—The closer you are, the less you know.
Mother had been changing.
I noticed it first in small ways.
The way her clothes hung looser around her frame. The way her wrists looked thinner each time I saw them. The bones were more pronounced beneath the skin.
There was a restlessness to her now. A sharpness beneath everything she did. Her movements were quicker, less measured, as though something inside her was running out.
Or being used up.
That afternoon, Nia came home with him.
Taye.
He stood just outside the gate, one hand resting awkwardly against the rusted metal, as though unsure how close he was allowed to be. Nia stood beside him, something bright in her hands.
It was a dress.
It caught the light in a way nothing else in that house ever did.
Soft, flowing, and alive.
She held it carefully, like it mattered more than anything else, like it was something she had chosen.
"See," she said when she saw me, a small breath of excitement breaking through her usual calm. "Prom is tomorrow."
Her eyes flickered toward the house.
Then back to me.
"She helped me pick it," but she didn't say who.
Taye said something I didn't catch.
I wasn't looking at him, though. I was looking at her.
At the way she stood just a little closer to him. The way her voice carried something new in it. Something lighter.
Her mother was watching silently from the doorway.
Nia turned and walked inside without waiting.
The dress trailed slightly behind her, and I followed.
The dress was spread out across the bed now, the fabric catching what little light slipped through the window. Nia stood over it, her fingers brushing lightly across it, tracing the seams.
She didn't notice when her mother entered.
But I did.
Because I felt the shift in the air.
"You will not wear that."
The words came quietly and flat.
Nia stiffened, but just for a second.
Then she straightened slowly.
"I'm going to prom."
"No."
It wasn't louder.
But it landed heavier.
Nia turned.
Something in her face had hardened.
"It's just a night."
Her mother stepped closer.
"It is never just a night."
"You don't understand," Nia said, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. "You never do."
"I understand enough," her mother replied. "More than you think."
"You can't keep me here forever," Nia said.
Her mother didn't answer immediately.
"I don't have to keep you," she said at last. "You'll stay."
Something in the room shifted again.
Nia let out a sharp breath.
"That's not your place to say."
Her mother stepped closer.
And for a moment,
I thought I saw something move wrong.
Just slightly.
The angle of her shoulders.
The way her head tilted.
I blinked, and it was gone.
"Everything I do is for you," her mother said.
"I didn't ask for that!" Nia snapped.
The words echoed through the room.
The room felt crowded, like there were more people than there should be.
Then I stepped back slightly.
That evening, the table was set again.
But the food was different.
The smell was heavier, or maybe it was the mood.
No one spoke at first.
The silence pressed in from all sides.
Nia sat where she always did.
Her hands were in her lap.
Her back was straight.
Her mother sat beside her.
A spoon in hand.
"Eat."
The word dropped into the room.
Nia didn't move.
"I said eat."
"I'm not hungry."
It was soft.
But it cracked.
Her mother didn't react.
Not immediately.
"You need to eat."
"I said I'm not hungry."
The spoon hovered.
Waiting.
"I'm not a child," Nia added.
The words hit something in me.
"I'm not a child."
I heard it again.
My breath caught.
"I said eat."
The voice was louder now.
"I'm not—"
"OH MY GOD, WILL YOU JUST DROP IT?!"
The words exploded out.
The room shattered.
For a moment, everything stopped.
Then everything moved at once. Mother's face changed.
It was as if something had broken.
"I've kept you safe."
Her voice rose gradually.
"I kept you safe."
The words overlapped.
"I kept every piece of you safe!"
Her movements became erratic.
Her hands reached, then pulled back, then reached again.
"I know what happens out there," she said, her voice climbing higher and thinner. "I know what they take. I know how…"
Something in her face twisted.
"But I didn't let that happen to you!"
"I didn't let them take you!"
"I didn't ask you to," Nia replied.
"I kept you whole!"
"I CAN'T HAVE—"
The words overlapped so much that I couldn't tell who was speaking.
My head pounded, and I felt the walls closing in.
Mother stepped forward.
But Nia stepped back.
Again.
Again.
And suddenly,
I saw something happening.
Her body seemed wrong.
The way her arms moved.
The way she stood, rigid.
The way her voice stretched beyond what it should be.
"She's going to hurt her." The thought came to my mind, clear and certain.
"Stop!" I moved before I could think.
Her hand reached for Nia.
And something in me snapped.
There was a loud noise. Something fell.
I didn't bother to check. But there was heat.
And it felt like it was rising.
I grabbed Nia.
She resisted at first, not strongly, just enough that I had to tighten my grip.
"It's okay," I told her. "I've got you."
She kept dragging and twisting between us. Then, after a while, she stopped and went still.
"Please," Nia said.
I tightened my hold slightly.
"It's okay," I repeated.
She stopped struggling after a while. Her body went slack in my arms.
It must have been because she trusted me.
The fire spread quickly.
It caught the curtains, the table, everything.
The heat climbed and wrapped around us.
And I heard a scream that was so devastating.
The monster was burning.
Her shape twisted in the flames.
I held Nia close as we moved away.
Her body was rigid in my arms.
Shaking.
She kept looking back.
At the fire.
At the thing inside it.
Her eyes were wide.
Full of fear.
I tightened my hold so she wouldn't fall.
"It's gone," I told her softly when we got outside. "It can't hurt you anymore."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't pull away either.
Behind us, the house collapsed in on itself.
And I watched it burn.
Thank goodness Nia was safe.
—I will love thee from thy hair unto thy little toe, and in that love thou shalt be bound.