The little ones

Freya woke up like she always did at seven AM to have her cup of tea and breakfast before the little ones decided that sleep was their enemy and joined her with their noise, constant running around and mess that covered the entire house. They were like goblins sometimes, always throwing something on the ground, screaming at each other, fighting over toys and never eating their damn vegetables.
She stretched and threw her slippers on. In the adjacent bathroom, she peed, washed her face and teeth and looked in the mirror. Yes, still a fucking mess. Her hair was all over the place, big knots at the back of her head from how she had tossed and turned in her sleep, her waves crunchy with split ends and faded color. How long had passed since she had time to dye her hair? Freya couldn’t remember. So much since she had painted her nails too. Let’s not talk about time to put on a face mask or pluck her eyebrows. She barely had time to shower some days, never enough time to apply lotion, always rushed, their screams scratching away at her ears.
Freya sighed. Still… she loved the little ones with all her soul and wouldn’t change it for the world. Her life, as hard and chaotic as it was with them, it was also beautiful. Perfect. How many people wanted children and could never have them? How many had lost their children? How many abandoned babies in hospital? Countless tragedies around her while she had it all. Two perfect kids, their skin soft, their arms so small, barely able to circle her neck when they were hugging. Their tiny voices, their unconditional love. Their innocence. She loved watching them grow up and learn new things. It was all so hard, but definitely worth it.
She opened her wardrobe and took out a white t-shirt and a white pair of pants. Took off her white robe and white night gown and threw them on the bed. Dressed in fresh clean clothes felt nice. She grabbed the cup and her plate from the table and sat down to eat on the bench by the window. She didn’t remember making the breakfast, but she must have prepared the night before, knowing she won’t have enough time in the morning.
The tea was warm, the sandwich tasty. She ate slowly, taking sips from her cup from time to time. Her book sat untouched on the window still. It was some fantasy about a dark haired prince and a redhead heroine. Some bullshit romance that Freya knew wouldn’t be possible in real life. She enjoyed reading these books though. It was fiction, and it helped her pass the time sometimes or simply disconnect from the everyday struggles.
Romance. What a stupid thing, she thought. Men are not capable of that. They only take, abuse and leave.
Freya’s own husband left her soon after her twins had been born. He supposedly couldn’t handle their new life and responsibilities, wouldn’t take no for an answer when in the evenings after a full day of taking care of the babies all she wanted to do was sleep, not fuck. So one day he packed one suitcase and he was out. No goodbye, no explanation. He simply left. She was left alone with two small babies crying in her arms, one with a full nappy, the other one with puke all over his t-shirt. She hadn’t been able to cry properly at the time. Her feelings had to be set aside. She had to take care of the two little ones because their lives were in her hands. So she had wiped the few tears that came uninvited, put down baby number one and washed baby number two’s butt. Then changed their clothes, fed them and carried them around the house in her arms until they settled and fell asleep on her chest.
Now they were three years old and even though perfectly able to walk, she still carried them sometimes in her arms. She loved feeling their small heads on her chest, hearing their breaths, accepting their warmth and their love.
She looked out the window at the passing people. Why were they all dressed in white?
When at last she finished her sandwich, there was only a little bit of tea left in her cup and it had gone cold. She pushed it aside and got up. Where were the little ones? The clock announced it was almost 8 AM. They were usually up by this time.
She picked up her book, flipped through the pages and finally put it back down. She had time to relax but couldn’t. It was like she had to do something, be productive in any way she could find, before the chaos of her children would descend upon her, stopping her from doing anything but play and take care of them.
She got up taking the plate and the cup with her, but as she looked around she realized there was no sink in sight. That was ridiculous. Freya was sure she had washed the plates after dinner the night before and placed them on the rack to dry. Now she could see none of them here. The counter was empty. And now that she was actually taking in the sight, her oven and microwave were missing too. Had she been robbed? Was this some kind of a joke?
A headache hit her and she placed the plate and cup back on the table, grabbing her forehead with her palms and sitting down in one of the two chairs.
Where are the boys’ chairs? She thought to herself.
Something was wrong.
The headache was reaching new pain levels and her vision started to blur.
What is happening?
She got up from the chair and almost stumbled and fell.
She grabbed her shoes but before she could go out, the door opened and a woman stepped in.
‘Hello, Freya. How are you feeling today?’
‘Mary… is that you?’ She knew this woman. It was… her friend. She will know what had happened. ‘Marry… what’s happening?’
‘What do you mean? Let’s sit down. Did you have your breakfast?’ Mary looked around until she spotted the empty plate and cup and smiled, writing down something in the notebook she was carrying with her. ‘I see you did. That’s very good. Better than yesterday. Does this mean you are feeling better today?’
‘I… don’t know. I have this terrible headache. And yesterday… I don’t remember not eating. But… I suppose that can be true. You know my boys. Sometimes they wake up before me and then I don’t really have time to eat. But I did manage a few bites for lunch and definitely had dinner last night. I remember washing the dishes. Mary, where is my sink?’
The woman studied her face for a few moments, then wrote something down again. When she was done, she looked back up at Freya.
‘Let’s talk about your boys. Ryan and Dean.’
‘What about them? What do they have to do with my missing sink?’ The headache was pressing hard on her temples. ‘I don’t understand…’
‘Here. Take this.’ Mary offered her a glass of water and another plastic cup with two pills inside.
‘What’s that?’
‘They will help relieve the pain.’ Mary said.
Freya took the cup and rolled the pills onto her tongue, but before she had a chance to drain them down with the water, the woman said: ‘Ryan and Dean. Your lost boys.’
My lost…. What does she mean? And then the headache turned into agony as Freya dropped to her knees, her mouth hanging open, the pills rolling down on the floor.
My lost…
‘MOMMY!’
She woke up with a start. Her eyes adjusted to the light as she took in the sight of the room. She was at home, in her own kitchen, the cup of tea untouched on the table next to her. She had been sleeping with her head on the table and had been dreaming.
‘Mommy, mommy, wake up, mommy! I’m hungry!’
‘No, I’m hungry!’
‘Shut up, Ryan!’ (Only Dean said Lyan because he couldn’t pronounce R very well yet)
‘No, you shut up.’
‘Eat poop.’
‘You eat fart.’
Then Ryan pushed Dean and the boy fell onto his bottom and started crying.
‘Mommy, it hurts. My bum bum hurts, mommy.’
‘My hand hurts, mommy. He wouldn’t shut up. Mommy!’
Now they were both howling, tears coming down their cheeks in waves, their faces red and puffy.
Freya rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, shaking the weird dream off. Another fucking day.
‘Now, boys. Let’s go to the bathroom and wash up…’
‘But I’m hurt!’
‘No, you’re not! I am!’
‘It’s alright, mommy is here. I’ll take care of you. But I need you to go to the bathroom and then change your clothes. I can make pancakes? Would you like that?’
‘I like pancakes.’ Dean said wiping his eyes and finally getting up from the floor. Ryan stuck his tongue out to him but managed to not say another word for the time being.
‘Perfect. Let’s go wash.’
‘Um… mommy?’
‘Yes, sweetie?’
‘I think I peed in my bed.’
Freya closed her eyes. Every single night. She had to wash those sheets every day. No matter how many times he took him to the bathroom before sleep and during the night, he still did that. She knew she wasn’t supposed to give out to him, but to offer him love and understanding until he got over this, but God, sometimes it was so hard! She just wanted to shake him and scream at him: ‘Couldn’t you just fucking hold it in, you little piece of shit?’
‘It’s OK, baby. We’ll get your bed cleaned up. Let’s get you into the shower.’
After an hour, the beds were made, the boys were washed and in clean clothes and Freya was flipping pancakes while they were eating. She wanted a double batch so they can have some for the next morning too.
Suddenly, she heard a slap sound followed by a scream and she almost dropped the pan turning around.
Ryan’s cheek was red. Dean was eating his jam pancake like nothing happened.
‘Dean, what did you do?’ She asked putting the pan down and hurrying to her son. She picked him up and cradled him to her chest. He was sobbing now, his chest going up and down with sobs. ‘It’s OK, sweetie, mommy is here. Dean, I asked you a question.’
The other boy looked up at her and answered nonchalantly: ‘I slapped him.’
‘What? Why?’
‘He was annoying.’
‘Dean. It doesn’t matter how annoying he was or wasn’t. We don’t hit other people. Never. I told you before I can tolerate screams, rough play, even when you push each other around. But I will never tolerate you hitting your brother. We are not violent in this house. I don’t care how small you are, YOU WILL NOT HIT ANYBODY! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’ Her last words came in a screaming voice, so loud that Freya felt her vocal cords protesting. She didn’t care. She was so mad. How could he do that?
As a child, she had been often slapped around by her older brother and her parents never did anything about it. They didn’t care enough. They used to say she needs to deal with her own problems, that life wasn’t ever easy or fair and that her brother was only trying to help her survive in a merciless world.
A bunch of crap. All her brother managed to do was make her feel unsafe every single day. Scared. Confused. And unprotected by anybody. She grew up with this fear of men and she still couldn’t fully shake it off.
So it was understandable why she would not take this behavior from any of her children.
Her loud screaming had an effect on Dean as the boy stopped eating immediately and gulped. He didn’t dare speak. Even Ryan wasn’t crying anymore, his body curled tightly on her chest, not moving, scared by her reaction.
Oh no. She didn’t want to terrify her children. But she wanted them to understand the severity of the situation. Now guilt washed over her as she studied Dean’s face and noticed tears in the corners of his eyes.
She bent down to him and picked him up, sat on the floor with both of them in her arms.
‘I’m sorry for screaming like that, sweetie. I won’t do it again. But neither should you hit your brother ever again. If he does something you don’t like, you’ll come and tell me, alright?’
‘Yes, mommy. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ryan.’ It came out like Lyan once again and Freya smiled. So small. Sometimes she forgot they were only three years old.
The rest of the morning went on without any incidents, although the boys did manage to hit the plate of pancakes with one of their toys (they were throwing it from one to another). The thing hit the ground, the plate smashed and the pancakes ruined. Freya sighed and cleaned up, throwing everything in the bin. Here goes all my work flipping those pancakes. And tomorrow I have to make breakfast again. But at least they are not fighting. Sometimes, she had to pick her battles. She was too tired to deal with this. And it wasn’t even that important.
After lunch (another moment of arguing because Dean didn’t like broccoli in his chicken pasta and Ryan didn’t want any cheese on top even though last time he had asked for more cheese), they went to the park. Freya got to sit down for a few seconds before one of the boys fell from the slide and cut his arm. She cleaned the wound and bandaged it and then sat back down for a few minutes until the other boy needed to go toilet. And so it went for the whole two hours they spent out, finally going back home with them screaming in the back of the car, because they really wanted to play more. Freya focused on the driving, trying to ignore the screeching in the back seat and failing at it. Her mind was spiraling. So much noise in a day with no break. She felt like all she wanted now was some quiet moments. She didn’t care if she had to stick something inside her ears, piercing the eardrums and making her deaf in the process. She could take the pain. That would be better than listening to this over and over again every single day of her life for what seemed like eternity.
She was jealous on her husband. He had left this. It felt like he knew what was coming and said ‘fuck this shit. I’m out of here before it gets out of hand.’
After dinner, she took a paracetamol to dull the ache in her temples and turned on the tap to fill the bath for the boys. She was going to wash them together tonight. Hopefully, they’ll go to bed without protests and she could have an hour of peace until sleep would hit her overtired mind and drag her to bed.
‘I don’t want to take a bath. I want a shower’
‘Ryan, sweetie. You always ask for a bath. You said last night that you hate the shower. That it tickles you too much.’
‘I didn’t. I want shower.’
‘Well I really don’t have time for that. And I used all the water in the tank to fill up the bathtub so unfortunately, you’ll have to do the shower tomorrow.’
‘No! Ryan stomped his foot.
‘Yes, sweetie.’
‘I said no. No. No. No.’ His foot came down with every word, and his voice grew in intensity.
Freya picked him up and tried to take off his t-shirt but the boy threw his head back and hit her nose. Blood came out of her nostrils and the worst pain that blurred her vision engulfed her whole face. As she was holding her nose in agony, Ryan kept screaming and stomping his foot saying No no no.
Freya let go of her nose and picked him up again, her hands digging into his small arms. She threw him in the bath fully clothed. Ryan tried to get out of the tub. Freya put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him back in.
The water was almost up to the top now.
Freya pushed him one more time watching as his face submerged in the water, looking in his panicked eyes. Seeing what she was doing, but not really understanding it.
Ryan’s body tried to fight her off but he was too small and too weak for her. Finally, the boy stopped moving, but the eyes were still there open, starring at her in surprise.
A few seconds later, Dean came into the bathroom and asked for bubbles.
Freya picked him up and put him in the bath, pushing his head down. She held his body down until there was only stillness.
Then she turned off the tap and sat down on the floor looking at the blue tiles, the black spots on them.
So quiet.
Her mind was finally free.
Her headache was going away.
Her vision cleared.
Her brain was starting to function properly again.
And with that, the realization of what she had done, hit her like a hammer to the chest.
She jumped up and forcefully pulled out of the warm water Ryan’s and Dean’s bodies, shaking them at first and then placing them gently on the bathroom mat. She had no idea how to administer CPR but she tried her best. Two fingers on their heart. She tried doing it for both at the same time because she simply couldn’t choose who to save first. She pushed on their chest and then blew in their mouths.
The boys didn’t move.
Their small three year old bodies remained still, their glass eyes starring up at their mother in horror.
Freya’s stomach somersaulted and she vomited all over her babies. Her dead babies.
Her vision darkened and she fainted on top of them, her hands spread out in a pathetic attempt of a last hug.

*

‘Freya, are you with us?’
The woman opened her eyes and stared at her friend. No, this wasn’t her friend. It was her doctor. Mary, the psychiatrist.
‘No. No no no.’ She mumbled.
‘You’re safe, Freya. The meds should kick in very soon. Close your eyes.’
‘No no no.’

*

Freya woke up at 7 AM like every other morning. She grabbed the cup of tea from the table and sat down to sip it quietly before her little ones woke up.