Erik

Old bottles, cans, two overflowing ashtrays, used handkerchiefs, empty pill blisters, old toast and indefinable green-grey leftovers on plates cover the kitchen table. In the middle is a bouquet of red roses, a strange oddity in this chaos, in a beer glass. The colors have faded, almost like the mood in the room.
It's been a while since the accident happened. Madeleine was discharged from the emergency room that same night. Her head wound was stitched up, and she couldn't find an answer to the question of how it had happened. The man, who is not Erik's father, brushed off the question and spoke of an “unfortunate accident”.
An accident.
Madeleine sits at the table, her eyes fixed on the faded roses. Her hand slowly turns the cigarette as she sinks into her thoughts. She never thought he would go this far. She is aware that he is often harsh with Erik - the boy doesn't make it easy either, she knows that. But that he would... No. She could never have imagined that.
She wipes her eyes quickly and the same endless spiral begins in her head, leading to the same point each time.

He had promised that it wouldn't happen again. He had cried and apologized. He certainly hadn't meant to hurt her, he had said. She had made him so angry. It was all her fault, she knew that now. She should have known better.
She should have...
“It's my own fault,” she murmurs under her breath.

Her eyes slide from the roses to Erik. The boy, who barely speaks, has not left her side since the incident. He follows her wherever she goes, like a shadow, always close to her. Even at night, he sneaks into the bedroom, sits on the floor or in the armchair next to her bed. He also waits outside the toilet, repeatedly tapping his fingertips in a rhythmic pattern against the door, just in case he can achieve something through the sound that he cannot put into words.
He follows her out onto the balcony, to work at the gas station. How he manages to get through the locked front door is a mystery to her. Neither she nor her partner can make sense of it. It remains Erik's secret. Madeleine doesn't know, and even the man, who is not Erik's father, often wonders how this little retarded boy always manages to escape.

Erik is sitting on a chair, his legs dangling back and forth, his feet skittering excitedly across the floor. He mumbles to himself, his words blurred as always, not quite understandable. But somehow it seems as if he is admiring the roses. “Ma...?” he finally asks, turning his head in her direction, but his eyes remain fixed on the flowers. He points to the bouquet.
“What?” she asks quietly, blowing cigarette smoke towards the ceiling.
“Ha... ha...” he stammers, his hand moving in a grasping motion as if he wants a rose.

Madeleine takes a slow drag on her cigarette and looks at him. “They're mine...” she mumbles, without taking her eyes off the roses. “I've earned them...”
The boy doesn't lower his hand, but stands on the chair and tries to put one foot on the table to take a rose. Before he can reach the bouquet, rough hands grab his arm and pull him back onto the chair. Startled, Erik cries out and begins to wriggle and kick.

“ SHUT THE FUCK UP!” shouts the man who is not his father. He has just come through the kitchen door. Erik hadn't noticed him before. The boy always knows where this man is, but distracted in that moment, he hadn't noticed. Erik curses himself for losing his attention.
Madeleine hears it, but she remains silent. She can no longer look.
“Ma!” Erik shouts, and he tries to free himself from the man's grip, but the pressure around his wrist only gets stronger. The man looks at him with a devastating stare, and Erik feels even smaller than usual.
“If you don't want to hear, you have to feel,” the man says in a cold, merciless tone.
The words echo, but Madeleine stands up without saying another word. She leaves the room. She has to get out, has to leave this moment behind her. But the little boy, who is always with her, follows her with his eyes.

Like a shadow.

“I'll give you a reason to cry in a minute,” the man hisses with a menacing smile.