His mother was special, in her own way. Always smiling, looking directly in your eye, hand on your hand, delicate, gentle, reassuring. You felt the life you’d wasted on nonsense seeping back into you in those moments, like a sponge with a corner in the water.
He’s the opposite. When he’s around you feel yourself leaking out of your body, colors get just a bit dimmer, light fades, you shiver from a cold you can’t feel on your skin.
He may be a boy, but he needs ending, before we’re all sucked dry. Who’ll do what needs to be done?