Mum's car was in the driveway when I got home from school, so I was relieved so see she had come home from work early. It meant that I could talk to her about camp this weekend and try to make plans as soon as possible. And if necessary, then to apologise to her and earn my phone back. It'd barely been a day, but I really missed being able to talk to my dad.

"Mum?" I called out as I came through the door. Her music was blaring loudly from her bedroom. I raced upstairs and dumped my bag on my bed before knocking on her door to get her attention. "Mum!" I tried again.

She still didn't appear to hear me, so I opened her door and poked my head through. Normally she'd be sitting in bed on her laptop, but I could see movement through her partially open ensuite door. She looked to be dressed in her white gown, rifling through her mirror cupboards. The music was loud, but I didn't want to disrespect her by turning it down so I figured I'd just get her attention by calling out.

"Mum," I called again. It was strange that she couldn't seem to hear me, but she was making an awful lot of ruckus in her ensuite.

I pulled the sliding door slightly and saw the entire back of her reaching for a small pill bottle and pouring a heap into her violently shaky hand. She threw her head back and tossed them down her throat without any liquid, then she slammed the bottle onto the sink, sighed, and rested her weight against it. She appeared to take a couple of breaths to calm herself before closing her mirror. She startled as I appeared in the reflection before her, but I was equally started by a ghost-like woman looking at me through the mirror.

She shot around to face me, and I immediately saw how pale she appeared. Her lips looked cracked and almost a purple colour, while her eyes and cheeks appeared sunken. She stared at me as she clutched her chest, then her eyes widened as she glanced down at her makeup bag on the sink behind her. She turned to look in the mirror, as if noticing the way she looked for the first time. She turned back slowly to look at me and sighed deeply with defeat.

"Why did you come in here, Jude?" she asked, walking over to her stereo so she could switch off the loud music. Silence fell between us.

She stood with her eyes closed and massaged her head, before opening them up slowly again to look at me. Her features looked so dark and sunken that I didn't understand how I hadn't noticed before. Did she always look like this and was I always so oblivious?

"Mum," I started, backing away slightly as I didn't quite know how to process this woman standing in front of me. "Why do you look like that?"

"I just rubbed off my makeup, Jude," she said, rubbing her cheeks with a tired and defeated expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She looked... sick.

"You just took medicine," I said, staring at the bottle she left on the sink.

"Is that a crime?" she asked, glaring at me. "Last time I checked, it's legal."

"You hate medicine!" I yelled, feeling increasingly frustrated by her secretiveness and hypocrisy. "How bad does something need to be for you to take medicine?"

"I just have a headache is all," she snapped.

"You don't even like me taking medicine!" I yelled. "Why the hell are you taking it? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mum marched towards me and slapped me hard on the same cheek as she did this morning. The sting reverberated throughout my body and left me trembling.

"Shut up and get out of my room," she said, voice low and threatening. "Watch your filthy mouth when you know all too well that God is watching. Waiting for you to mess up so he can cast you straight into the depths of hell. Is that what you're hoping for? Keep going then. "

"Isn't he watching you disrespect and undermine him by taking modern medicine?" I asked, glaring at her. "Isn't he watching you hit your own son? How do you even have time to be worried about my soul right now?"

She stepped back and clenched her fists, not breaking eye contact with me. Her eyelids were beginning to grow increasingly tired, which I could tell by the way they became more hooded by the second. "Did you come back here for your phone?" she asked, eyes crinkling with discomfort as she rubbed her forehead.

"Yes."

"Then you can turn around now and not waste any more of our time."

She walked to her bed and climbed under her covers. I didn't stay any longer as I stormed out of her bedroom and slammed the door behind me. I felt certain that I would regret a great deal of that exchange, but my cheek was burning and probably swelling by now, and I had no way to contact anyone. I couldn't call dad, Tristan, Liam, or Pastor Cordell.

Maybe I'd just have to walk to somebody's house. Liam would probably be at soccer practice, judging by how Josh wasn't here by now. I wouldn't know how to retrace my steps to Pastor Cordell's, since besides the time I walked home from there with Liam, I'd only ever been driven. My best bet would be Tristan's, even though it was just another way for me to completely defy my mum. I just didn't know how I could stay here and do nothing.

I got changed out of my uniform and sped out the door, bound for Tristan's house. He was the only choice I had, all I could do was hope he'd be forgiving and hear me out. There'd be nothing worse than getting there and then being sent away because he refused to see me. I didn't want to be one of those toxic people who push and pull their friends as they pleased, but I really was out of other options right now. If mum didn't hand back my phone by at least Wednesday or Thursday, then maybe I could try ransacking her room to find it.

The sun was hot and I broke into a heavy sweat by the time I reached Tristan's house. I knocked loudly on the door before remembering their doorbell, then rang that instead. I stood panting, wiping my forehead, dehydrated and out of breath. It only took a moment for his mum to answer the door and look at me with surprise.

"Jude!" she said in her heavy Filipino accent. "Oh my God, what on earth happened to your face? Darling, come in. Come in."

She placed her hand on my back and ushered me inside, yelling out for Tristan. He yanked his door open and sped down the stairs, looking surprised to see me here. He came over and his eyes widened before grabbing my chin and turning my head to get a better look at my cheek. "Why're there finger marks bruising on your cheek? And why's it so red and puffy?" he looked shocked but let go of my chin. "What happened?"

"Nothing big," I said with a shrug. "Got in a fight with mum."

Rosy, Tristan's mum, gasped when she heard me say this. "How can a mother lay her hands on her son?" she asked, shaking her head. "I will get you ice and medicine to put on your face, get you feeling better quickly, okay?"

She hurried away towards the bathroom while Tristan led me to the couch. He looked completely shocked. "I didn't think your mum's like this," he said.

I shrugged. "She looks unwell. Whatever's wrong with her, I think she's getting worse."

Tristan looked sad for me. I was relieved that he didn't send me away as soon as he saw me, but I should have known he would always be kind. He grabbed me a cold drink and sat down beside me. "Do you want to talk about things?" he asked. "I've never seen you like this. I'm concerned."

I shook my head. "If someone said you had to keep a secret or God would get angry, do you think God would be okay with it if you used a confessional?" I asked. "Only the confessional," I added quickly, throwing my hands in front of me as I explained, "Of course I wouldn't tell anyone else. But God created them, didn't he? Maybe he'd be fine if I did..."

Tristan looked confused. "Why would someone force you to keep a secret? Is it their secret or yours? Because if it's yours then it's yours to tell whoever you like."

"It's both of us," I said, fidgeting with my shorts. "God will be angry if I say anything. But I need answers. I'm so confused about why things happened and why I'm so angry about it. I need to know what I'm supposed to learn from it. In what way am I meant to learn and grow? What was God's message? What was the point? What the hell does He want from me?"

I didn't notice tears were spilling until Tristan pulled me into an awkward hug. He softly patted my back, but my cheek stung as it accidentally pressed against his shoulder.

Rosy put her arm over my shoulder as she came and sat down beside me. "Oh, sweet baby boy. You want to visit our church? I will take you. You can speak to Father Michael safely; God will be okay with that. Mother Mary will especially protect her precious children, okay? Jesus listens to his mom. He's a good boy like my Tristan, here."

I couldn't help but chuckle through my tears. I knew that Catholics had some very different ideas from Christians, but I didn't really know the scope of some things. Tristan had moved away slightly and was texting away on his phone. I wondered who he was talking to. He glanced up at me and put his phone away quickly. "Father Michael is cool. He will be good for you to talk to and will definitely be able to help."

"Okay," I nodded. "Thank you."

"Today is fine?" Rosy asked, pulling my face towards her and pressing an icepack against my cheek. I flinched at how cold it felt, and also the pressure against the tender area, but also felt a sense of relief. "I can take you after ten minutes at least of icepack, hm?"

I nodded. "That'd be perfect," I agreed. "But it'll definitely be fine, right? Nothing bad will happen... right? I don't wanna be punished for talking about things I was warned about."

Rosy clicked her tongue and placed a couple of painkillers on the table with a glass of water in front of me. "That's not how God works," she said. "His purpose is to love and protect."

So why didn't he protect me? Or the Jews? Or the African Americans? Or the Egyptian babies? Or the entire world when he covered it with water?

Some things just didn't add up anymore. People kept telling me different things and my idea of God was beginning to distort. After talking with the Priest, I really hoped that this would fix my relationship with God and help me find peace. All I needed were some answers. I took the painkillers, swallowing them with a vengeance as I recalled mum shoving a heap down her throat. Her hypocrisy didn't add up, either. Why did she do that?

I wished I could talk to dad, but I didn't even memorise his number. When I got my phone back, I'd definitely write it down and store it somewhere so I could still contact him. After ten minutes, I returned the icepack to the freezer, and we got ready to leave. Tristan came with us, all the while still occasionally pulling out his phone to text.

"Do you like your new friends?" I asked, watching him tap away.

He looked up at me in surprise. "Of course," he said. "They're a really cool bunch."

Even though I had no right to be jealous, that's exactly how I felt. Why did I ask a stupid question when I obviously wasn't going to be able to handle the answer? They were a good bunch of guys who shared the same interest as him, so why would he hold onto the idea of hanging out with me when I'm the one who let him go? It was toxic behaviour to mess around with people like that. To control them, push and pull, and do things on your terms.

It was mum who approved or disapproved of all my friendships over the course of my life, and it was mum who got the final say. Maybe my toxic trait was just wanting to be wanted.

Wanting to be loved.

"We're here," Tristan said, shoving his phone back into his pocket as we pulled in front of a cathedral I see daily, but never been in before. "I've been contacting Father Michael and he's already waiting for you in the confessional."

I looked up at the giant building and took deep breaths, wondering if entering another denomination might damn me. But there's no way people like Rosy and Tristan would go to hell, so I wanted desperately to trust them.

When he noticed me hesitating, he linked our arms and gave me a reassuring smile. "I'll take you there."