2 Chamomile Tea

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Cain sighed and shook his head as he opened the tall door to his room. Inside was what anyone would expect from a 17 year old kid, a mess.

He had clothes scattered on the floor, opened bottles of Red Bull strewn about, and his bed wasn't made. In fact, he never really made his bed. 'Why make my bed when I am just going to sleep in it again?' is his usual excuse to make up for his laziness. It's not like he had much to make his bed with, everything in his room was pretty bare.

His room was a reasonable size with pretty generic furniture. A bed in the left corner, a desk near the window, two bookshelves on the right wall, and a nice fur rug in the center. The one thing he always really liked was how the sun streamed into his window when he came back from school. How the light shines into his room and all the dusk specks are visible, like little dancing fairies.

With a slight smile, Cain headed to his bed and crouched under. He felt around for some time, trying to find the box he put under his bed.

Finally, he felt the familiar cool touch of a square surface. With a little wiggling, Cain was able to free the box from under his bed. This was perhaps the only thing Cain really cared about in his life.

It wasn't a very large box, about 14cm length wise and 11cm wide. The box was made of a hard, chocolate wood with streaks of black and was clearly a handmade box with a large metal key lock dead center. It wasn't a very decorative box, the only fancy thing on it was the Celtic knots lining the top and bottom of the box. The swirls and twists had a certain beauty to it which gave it some sturdy vibe.

However, it wasn't the box that made Cain's light smile turn into a full and wide toothy grin.

He ran his long fingers over the top of the box, brushing away any leftover dust. Cain clicked a button on the side of the box and heard a small -click- before he opened the top. He thought that he was so clever to add a key lock on the box and have the actual opening trigger be a hidden button, and was quite proud of himself for the idea.

He hurriedly grabbed one of the three books inside the box, the one labeled | Floriography |. It was a hardcover book with the image of flowers printed along the sides over a black background. It was about 400 pages thick with solid and sturdy pages.

At this point Cain was grinning like a fool.

He jumped up from the floor and flopped down on his bed, opening the book to his most recent page. He could spend hours or days reading and rereading the same book. He analyzed every page and nitpicked each detail.

'Wouldn't it be cool if I could actually find a wild Belladonna berry? Grandma would be pissed if she ever found out I touched a root.'

Cain continued to reminisce about his past as he flipped page after page. Making sure his hands were clean and no dust settled on the book.

He spent hours like this, his head in a book and oblivious to the world around him. He never noticed how the sunlight faded from a pure white, yellow light to a dusky orange color. It wasn't until he heard a knock on his door did he move his head. Looking up from his book, Cain noticed his mother standing in his doorway.

His smile faded instantly. Replaced by a cold and indifferent expression.

Even if he forgot the details of his mothers face, he couldn't ignore the shiny gleam in her light hazel eyes.

He began to really take a closer look at her. She seemed to have shrunk a little, her shoulders slumped more than he thought and her feet shuffled across the floor. She also had more grey hair than he recalled, and it mixed well with her common brown hair.

"I prepared some tea. Would you like to join me?"

He finally snapped out of his thoughts when his mother spoke.

The deafening silence he had lived with for years was broken for the first time since kindergarten. Her high pitched voice echoed around his room a little longer than he thought possible. Cain had forgotten how much he loathed her high pitched voice, like an annoying little bird constantly whispering in your ear.

"Yeah… sure."

'She never called my name.'

He couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine when he realized how she had omitted his name from her sentence. She didn't even call him son.

'She's probably forgotten my name by this point.'

He carefully closed his book and slowly placed it on his bookshelf. If his mother saw him place it under his bed he doubted she would be able to contain her curiosity. She had ratty little hands, always sticking her nose in someone else's stuff. And he couldn't help but smirk at his own remark.

His mother had waited by the door for him, supposedly he was to follow her downstairs.

'What is this? Does she think she's an escort? How funny, she couldn't even bother with my existence for 17 years yet now she thinks she's a mother?'

He couldn't help but criticize her in his head. However, he was extra careful to make sure his face wasn't expressing anything out of the ordinary. She had the nose of a bloodhound and the eyes of a hawk. If he gave away any reaction he knew she would be aware of it.

While he was descending the stairs to catch up with his mother he began to smell the sweet fragrance of chamomile tea. It was his mothers favorite, supposedly it was to help people with insomnia and help to calm a person's nerves. However, his mother always put too much honey in her tea. Making it unbelievably sweet.

He wasn't a huge fan of her tea making skills.

Finally, he had arrived in the kitchen. It was a medium sized kitchen with everything a kitchen needed, but his favorite part of the whole room would have to be the small fireplace next to the dining table. In his opinion, it tied the room together.

His mother sat at the left hand side to the head of the table. Cain chose the right hand side to the head of the table, directly across from his mother. Neither of them sat at the head of the table, that was dad's seat. No one sat in the head of the household's seat.

In front of him was a set of fine tea cups. They were decorated with fine golden lines on a white base. Each golden line was a vine and small flowers bloomed at random intervals. Frankly, he found the set to be elegant and beautiful with a kind of vintage feeling. Small sugar cookies were set in the center, followed by an arrangement of fruits from apples to raspberries. While Cain was scanning the table, his mother sat up and poured him a cup of hot tea.

"Tell me how the tea tastes. It's been awhile since I last brewed tea, I might have gotten rusty."

She then poured her own cup, adding too much honey and sugar. Much more than she usually put in her tea. Cain knew that that much honey and sugar in tea was practically disgusting. Then, like a smack in the face, he realized.

��She's putting in too much honey and sugar because she knows I hate them. Damn! When did I drop a hint? When did I leave an opening?'

Mentally, Cain berated himself for his foolishness. When was it? What did I do wrong? How could she have known? Although such thoughts and questions invaded his mind, he never let his face slip. He continued wearing his metal mask, keeping his expression and body language the same.

"I'm sure your tea will taste just as extravagant as ever."

He ignored her gaze and picked up the tea cup. Looking into the cup he found the familiar disgusting pasty yellow color of chamomile tea. Steam was rising out of the cup and condensation was beginning to form around the base of the cup. Honestly, he preferred his tea cold and bitter. Iced black tea and earl grey were his favorite kinds.

As the cup neared his mouth he realized his mothers intensified gaze. It felt like a gun was pointed to his head, and cold sweat appeared on the nape of his neck. The tension was so thick that he wanted nothing more than to leave this room and run to his room, burying his head back into his book.

Finally, he placed the cup's edge to his mouth and took the first sip under the intense gaze of his mother and her sickening hazel eyes.

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