So I grabbed your collar and yanked you to your feet. “You will answer me when I ask you a question, boy, do you understand?” You nodded once or twice, but still didn’t speak. Your mother had turned, and, in a flash, held a butcher knife to my throat. She was clear, calm, and resolved. “Let. Him. Go,” she whispered. Your body hung limp from my fist. I relaxed it and you collapsed to the floor like a corpse. Rachel and I never broke our gaze. She instructed you to go to the bathroom to clean your face—all while staring at me. I fully believed that, had I moved or opened my mouth, she would’ve
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Queen shit
