Scars of his father

Chapter 2 THE MEN WHO VISITED WHEN HIS FATHER LEFT

Selma squeezed his face the moment he heard a man laughing inside his mother’s bedroom. It was noon, his father was supposed to be at the workshop and his mother was supposed to be alone.

The laughter came again, low, comfortable, too comfortable. Selma stood in confused in the narrow hallway with his school bag hanging from one shoulder. Sweat clung to the back of his neck from the long walk home under the afternoon sun, but suddenly his body felt cold, very cold.

Another sound followed the creak of the bed. Then Matilde’s voice drifted through the door soft, playful. A voice Selma had never heard her use on Rafael.

“You worry too much,” she said between quiet laughs.

A man answered something too low for Selma to hear clearly. Then both of them laughed again. Selma’s fingers slowly tightened around the strap of his bag.

The apartment suddenly smelled different today. Masculine cologne mixed with his mother’s perfume, the scent sat heavily in the air, he stared at the bedroom door. His parents’ bedroom.

The same room where Rafael slept after twelve-hour shifts. The same bed where Selma sometimes jumped as a child while both parents laughed beside him another creak came from inside.

Longer this time followed by a muffled sound that made his chest tighten strangely. Selma swallowed hard, he knew even at eleven.

His feet moved backward slowly before his mind could process anything else. He slipped quietly toward the kitchen and dropped his school bag beside the table without making noise.

The laughter continued from the bedroom. His breathing grew shallow, he opened the refrigerator just to give himself something to do. Cold air brushed his face, half a bottle of water, nothing else.

Behind him, the bed creaked again then Matilde gasped softly. Selma slammed the refrigerator shut immediately. His pulse hammered violently now.

He grabbed the bottle and drank directly from it, but the water suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth. The bedroom door opened, Selma nearly choked.

He wiped his mouth quickly and turned around just as Matilde stepped into the hallway wearing a loose silk robe. Her hair looked messy. Lips slightly swollen.

She froze the moment she saw him. For one long second, mother and son simply stared at each other. Something unreadable flashed across her face, shock then irritation.

“Why are you home early?” she asked sharply.

Selma’s throat felt dry. “School closed early.” Matilde adjusted the robe tighter around her chest. From behind the bedroom door, the deep male voice called casually. “Everything okay?”

Selma felt his stomach twist again. Matilde didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on Selma. Then she finally spoke without looking back.

“Yes.”

Silence, heavy silence. Selma could hear his own heartbeat now thump. Matilde folded her arms slowly. “Well?” she snapped. “Why are you staring?” Selma lowered his eyes immediately.

“I’m hungry.”

“Then eat something.” “There’s no food.” Her expression hardened instantly. “So now you want to complain too?” Selma shook his head quickly.

“No.” “Good.” She walked toward him, heels tapping softly against the floor tiles. The closer she got, the stronger the unfamiliar cologne smelled. Selma resisted the urge to step back, Matilde leaned closer.

“You will not tell your father about visitors in this house,” she said quietly, not loudly, not angrily. That made it worse. Selma looked up slowly, her eyes carrying a warning inside them, a cold warning.

“He already has enough problems,” she continued. “Don’t add unnecessary stress to his life.”

The bedroom door opened wider behind her. A tall man stepped out adjusting the buttons of his shirt sleeves. Selma immediately recognized him.

Uncle Femi, not really family. Just one of the men who sometimes greeted his mother too warmly downstairs. Femi smiled awkwardly the moment he saw Selma.

“Well look how big you’ve grown.” Selma said nothing.

The man cleared his throat and reached for his shoes near the couch. Matilde moved casually toward the mirror hanging beside the dining table and fixed her lipstick as if nothing strange had happened, as if Selma hadn’t heard everything. Femi slipped on his shoes quickly.

“I should get going.” Matilde nodded absentmindedly. “Call me later.”

The words dropped naturally from her lips. Too naturally, Selma watched Femi glance at him one last time before heading for the door.

The apartment suddenly felt suffocating. The moment the door shut, silence rushed back in, Matilde picked up her phone immediately. Selma remained standing near the kitchen, still holding the water bottle tightly.

“You can stop looking at me like that,” she muttered without raising her head, Selma blinked slowly.

“Like what?” “Like I committed murder.” His chest tightened. She sounded annoyed, not ashamed. That confused him more than anything else.

“You wouldn’t understand adult things,” Matilde continued while scrolling through her phone. “Marriage is not as simple as children think.” Selma stared at her quietly.

The silk robe slipped slightly from her shoulder as she sat on the couch crossing one leg over the other. She looked relaxed, peaceful even.

Meanwhile his father was probably under a car somewhere downtown sweating beneath hot metal for money that would never be enough.

Something ugly moved inside Selma’s chest, something dark. “Does Dad know?” he asked before he could stop himself. Matilde’s thumb paused over her screen. Slowly, she looked up.

“What did you say?” Selma swallowed, but it was too late now. “Does Dad know about those men?” the room became still, dangerously still.

Matilde stood up slowly from the couch, her face had changed completely, no softness remained, only warning. “You are a child,” she said coldly. “Stay in a child’s place.”

Selma felt fear crawl beneath his skin instantly but underneath the fear. Anger burned hotter.

“He works every day,” Selma whispered. Matilde laughed softly, a humorless laugh. “And what exactly has hard work given us?” Selma clenched the bottle harder.

“He loves you.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Matilde’s expression darkened sharply. “Love does not pay bills.” her voice cut through the room like broken glass. Selma stared at her.

And suddenly he understood something terrifying, his mother did not care that she was hurting Rafael, maybe she never cared at all. The realization made his chest ache painfully, Matilde grabbed her handbag from the table.

“I’m going out later,” she said flatly. “Warm the soup yourself if you’re hungry.”

She walked toward the bedroom again. Then paused near the doorway. “And Selma?” He looked up. “If you ever repeat nonsense to your father.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You will regret it.”

The bedroom door shut behind her. Selma remained standing alone in the middle of the apartment, the silence felt different now. Ugly, rotten.

From inside the bedroom, he heard his mother humming softly, happy. Selma looked toward the closed door for a very long time.

Then slowly, very slowly. He began to hate her.