Why

He walked down the stairs cautiously.  He didn't want to wake his mother.  Each step he took left a permanent scream in his ears, and the only thought was the door, make it to the door. 
But by the time he reached the main floor, and began shrugging on his coat, he lifted his keys out of the small metal bowl that sat on a shelf.
He winced.
He had to leave.
He had to leave.
He had to leave.
He heard shuffling upstairs, and he lurched to the doorknob, his clammy hands slipping on the chilled metal handle.  He couldn't breathe, oh god he couldn't breathe; his chest was tight, his collar was hurting him, he was sweating.
Why wasn't the door opening?
Why wasn't the door opening?
Why wasn't the door opening?
"Kyle?"
He froze.
The hairs on his neck stiffened.
His arms ached.
"Kyle?  Where are you going?"
His back was turned, but he could sense her on the top stair boring her sickly gaze into his shoulders, his back, his legs, his... everything.
"Kyle?"
Steps.
He heard her stepping down.
"Kyle, you have to answer me.  You know I don't like you leaving the house.  This is why I home-school you.  You aren't a very good student, Kyle."
She was behind him.
His fingers kept slipping away from the knob, and panic struck his chest again.
"Kyle?"  Her voice was a whisper, but she was so close, it was so loud.  He felt her fingers run up his spine and his gut twisted with disgust, filth.  He felt filthy.
Finally his grip on the doorknob steadied as he yanked the door open.
"Kyle."  Ice.  Her voice was ice. "Close the door, Kyle."
He slowly began closing it.
"Turn around, Kyle."
He slowly began turning around.
There he faced his mother.  Who was two feet shorter than him.  Who had such small features that she seemed harmless.  This wasn't the woman from before.  This couldn't be the woman from before.
But then she kissed him on the cheek.
And then on the mouth.
And his reality crashed into his lungs as he struggled to get away.  But it was too late.  Last night happened.  He couldn't stop her.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
______________________________________________________________________________

He walked down the stairs cautiously.  He didn't want to wake his mother.  Each step he took left a permanent scream in his ears, and the only thought was the door, make it to the door. 
But by the time he reached the main floor, and began shrugging on his coat, he lifted his keys out of the small metal bowl that sat on a shelf.