The Lost De'Luca

The blaring of my alarm ripped me from a rare moment of peace, and I groaned, irritation bubbling up. That stupid thing. One more morning, and it was going to meet the wall.

“Honey! Get ready. You’re gonna be late!” My mom’s yell from downstairs confirmed my dread: Monday. Note the sarcasm. I dragged myself out of bed, each limb feeling like it belonged to someone else, and shuffled towards the bathroom. Morning routine, get dressed, the usual.

As I descended the creaky, old stairs, I was immediately enveloped in a bone-crushing bear hug. My mom. I tried not to wince, her arms tightening around my still-bruised ribs.

“Morning mom. Please let me go. Are you trying to kill me?” I wheezed, her embrace unrelenting.

“Sorry dear. Come eat quickly or you’ll be late,” she said, finally releasing me. I grumbled, already anticipating the lecture.

“Mom, I’ll get something at school. If I eat, I’ll be late. Besides, I already brushed my teeth,” I tried to explain, but she shot me a disapproving glare. Yeesh, this woman could be scary. I looked down, defeated.

“No, eat something before you go,” she insisted.

“Mom, you worry too much, I’ll be fine,” I assured her.

“You don’t value me, you don’t care. When I die, I wonder who will beg you to eat,” she pouted. Seriously, how was I the teenager?

“Don’t say that, there’s nothing to worry about. Here… I’ll eat an apple on the way, hmm?” I grabbed an apple, taking a deliberate bite. It was enough to appease her.

“Fine, go. Be careful,” she sighed in defeat. That was my cue. I bolted out the door.