Enver Huzjak (zvati) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2012-12-26 22:49:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! narrative, ! plot: kidnapping, enver huzjak |
WHO: Enver Huzjak (CROATIA) & Latica Huzjak (NPC)
WHAT: The Huzjak household when the text goes out.
WHEN: Around 21:55 GMT.
WHERE: Slatina, Croatia.
WARNINGS: Feels?
Latica Huzjak stood at the kitchen sink, her shoulders squared and her head bowed. From where he sat at the dinner table, her son could not see her face, but could tell her mood from the loud, worrying 'krak' each time she slammed a clean dish down on the draining board. In the days that had passed, they hadn't been able to talk about what had happened. About Goran. About the shouting and the outrage and the begging that had followed his father walking in on them. Enver's grandfather had been due to join them the next morning for Christmas and, for the sake of a 'proper' holiday, they had collectively held their tongues. But his father and grandfather had left half an hour ago, making the long drive back to the facility that Biljana's arthritic joints and advancing age had forced him into. They could talk now. They had to talk now, or else Enver was certain that he'd go mad. Driven insane by the cold silences and forlorn glances that had passed across the dining table despite their best efforts. Clearing his throat, Enver spoke up, "Mama..." He jumped in his seat as she set the next plate down with renewed vigor, but otherwise, she made no sign that she had heard him. "Mama, please." "No!" Turning to face her son, Latica used a soapy hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, then set the other on her hip, "We will not talk about this. I don't want to," Off her son's stricken look, she shook her head, "I raised you right! I raised you to be good and to be right, how could you do this?" Swallowing around the lump forming in his throat, Enver tried his best to calm her, "I drank too much, and it just-- It just happened once." Stabbing a finger out at him, she snarled, "Do not lie to me, Enver! I am your mother..." Reaching for the dishcloth at her side, she angrily wrung her hands dry, then shook her head again, "Did you think I wouldn't know? People talk, Enver, this is a small village. People see things and they talk about them." Trapped in his lie, Enver hunched in closer over the table, head low as she went on, as though that would protect him. "All this time, I knew," she spat, "And I let it pass, because you were a boy, you were a boy and eventually you would grow up and do the right thing, that you wouldn't bring shame to your father and I. But you're a man now." Whipping his head up, he wanted to protest. He wasn't a man, not really. That he was still just her little boy and there was still time for him to change. But what came out instead was, "Would it be so bad?" She crossed herself then, muttering under her breath and that stung Enver like a slap to the face. He had seen her do that so many times before. When an unfortunate accident or illness had claimed someone's life. When one of the local boys had fallen in with the mafia. When someone spoke ill of God. "Would it?" He asked again, voice cracking around each word, desperate and pleading, "I have friends at school, they are..." he trailed off, unable to say the word, "They're good people. Would it be so bad if I was like them?" There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes as she looked across at him, then. "These friends?" She asked, voice quiet, "Is it their fault that you are like this?" His cheeks wet and his mouth a slack line, Enver shrugged, not quite sure how to answer that question. And silence hung between them for a few moments, until Enver's phone went off, vibrating across the table. Snatching it up, he read through the text quickly and then pushed away from the table. Wiping his eyes as he straightened up, he glanced briefly at his mother, "We need to lock the doors." and then left the room. |