Notes: Same as chapter 1!! Enjoy, and let me know what you think!! Thanks!!

Chapter 2 - A So-Called Existence

Will limped up the stairs behind the bar where he worked, gritting his teeth against the increasing pain in his swollen ankle, and tried to hide his injuries behind a strong posture as he knocked heavily on the door. His mother answered on the first knock, which, Will knew, meant she had used up all of her drugs.

He tried to smile at the small, thin, pale woman staring at him vacantly through bloodshot eyes, but only managed a grimace. She had deteriorated bit by bit after his father left eight years ago, and it was hard now to believe that anyone could have ever found her beautiful.

“Hi, Ma,” he muttered quietly, knowing that this woman would sooner hit him than kiss him. He put his money on the former; he hadn’t been able to get as much of her Dreams as he usually could, and seeing as she was currently sober, she was more likely to notice.

Her eyes seemed to focus for a second as she recognized his voice. “Oh, right,” she mumbled back, stepping back and opening the door so Will could enter. He shut the door behind himself quietly, and handed his mother the small, white paper package of Dreams he’d stored in a hidden pocket inside his shirt, simultaneously hoping she wouldn’t notice that it was lighter than usual and knowing that she would.

She grabbed it as a starving person would clutch at offered food, and instantly ran to her pipe to smoke as soon as Will looked away. He couldn’t stand to watch; he’d seen it enough times already in his life. So he averted his eyes and glanced around the tiny, dank room he rented for her. He wished he could have afforded one with more windows, or one that at least faced west so the sun would come in during the afternoon, but this was the only place he could find that fit both rent and her drugs into his meager budget. Ironically, it almost seemed better this way. The darkness and shadows that clung to the furniture hid the infinite dents, cracks and scratches embedded in their surfaces, as well as the dirt, dust, and ash that littered the floor.

“So, Ma-” he began, still not looking in her direction.

A shrill cry from the other side of the room interrupted his comment, and he turned around so sharply he forgot about his ankle. He caught himself on a small table that his father had made when Will was younger, and accidentally knocked it over, spilling more ash and dust onto the floor.

“This… this isn’t enough!” Will’s mother’s voice had risen to an ear-piercing octave. “Some son I have! What, so now you don’t love me enough to get me what I need?”

Will glanced up as his mother stood from her curled up posture in the corner and advanced toward him. Though the top of her head only reached the bottom of his chest, he still feared the woman and her rages. And the fact that she had realized that he hadn’t brought her the usual amount had just begun another.

He tried to ignore the words, he’d heard countless times before: bastard, ingrate, worthless, lazy; but they just kept coming, and he could do nothing to stop them. He stared at his feet while she lectured him, not wanting to upset her further, but that had never stopped her before and this time was no exception.

Her hand hit him across the face before he even realized that she’d moved, and surprised him enough to make him look at her. She was staring at the back of her hand, where some dark liquid had splattered, and he felt something wet dripping rapidly down his chin. She’d reopened his split lip.

For the first time in a very long time, Will’s mother actually looked at him. His black eye and swollen lip only seemed to make her angrier, and she shoved him as hard as she could up against the wall next to the door. Her push didn’t have much force behind it, but it jarred his still-tender ribs and injured ankle, so that he had to wrap his arms around himself and balance on one foot to still the pain. “What’s this, you’re hurt? Oh, you poor, poor thing. Get in another fight with those so-called ‘friends’ of yours? I’ll bet you’re not working full time now, are you? That’s why you didn’t get my Dreams isn’t it! Gambled all your money away on dice…”

Her words were bitter, and bitterer still in Will’s mind because they were true. Still, something inside him felt the need to fight back. “Ma, I can’t – ”

She continued as if he hadn’t even spoken, reiterating her prior accusations that he didn’t love her enough, and that he was just like his father. Just another person who’d just as soon leave her on the street to fend for herself.

Finally, the Dreams kicked in, and she began to settle down enough for Will to coax her into accepting his apology with a promise that he would have more for her soon. He hugged her before he left, but knew that the gesture was more for himself than for her, because he was sure she never noticed. He stumbled down the stairs and limped stiffly around to the other side of the building toward his entrance to the basement.

The owner of the bar had originally rented out the top floor and the basement to travelers, but business had been slow, so he let Will have the basement, food and beer for a portion of his wages every month, and only charged him half price for his mother’s room. He’d known Will and his mother since Will was a baby, and hated to see them put in too tough of a spot. As long as he could still make some profit off of them, anyway.

Regardless, Will was always pressed for money, and usually earned what he couldn’t get from working at the bar by cheating at dice. Up until two days ago, he’d believed he could get by on that, at least for a while, but now, he knew that was no longer a possibility; the owner wouldn’t let him work during the busiest hours because of his beat-up face, and, though Will knew he hated to do it, threatened to fire him if he showed up to work like that again. ‘Perfect,’ Will had thought sarcastically after hearing the news. ‘Another person to disappoint.’

He entered the pitch black darkness of his room without bothering to light a candle and sat down on his makeshift bed: a fairly stable structure created from extra wood and stone the carpenters and masons hadn’t been able to find a use for, and topped with straw and worn linen. The heavy coverlet, the same one he’d used since before his father left, had worn thinner with use, and currently lay in a crumpled mass behind him

He kicked off his right boot and fumbled with the laces of his left, which he’d had to stretch considerably to fit over the clumsily wrapped bandage protecting his swollen ankle. His mother’s words came back to him, ‘You’re hurt? Oh, you poor, poor thing,’ and fueled an already burning anger with himself. Suddenly impatient, he yanked the boot off and gasped in pain, and hated the fact that he found the simple task of taking off a boot painful.

When the pain didn’t subside, he simply lay down on his bed and curled up under the coverlet, thinking about his mother’s hurtful words and willing himself to do better, though he knew he would fail. If his injuries didn’t stop him, then his own nature would.