed to compliment her diaphanous robes. She began cutting Ethan's shirt down the middle from the collar until it fell to the sides revealing his bandaged torso. The bandages covered from his waist to his armpits concealing almost as much of his body as the shirt had. The woman's eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
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