She stood behind him with a menacing look on her face. He could feel her eyes squinting suddenly. Praveen ducked.
His mother, Tina, jeered him. "Why do you act so much? Just don't do anything wrong...and then you won't have anything to worry about."
Praveen put his left hand up behind his head. He ducked his chin to look down at his homework notebook. He leerily eyed Tina with one eye. Without a moments notice, her hand could reach down and strike him on the back of his head. His knees trembled, his arms tensed. As long as she stood behind him watching him write in his notebook, anything could happen.

"Mora! What are you looking at me for? Why aren't you studying?" Tina yelled as she swooped her fist down, catching him somewhere between the side of his head and his ear.
"Aayiah" Praveen yelped as his head careened around his neck, his body trying to regain balance. Praveen looked furtively at her, gasping, looking to escape, but knowing he couldn't. She had boxed him in. His insides jumped within his stomach. Her stare seared a fire through him, the heat of her expectations burning the hairs on his neck. 
He gulped, picked up the yellow pencil that had knocked out of his hand, and with his shaky fingers, started to scrawl. His left hand tried to cover the bruise on the side of his head. It would be unbearable to get hit there again. And as much as he stared at the numbers in the notebook in front of him, his mind just couldn't focus. So he urged himself to focus by verbalizing what was written in the notebook in front of him. 
"Uuh...umm, six times four is...umm...uhh..twenty-four."
He wanted to show her that he was trying, that he was thinking. Show her his head was in the right place and that he was doing what he was supposed to. He would do anything right now to get her to leave him alone. Anything to get her back in the other room where she was taking care of the laundry instead of standing so close behind him, watching his every move. 
"...Umm...threes and six is....eighteen..." he said next, moving to the next sum. He glanced to the left, could see her feet rigidly standing just a step away. "Errr......seven and eights..." Think, he told himself. Think quick. "Fifty-six."

He heard her step away from the room and then finally allowed himself to breathe. But he knew she would be back. Back for more. Why did he feel so panicky within himself, knowing he couldn't win fighting and had no where to run away to? For his good, she said. If it was that good, why did it hurt so much? Why did he hate her so much?