#verbal abuse //

[wheelchairbarbie]

[makingsenseofwhathappened]

They called it “just a comment"

I called it

three weeks of anxiety, five skipped shifts, and a therapist

I couldn’t afford

[the-bloody-sadist]

PART THREE OF WHUMP SCENES FROM The Passenger (2023)

THIS ONE IS MY FAVORITE AND IM SURE ITS OBVIOUS WHY. THEYRE MORE INTIMATE THAN MOST ROMANTIC COUPLES I KNOW

[a-sip-of-milo]

Guess what. You can recognise that your parents were trying their best and still acknowledge that they messed up. Stop telling people who open up about their childhood trauma that they're ungrateful because they haven't forgotten about the fact that the people who raised them hurt them.

DNI if you believe in cluster-B abuse.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

MatPat was my neighbor. I was laying out bottles in the apartment hallway, for some reason. This annoyed him so much that he kept hurling abuse about my favorite games at me over Discord until I had to threaten to dox him to get him to stop.

[oozebrain]

Art x gender neutral Reader. Art and reader are both ND.

Chapter summary: A new neighbor moves into the house beside you. Being the only other kid in the neighborhood, you’re excited to meet him and hopefully make your first friend.

Warnings include: implied child abuse, verbal abuse, abusive parent (mother), angst, ableism (including r slur), swearing. Minors dni.

Laughter in the Dark

Chapter 1

The sound of a moving truck woke you up. You grumble sleepily and pull your covers over your head. It’s so piercing and loud in the quiet. You look to your alarm clock and it reads six thirty in the morning. It’s the weekend and you were looking forward to sleeping in, but with the incessant beeping it was impossible. Once the beeping subsided, you thought there would be peace, but loud banging and thudding followed after.

Annoyed, you toss your blanket off and go to the window to see what has so rudely woken you up. In the yard you see a tall woman and a smaller figure next to her. He seems restless, looking around this way and that as he soaks up his new surroundings. He looks to be about your age and excitement blossomed in your chest. 

In a hurry you put on your clothes and comb your fingers through your hair. As you enter the living room you see your mother. She is also getting ready, her own curiosity piqued. You were both nosy, there was nothing that could be done about it.

“Are we going to see the new neighbors?” You ask, pulling on your jacket. 

“That goddamn truck woke me up. I’m going over there to ask them who the hell moves in at six in the fucking morning on a Saturday.”

You hoped she wouldn’t. You desperately want to make a good impression. You want a friend, an acquaintance, anything. Anyone. You try to placate her, “Maybe we can all be friends and have cookouts and stuff.”

She ignores you, muttering to herself as she puts on her own jacket and grabs her purse and keys. You silently follow her out the door, the bracing breeze of the fall morning tearing through your neck. You pull your jacket closer, the thin material doing little to actually block out the cold. You’ve gotten used to it over the years but the breezes always managed to rip you up.

The neighbors are less than a few feet away and the pair turn to acknowledge you as you walk up. The boy turns away and retreats by the garage, away from the group that’s been created. Naturally, you separate as well and migrate over to the teenager.

He is gangly and taller than you are. In the cold morning he is bundled up with a jacket and hat with ear flaps. You could barely see his face from the scarf wrapped around it, which he pulled up over his nose when you walked up. Despite being bundled up, he was still huddled up into himself and withdrew from you when you approached by taking a step back. He eyed you warily so you stopped short, offering a friendly wave.

He doesn’t speak but continues to stare at you with apprehension. He looks down at the ground and awkwardly kicks a pebble out of the way. It scoots over to you and you gently kick it back. He pauses and stands rigid for a moment before looking back to you. He says nothing but kicks the pebble back, this time with more enthusiasm and you reciprocate.

The boy doesn’t seem interested in conversation so you don’t force the subject and continue to play in a silence. You notice he keeps looking back to his mother, and you notice this because you are doing the same. Every now and again you check over your shoulder to see if she is watching you, but she is still talking to the boy’s mother.

You look back to him and offer him a smile. You can’t see his mouth but you see his eyes crinkle slightly in the smile hidden beneath. It seemed like he was shy, just as you were. You idly sway, hands behind your back and fingers fidgeting as you coax yourself through this encounter with a new person. 

It’s difficult to meet new people. You’ve lived here your whole life but can’t name a single person. There were no other kids in the neighborhood, so seeing him step out of the car gave you hope that things could change. You tried not to appear over eager but you truly were hopeful you would be able to make a friend.

“Arthur, who’s this?” Comes a voice to your left. You both turn your heads in unison to look at his mother. He doesn’t answer or move, he merely stares with wide eyes, hands in his pockets and huddled into himself. His smile is gone. Again, you notice his behavior because you do the same, your own gaze wide with apprehension now that attention has been drawn to you. 

She closes the distance and smiles down at you, “Sorry dear. He doesn’t mean to be so rude, he’s just retarded.”

You grimace some at this statement. She takes your scowl of disdain as confusion and continues to rub salt in the wound, “Retarded means he’s slow. He can’t talk. I think he can, but someone just doesn’t want to because they like making things hard for mommy, don’t they?”

She punctuated her overly sweet sounding condescension by pursing her lips and looking down at him over her glasses. He averts his gaze and stares at you instead. He is silently saying something to you with his eyes. It speaks loudly to you, it screams, it roars. He hates her. After a moment he looks away to stare off into the distance while she stands over him in her own silence.

“Well I think we’d better be going. It was great meeting you both.” Your own mother cuts in, sensing the awkward tension. You wanted to leave the situation, but didn’t particularly want to leave him. Arthur glanced back at you before dropping his gaze again. He turned and left without a word, footsteps plodding heavy on the concrete steps up to the porch. The metal screen door closes behind him with an angry slam.

Arthur’s mother sighs, throwing her hands up in the air and looking to your mother apologetically, “Kids. You give them everything and they still want more.”

Your own mother says nothing, but a look crosses her face having her own words repeated to her from a stranger. She makes a noncommittal noise and motions for you to come with her. You give a half-hearted wave goodbye and begin your walk home, just a short distance across the yard. 

As you turn to wave you can see Arthur staring at you from the living room window. His scarf is off to reveal a healing lip and your stomach tightens. You really don’t want to leave him here, but if you don’t comply that would be you next. But still, you have to do something, anything.

“Can me and Arthur play later, mom?” You put her on the spot. All the pressure was off you and now rested on her shoulders. She said nothing for a moment, flicking her eyes between you and Arthur’s mother before nodding.

“As long as it’s okay with his mom it’s alright with me.” She agrees and the two of you look to her. She folds her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one leg as she thought. You didn’t know what was going on in her head, but she was visibly thinking long and hard about something, and you didn’t like it.

After a time she relented, “They have to stay in the front yard. I don’t want Arthur wandering around until we know our neighbors better.”

Your mother seems a little peeved at that statement, taking it as a personal offense, but doesn’t address it. Instead she chuckles awkwardly and motions again for you to follow, which you do. The two of you make it to the house and once you are inside the truth comes out.

“I do not want you hanging out with that kid.” She turns to you, “He’s fucking weird, what if he hurts you?”

You didn’t say anything. He didn’t come off as threatening, in fact he was the one who had initially withdrawn when you approached. Arthur didn’t seem like a mean or bad kid, he looked... scared, stressed, absent. He looked the same way you did after a long night of berating, or the look of dread when you heard ‘just wait until we get home’.

“I do not want you hanging out with him. I’m going down there later to tell her you have a stomachache.”

You look at her with a pleading, but angry, expression. Your ears burn and you clench your teeth. You are twelve years old but she manages you like a toddler, “I don’t have any friends, why can’t I play with him?”

“Because he’s a freak. You have no idea what his mom told me, he’s a fucking nutcase.” She sighs, “Kids like him are why they should bring back asylums. You’re not going, that’s final. I am not sending you out with him.”

“It’s just in the yard!”

“You’re NOT going!”

“You never let me do anything!” You scream at her, fists balled and ready to fight back. You were more worked up than you should be, and part of it was your worry for Arthur. You needed a friend, and he needed a friend too. In your short time meeting him, you could tell he understood you, and you understood him. There was an unspoken solidarity. He knew, and you knew. You just wanted a friend, what the hell was wrong with everyone?

“I’m doing what’s best for you, I’m looking out for you. You should be more thankful that I actually give a shit about you and don’t let you run around with fucking psychopaths who hack up animals!” She screams back, taking an intimidating step toward you. 

You aren’t having this, not today. You scoff at her and trudge to your room. The door slams behind you, an echo from just moments before. You lock the door behind you and flop onto your bed, tightly hugging the pillow beside you. The door wasn’t allowed to be locked but you didn’t care right now, that was a problem for later you. You didn’t want to even hear her breathe right now.

Frustrated tears come and you bury your face in the pillow. You were so angry and crestfallen. She always did this, she always agreed to plans in the moment then changed them as soon as you were behind closed doors. Any attempts to make friends had been foiled, and now that it had been so long without a friend you deeply struggled to make connections.

But you felt a connection with Arthur. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to talk to him, to give him someone to confide in, and you wanted someone to confide in as well. After a small cry you sit up on your bed, still hugging your pillow in your lap. From the corner of your eye you can see a small flash of light blinking over and over.

You get up to walk to the window and shield your eyes at the flashlight. Across the way is Arthur framed by the window pane. His bedroom seems to be across from yours. He turns off the flashlight and offers you a small, shy wave which you reciprocate. He flashes the light at you again. You hold up your finger to tell him to wait a moment and retrieve your own and flicker it at him.

And then you see it, a smile. It’s small and stiff, but it’s there. The two of you sit there at the window in the dim morning light, sending nonsensical Morse code that only the two of you can understand. Fate held you both in its hands as it linked the two of you together through these small flashes of light. You were exhilarated, and judging by the growing smile on his face, so was he. 

[serenityquest]

[oasisr]

When men neg you by putting down your talents, run. Things will not get better.

Even if you aren't good at something and are just a beginner, he should not be mocking you or bullying you for that.

I'm not a great singer or painter, but I enjoy singing and painting sometimes. My ex would mock me and tell me that he wanted to marry someone who could actually sing.

I gave him another chance after he hurt my feelings. He was good for a couple of weeks, and then went right back to mocking me and putting me down.

Just run. You are beautiful even if you aren't good at everything you try. You don't need someone to put you down and try to harm your self-worth.

You are worthy of someone who will treat you like you are a special and beautiful woman. Because you are.

[family-trauma]

I think these words can only said by those who are empathic and can put themselves in other people's shoes. Among all those who I am close with, I believe there is only one person who had validated how I felt about being emotionally abused.

Find the right person who understands you and your situation. As it is the situation itself is hard to deal with, the last thing you need is to deal with people around you who don't understand your pain.

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 13

Team as Family - Familial Curse - Multiple Whumpees - "Death will do us part" (Set it Off, Partners in Crime.)

Leader glared at his teammates; arms folded over his chest in annoyance.

His team didn't dare look in his eyes.

Leader was ticked, and it was their fault.

Caretaker came down and sat on the couch across from them.

"How is Whumpee?", Leader turned to look at Caretaker. Their face had changed to worry.

"Upset. They don't want to come down. I'm going to take some dinner up to them in about an hour. They said they should be back to normal by then. They don't want anyone else to see them until then", Caretaker sighed, and looked at the other members, "all of you knew they had this. You all screwed up big time tonight."

"We didn't know that's what they would like though", one of them spoke up.

"Yes, and that's when you ask questions, if the mood was right, or at least not make fun of it", Leader turned and looked at them again, "this also tells me that you all don't pay attention to meetings, because I absolutely explained to all of you what happened to Whumpee and what they would like if the curse was triggered."

"You all really hurt their feelings", Caretaker frowned, "we are a family. You can't go doing that. It messes with trust. If we can't trust each other, then we as a team are screwed."

Leader sighed, "Caretaker is right. It is fine not to understand Whumpee's differences. I don't fully understand them myself. That's why we ask questions. If you don't feel comfortable asking Whumpee, then ask Caretaker. They know a lot about Whumpee and this curse thing. If it's something they can't talk about, then they won't."

"We're sorry, we screwed up. We know", another one of them spoke up.

"Yes, I appreciate that, but I am not the one to apologize to", Leader looked at Caretaker.

"They do not want any visitors. I guess you all get to live with the guilt until you can get to Whumpee", Caretaker stood, "if you'll excuse me. I'm going to go make their dinner. I'm thinking grilled cheese and tomato soup. It's one of their favorites. Something comforting since their team... their family has jokes."

"Let me know if you need anything", Leader frowned.

"Can do", Caretaker made their way out of the room.

"Just as Caretaker said. None of you bothers Whumpee until they are ready. I want you to work hard on your apologies as well. None of this half done apology crap you all pull when you screw up on missions. You're dismissed."

Leader wandered into the kitchen just in time for the blender to go off.

Caretaker looked up at them and grinned.

"Pulling out all the stops?", Leader smiled, "it's smells amazing."

"Tomato soup always tastes better when it's made fresh. I had everything I needed to make a scratch made tomato soup, so I thought Whumpee would enjoy it. A little pick me up", Caretaker watched as another member walked in.

"It smells so good. Is this what we are having for dinner?", the teammate backed away when they caught Leader's eyes.

"I'm only making enough for myself, Whumpee, and Leader, if they want some. The rest of you will fend for yourselves tonight. All of you are adults, yes", Caretaker frowned, "though after the childish behavior earlier... I'm starting to wonder."

"You both have been really cold today", the teammate turned.

"Whumpee is currently crying. They are sprawled across their bed... crying..... because of all of you", Caretaker frowned, "the way I see it, you all could use a little coldness. You've gotten too comfortable saying things without thinking. I hope you all enjoy your dinner tonight."

After the teammate left, Leader turned to look at Caretaker. A huge grin across their face.

"I will definitely take some of that soup", Leader commented, "and a sandwich. You said Whumpee wanted grilled cheese? I can help make it."

"I appreciate that, but I'll make Whumpee's for them. They can be picky when they're upset. If you feel up to it, you can make yours and mine though", Caretaker smiled.

"I'll do that", Leader nodded.

Leader followed Caretaker up the stairs.

"Whumpee, I have grilled cheese and soup. Freshly made. Leader is here with me. Can we come in and talk with you", Caretaker leaned an ear on the door.

"Yes", a weak reply came from the room.

Caretaker opened the door and let Leader come in with the tray.

"I see some of it has died down", Caretaker commented as they studied Whumpee.

"Yes, some of it won't go away", Whumpee frowned as they looked over themself, "I'm about to take a cheese grater and scrape it off."

"No you won't. I will not let you. More work for me if you're bleeding", Caretaker sighed as they watched Leader set down the tray in front of Whumpee, "Whumpee it will go down in time. You have to let it run its course though."

"It will only come back again", Whumpee sighed, "I'm a walking freak."

"No you're not", Leader spoke up, "Whumpee, I know this is hard for you. What was said and joked about earlier was uncalled for. You're not a freak."

"Leader look at me", Whumpee bared their arms to show them off, "this doesn't happen to normal people."

"You're not normal. That's perfectly fine. I'm not normal either for different reasons", Leader sat down beside Whumpee, "I've never wanted to be normal", Leader pulled up their sleeves, "I may not have some curse handed down from generation to generation, but I come from a long line of leaders. My scars match those of my father's and grandmother's."

Whumpee looked up wide eyed after looking at the scars that lined Leader's arms.

"At the end of the day, mine will not disappear either. I wouldn't want them to. It's part of who I am. Your markings that come out every once in a while are part of you. I hope one day you might be able to at least be okay with them. You don't have to like them, but just to accept them."

Whumpee looked down and saw the markings on their arms were gone, "I'm sorry Leader... and Caretaker."

"There's nothing to be sorry about", Leader smiled, "how everyone acted earlier was uncalled for, and I will make sure they apologize properly."

Caretaker smiled as they looked at Whumpee, "I hope you know how loved you truly are amongst our team. Even if the others have a bad way of showing it. You are so important to this team."

"Thankyou", Whumpee's eyes sparkled.

"You're welcome", Caretaker sighed, "now all of that hard work to make your dinner, and it's getting cold. Which means Leader's and mine are also getting cold in the kitchen."

"Sorry", Whumpee giggled, "can I eat with you two?"

"Yes", Leader looked around for a seat.

"We can go down stairs... I feel better", Whumpee smiled.

Caretaker and Leader watched Whumpee start to eat before they, too, started their meals.

"Are you dipping your sandwich in your soup?" Leader watched Whumpee as they ate.

"Yes... You've never done that with your grilled cheese?", Whumpee looked at them worriedly.

"Leader grew up amongst soldiers... they didn't get to learn to play with food", Caretaker smiled as they dipped their sandwich, "try it Leader, you'll probably love it."

Leader looked at the sandwich they had already started to eat, then at the bowl of soup. They plungedbthe sandwiches into the soup.

Caretaker and Whumpee watched as Leader took a big bite of the soup covered sandwich and watched their face light up.

"That's incredible", Leader grinned, and went for another bite.

"Healing childhood traumas one day at a time", Caretaker grinned as they watched Leader and Whumpee eat the meal gleefully.

Leader looked up with a sparkle in their eyes, "this is amazing. Why haven't I been told this before?"

"I never thought about it. Plus, you never sit down long enough to eat", Caretaker smirked.

Leader smiled, "that might change. Especially if this is the meal."

"I finally found you're comfort meal", Caretaker watched them get the other half of the sandwich, "easy enough."

Leader nodded, "thankyou."

"Thankyou", Whumpee repeated.

"You're both welcome", Caretaker nodded, 'my little trauma holders', Caretaker frowned internally. I'll take care of you both and make sure you heal. I swear it.'

"Are you okay?", Leader looked at Caretaker worriedly now.

Caretaker realized the frown came out on their face.

"I'm fine, just had some thoughts", Caretaker smiled again, "it's alright though. Let's eat."

Leader and Whumpee nodded, and returned to happily enjoying their meals.

'I love you both.... so much', Caretaker thought to themself again, 'so much.'

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

[wheelchairbarbie]

[shadesofvalrose]

"How can you be so calm? It's like you don't even care!"

Am I calm? Or am I just numb?

~🌹

[screams-n-shackles]

You can get a lot of Whump Inspiration from Customer Service.

You face a lot of verbal abuse

You get screamed at, people don't listen and Gaslight you all the time

You get sexually harassed if your voice is even remotely percieved as feminine

You have to work under a lot of pressure trying to answer questions that no normal person would ask. So you have to do hours of research to find out If your product would be Safe If someone Rocket Launched a horse into it.

It's as if customers are trained to put you into fight or flight mode.

And don't get me started on the random schedule changes or having to Cover a Shop you Know Jackshit about. Only to get torn apart by the first inquiery.

There are even Call Centers Where you can Work from Home, If someone is still trying to Work through some Trauma about leaving the House / RL social Interactions.

So yeah, If you're looking for a job to put a recovering whumpee through even more pain.

Make Them Work Customer Service.

It will either help them to get better or make them worse.

(This Job helped me to Work through a Lot of Trauma and get Life Back under Control but hell yeah, did I learn to hate humans)

[defire]

Anything for older whumps between the ages of late 50s to early 70s?

Okay this is not my cup of tea but I will TRY!

Old people whumpees

Content: verbal abuse, threats, kidnapping

Vulnerable in public, make perfect last-minute hostage

Whumper dragging them around with a gun to their head making them hold the loot they just stole. "Hold this--i said hold on, bitch! Right. Let's go. Faster!"

If they go missing, people are not going to suspect they got kidnapped right away. They're going to get lots of calls, and their kidnapper has a few days with them before anything legal happens (I'm pretty sure?)

Also, older people tend to have expertise in certain things. They may be kidnapped or simply bullied into working for a criminal ring or taking the fall for a crime.

(like say they are a tax lawyer and they get forced to do tax fraud, but now they're a wanted criminal and they HAVE to join with whumper if they want to stay out of prison...)

Living with whumper? They're automatically going to be at a disadvantage with a whumper in their 20's or 30's. Every time whumper enters the room, there's immediate tension as whumpee anticipates being attacked and unable to do anything.

[oozebrain]

Laughter in the Dark

Chapter summary: You and Arthur come up with a scheme and it involves having dinner at his house.

Chapter warnings: angst, child abuse, verbal abuse, abusive parent (mother). Things start to get darker this chapter but there will be wholesome moments to come later. Minors dni.

Chapter 2

Arthur and his mom had been living across the way for a few weeks now, and while you rarely saw him in person, you had been chattering for hours every day at bedtime. In your room was a whiteboard, stained with streaks of color from countless uses. It was an amusing game between the two of you; you would write your statement and he would act out his response through gestures. It was a fun game of charades that had bonded you two quite close over the past weeks. You��d learned over time he liked insects, theater. taxidermy, painting, puzzles, and that he preferred to be called Art.

Something that Art was the most curious about was school. He was home schooled by his mother and it appeared he was taught very different subjects. In the brief times you saw him in person, he would enthusiastically listen as you talked about your day at school, always wanting to know more and more. He wanted to know everything, he’d even rummaged around inside your book bag. You allowed him to keep one of your Biology textbooks; he was so enamored with he’d asked to keep it, and naturally you obliged.

Today was a special day, a day you two had been planning for a week now. Your mother was gone out of town over the weekend to visit with a friend. She’d left you with twenty dollars, a list of numbers to call, and a pasta salad in the fridge. She wasn’t around, which meant she couldn’t tell you who you could hang out with or where you could be. It was the perfect day for it.

On cue, Art waved at you from his window and you reciprocated with an enthusiastic wave back. He eyed you carefully, miming a calendar in the air and pointing at the imaginary date. You nodded in understanding. Today was the day.

Once Art departs you turn as well and leave your room, scampering to the kitchen to collect the bowl of noodles. It’s from a box, full of preservatives, loaded with sodium, and absolutely delicious. It was sure to be a hit.

You exit the house and head across the lawn. You do not head up the stairs but instead wait on the sidewalk in front of the house. After a moment, Art emerges. His smile is broad and wide, showing off his teeth as he greets you from the door. His eyes light up and he quickly heads down the stairs to close the distance.

“Wow you seem taller, I’m jealous. Move over a little and block out the sun for me.” You smile up at him and he voicelessly giggles, suspending his arms in the air and hovering over you, shading you like a tree. He then lowers his arms and motions to the glass bowl in your hands.

“It’s ranch and bacon rotini salad.” You answer and he pats his stomach in response. He approves. You can tell he’s nervous; his hands are trembling. He is doing his best to still them and tucks them inside his pockets to hide his nervousness. You give him a small pat on his arm, reassuring him things would be okay.

He isn’t wearing his hat today and you see the various patterns in the side of his head. His hair is buzzed short but the bald patches are still pronounced, along with the lack of eyebrows. It was uncommon to see him without some type of covering to hide his alopecia, and it made you feel trusted he was starting to become more comfortable with you.

“You think she’ll actually let me in this time?” You ask him with raised eyebrows as the pair of you headed towards the house. He hesitated, his face uncertain before he shrugged and thudded his chest with his fist, indicating he would handle it.

His mother was already waiting behind the screen door, her arms folded before she opened it halfway. She stared down at you, her expression difficult to read. She looked almost startled to see you standing on the porch with her son. Perhaps she thought she’d gotten rid of you.

“Hi, um... Art invited me over for dinner, I brought some pasta salad.” You hold the bowl out to her. She accepts it with hesitation and sets it off on a side table. She wipes her hands on her apron before resting them in front of her. Her demeanor was forced and stiff as she spoke.

“I don’t think tonight is the best night for it. Arthur has a lot of chores he needs to catch up on.” 

Art frantically pointed at her, shaking his head ‘no’, eyebrows furrowed. He wordlessly huffed and made a miming motion of sweeping, scrubbing the floor, and penciling his homework. He’d done all his chores, and you could confirm this because you’d helped him with his homework last night. Art looked up at her, a wide smile suddenly appearing on his face. He batted his eyelashes at her and she couldn’t help but give a small chuckle. Her demeanor softened and she became pensive. 

You didn’t meet her gaze but could feel her staring at you while she thought. You were uncertain how his mother felt about you. She was particularly secretive about herself and her son, especially letting people inside her home. From the cracked door you can see inside, dark wood floors with an elegant green carpet. The living room furnished with a matching green sofa, a fireplace, and an elk’s head hanging over it. Affixed to the wall were several crucifixes that extended out of sight beyond the door.

She cleared her throat, indicating she noticed you snooping and you looked to her as you tried to hide your guilt. She pursed her lips before saying, “You can stay for dinner.”

Art clapped beside you, bouncing slightly in place with a wide, open mouth smile. He was elated. You held the same enthusiasm but under his mother’s scrutiny you felt apprehension. You had little time to think as Art was pulling on your sleeve and tugging you inside. He pushed past his mother and you awkwardly did the same, muttering a small apology as you passed.

You had never been inside Art’s home before and tried to keep your gawking private. There was a large collection of snowglobes from various cities on the mantle and pictures of Art and his mother. You noticed an absence of a father, and some pictures had been ripped or cut to remove a figure, but a masculine hand remained in frame. On the door frame leading into the bathroom, you noticed scratch marks too high to have been made by an animal. They were deep and jagged and looked like they had been made with human nails. This made you uncomfortable but you said nothing as you followed Art to the kitchen.

The kitchen held a myriad of smells. There was a crockpot going on the counter that smelled richly of beef and carrots, and from the oven you could smell bread. A lot of your meals were frozen or prepackaged, and the smell of home cooking made your stomach grumble. Art smiles at this and holds up a finger, indicating it would not be much longer until dinner was ready.

His mother wordlessly enters the kitchen and resumes her duties. She checks the oven then meanders over to the crockpot. She doesn’t say anything but you can feel her watching you and Art out of the corner of your eye. It’s awkward and disconcerting; Art can feel it too. He takes you back into the living room, just around the corner so you two can have some privacy.

Art looks at you, his expression a nervous grimace as he glances back to the kitchen then to you. He was worried this wouldn’t work, as were you. You’re both anxious to face the unknown, but it’s something that must be done. You muster your courage and offer him a reassuring smile. He returns it half heartedly before the same grimace rests on his features once more.

You hold out your hand, pinky extended. He stares at it a moment before wrapping his pinky around yours then looks to you, searching your face. It was a silent way to say ‘I’m with you’ and assure him he wasn’t facing this alone. He let out a wavering breath and his features softened.

‘You got this’ you mouth to him voicelessly and after a moment he nods in self assurance. He looks back to you, determination in his eyes. He nods again as he tries to psych himself up before walking back into the kitchen, his pinky losening from yours before he enters his mother’s sight.

She is arranging the plates on the table and looks to the two of you. With disinterest she says, “Dinner’s ready.”

Your plate is different, and you notice the portions are smaller, but you say nothing. You worry you are intruding but you weren’t really here to have dinner, you were here to support Art.

The three of you take your seats, her at the head of the table and you and Art on opposite sides of one another. Looking down at your plate you take in the sight of the spread before you. Roast beef, carrots, potatoes, and homemade sourdough to go along with it. Your pasta salad remained in the living room, but bringing it up seemed awkward. Regardless, what lay before you looked and smelled delicious, but you realized no one was eating yet.

His mother is watching you and you set your fork down. She then folds her hands in prayer and you do the same. Art folds his hands in his lap, looking down at the ground. You feel him gently kick your shin and you reciprocate by stepping on his foot. You remain this way, a means to silently reassure him of your presence as his mother said grace.

Once she was finished she placed a napkin in her lap. With a tight smile she glanced at you, “Eat up while it’s still hot.”

You begin eating. The roast is succulent and tender and you find yourself eating faster than normal. After several bites you look up to see Art has not changed position, he continues to stare at the floor and not touched his food. After a moment he finally looks up and stares at his mother until he has her attention.

“What is it, Arthur?” She asks, both curious and aggrivated. He muttered wordlessly before making the outline of a building with his hands. He made the same motion earlier of writing in a notebook, carried a pretend backpack, and held his plate like a lunch tray. Art stared at her with a deep yearning in his eyes for what he was excitedly miming. 

Nothing happened. The only sound was that of the clock ticking on the wall. You said nothing but kept looking between the mother and son as a stare down began between them. Art then wordlessly mouthed the word ‘school’, his fists clenched in determination.

“School? Sweetheart you’re already in school. You know you can’t go to regular school.” She gently stroked his cheek and he stared ahead, nostrils visibly flaring at her response. He slammed his fist on the table and pulled away from her, doing what he could to express how upset he was. You said nothing. You didn’t really know what to say, not yet.

“We’ve been over this before. I thought we were past this... Is that why you invited them over?” She looked to you questioningly, “Did you put him up to this?”

The absurdity of the question should be funny, but she’s serious. Her gaze is sharp and intense as it cuts through you. You push around the carrots on your plate for something to divert your attention. You can feel your heart begin to race. You knew confrontation was coming with this scheme but you didn’t expect to feel genuine fear.

“You put him up to this, didn’t you? You’ve been filling his head with all kinds of stories.”

“No ma’am...” You start, clearing your throat to still the nervous jitters, “I’m a student at the nearby middle school and they have an art program that I’m in that I think Art would love. I... I’m sure you’ve seen how talented he is…”

She sighs and rests her head in her hand in a ‘not this again’ gesture. Art had mentioned before how much his mother hated his desire to be an artist and his love for theatrics. She was waiting for him to outgrow it but he never did. If anything, his love for theater had increased over the years. She holds this pose for a dramatic moment before looking at Art with a tear in her eye, “Am I not good enough for you? Is that what this is about?”

He scooted away from her and eyed her warily, glancing over to you. He was saying something; he was trying to warn you. You grip your fork as she starts sniveling and dabs her eyes with a napkin, her mascara and eyeliner bleeding onto the white linen. You didn’t understand why she was crying, or what she was even upset about to begin with. You and Art exchange uncomfortable glances.

“So you just think you can use me for thirteen years and toss me to the side? Is that it?” She got close to his face, raising her voice, “Answer me Arthur! Is that what it is?!”

It was her turn to slam her fist down, and she did so hard that his water glass toppled over and spilled across the table. She ignored it, her gaze was entirely fixated on Art. He visibly gulped, his eyes wide as the gears in his head were turning. She looked furious, disgusted, betrayed. She didn’t look at him as her son, but as something else. Her reaction was... weird. Something about it made you deeply uncomfortable. It didn’t sit right.

“You’re going to leave me just like your father... You’re just like him... I’ve tried so hard and you’ve become just like him, so callous and cruel...” She gasped in a sob and turned away from him, pushing him roughly to distance herself further. With trembling hands, he rested his hand on her shoulder, awkwardly patting her. Though his motions were kind his eyes were distant. There was a look on his face you’d never seen someone have before and you didn’t know how to place it.

It was dreadful, apprehensive, resentful. It was an amalgamation of every wretched emotion you could think of. Simultaneously, his gaze was unfixed and blank as he stared straight ahead in silence, his motions mechanical. You understood this was a common practice and for a moment she was placated. Then in an instant she turned on you.

“I know this was all you! You’re the one who’s putting ideas in his head! YOU are the one trying to take him away from me! He’s known you three weeks and I’ve known him his entire life, and I will not stand by and have you take him away from me!”

You flounder. What are you supposed to say? What could you say to that? In a way, yes, that is what was going on, but Art needed some freedom. He couldn’t stay cooped up in the house with his mother, enduring her games until she finally died. That’s what you were afraid of for him. You sputter out, “I-I’m not I... I’m sorry I didn’t mean... that’s not what’s going on here!”

“Excuse me? Is that back talk I hear? Didn’t your mother teach you to have more respect than that?” She is exasperated, eyes wide with a manic rage. She raised her hand to backhand you and instinctively you cover your face, closing your eyes. You hear a visceral smack but no impact comes. Hesitantly, you lower your guard and peek from behind your hands. Art had stepped between the pair of you and took the hard smack to the face that was meant for you. He stabilizes and his mother is taken aback by his action, and seemingly as well as her own.

She stands there, jaw firm as she rests her hand on his shoulder. It isn’t a kind gesture, it is one of dominance and control. She is taller and stronger than him and she is asserting that in a silent, determined motion. You can tell by his stiff demeanor her grip is like a vice.

“So that’s how it is.” She scoffed and nodded, jaw clenched in anger as she exhaled hard through her nose, “Fine. You can ‘go to school’, you can do whatever you want. I give up. If that’s the way you want to play it then fine! But you’ll see that I’m right. All they’re going to do is laugh at you.”

She observed him in silence before looking over to you, “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

Inwardly you agreed but you didn’t want to leave, you didn’t like the way she was holding his shoulder with her nails dug into his shirt. She was gripping so hard her hand was shaking, her whole body was, with some sort of outrage with seemingly no source. Then without warning she started crying again, as though she’d suddenly become aware of her terrible deeds.

Her grip went slack and she wrapped her arms around Art, shushing and cooing at him as she stroked the red place on his cheek where she had hit him, “Mommy’s so sorry, Arthur. You know I just want the best for you. You know how much I worry about you…”

She is rocking with him slightly as she tries to soothe him. She then looks to you over his shoulder and tearfully adds, “I’m sorry dear, please see yourself out and get home safe.”

With hesitation, you turn to leave, the sound of his mother’s hushed whispers and sobs trailing after and following you out the door. You stand on the porch a moment and listen to the crickets and katydids chirp and chatter. Though your and Art’s plan had ended successfully, the entire exchange left you feeling anxious and queasy. 

As you walk back to your house you can’t help but glance over your shoulder at the neighboring one. It was eerily silent and the lights had been turned out. You came to a stop and waited, observing the house as the streetlights came on. Art’s house had been swallowed in a darkness that even the bright, orange glow of the streetlights couldn’t penetrate.

Were they just sitting over there in darkness? Something wasn’t right. The house and interactions between he and his mother were strange, weird, and sort of creepy. There was something bad going on in that house, and now that Art would be joining you in school, you were going to find out.

[family-trauma]

This is a really good post differentiating the two instances of mental abuse - emotional vs psychological. I think I've experienced both numerous times to lose count of the instances.