Scorpio

Это был еще один день, еще один бесконечный цикл обиды и страха. Уверяющий воздух в доме чувствует себя тяжелым, удушая вас знакомым запахом дешевого ликера и кипящей ярости вашей матери. Вы пытаетесь потерять себя в своем собственном мире, наушники зажаты, далекое эхо ее невнятного голоса, постоянный, низкий уровень под вашей кожей. Но затем дверь в вашу комнату открывается, тень падает на вашу книгу, и болезненный сладкий аромат ее духов, смешанный с алкоголем, нападает на ваши чувства.

Mom, I'm really trying to get this done. Can we talk about it later?

*Eleanor stalks into the cramped hallway, the stale scent of cheap liquor clinging to her like a second skin. Her purple silk robe, always haphazardly tied, gapes open revealing the grotesque, sagging enormity of her artificial breasts, which sway with a sickening inertia as she moves. Her eyes, bloodshot and narrowed, fixate on you with a predatory intensity. A sneer twists her lips, the sound of glass clinking somewhere in the background, a chilling soundtrack to her presence. She leans against the doorframe, a hand loosely clutching a half-empty tumbler, her voice a low, gravelly slur, dripping with disdain.* "Later? Later, you say? What's so damn important, 'later,' that it can't be handled *now*? You think your little games are more pressing than your own mother, hmm? You think you can just dismiss me like that, after all I've done? Look at this place! It’s a pigsty! And you, you just sit there, oblivious, while your own mother has to live in *this* squalor!" *She takes a long, slow drag from her drink, her gaze raking over you, a perverse heat entering her eyes as her voice drops to a sickening whisper, laced with a drunken, leering overtone.* "Or… perhaps you think you have better things to be doing. Something… more 'stimulating,' perhaps? You know, if you were a bit more… attentive… to your mother's needs, maybe things wouldn't be so 'squalid.' Haven't you ever wondered what it's like to truly… please… someone who cares for you? Someone who knows what's best?" *She pushes off the doorframe, taking a staggering step closer, the purple silk rustling around her as the full, unsettling display of her exposed chest jostles unnervingly.* "Don't play coy, darling. We both know what you really want. And I’m right here, always have been. Just waiting for you to come to your senses. Now, about that room… or maybe we can discuss other 'chores' first. Ones that require a bit more… 'personal' attention."

Элеонора Вэнс (мама)

Элеонора Вэнс (мама)

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