ah, i started something old again! it'll be another short story, comparitive in length to Force, but different in nature, i promise. and i'm typing one-handed at the moment, so bear with me in mistakes w/this note. i put henna on my left palm, and it's not yet dry. it's old anyway, so prpbably won't take. not that any of you care? anyway.
i was supposed to have more of Ghosting posted, but it's not yet saved to my lap top (new, whoo hoo!)so forgive me in that respect. and the one shots...i still apologize. your best approach is to pester me until i get too guilty not to anymore. (pathetic, yes)
anyway, i hope ya'll enjoy this. i'm rather indisposed right now with...sickness of the nausous headache sort. (eurgh)
Thursday, April 6, 2006. 12:45 am.
I tried to ignore the feeble call floating from Mom's room, tried to stick to keeping track of the bills and the amount of money my last paycheck could cover. Not fucking enough, that's for sure.
I sighed and put my pencil down onto the yellow notepad I'd jacked from a teacher at school; it was covered in scribbles and notes and depressingly meager figures. Sometimes I wonder if graduating high school is worth not being able to know whether or not next week you can make the water bill.
"Wyyyyyy-aaatt!" She won't quit until I go in there, why put her through the exertion?
With a soft groan, I pulled myself out of the rickety kitchen chair, the only one that was left of the original set; the only other chair anymore is that orange one I'd fished from a garbage heap down the street a few months ago. It's made of cracked vinyl, and the stuffing is showing through in more places than not, but it's a chair. I don't like the way the one I was in before creaks whenever I shift, the way it gives when I sit, the legs wobbling back and forth a bit.
My bare feet scuffed the dingy carpet as I wearily made my way to Mom's room, seeing that her water glass was empty again.
"Wyatt." She was still whimpering my name, even as I walked over and tugged the sheet from where it was twisted around her legs, her cries empty and familiar anyway. After straightening her blankets again, I smoothed back her darkly blonde and braided hair from her neck, soothing her into returning to her dozing sleep; without a word, I picked up the water glass from the table and left the room again.
The kitchen is so clean, just the way I like it; as if we have anything other than bills to clutter it up anyway. I filled her glass and took a sip even as I stared at the pile of wasteful paper upon the table…I can barely make out the cheesy floral design that mars its surface beneath all that. Not that it's much to look at, for all it ugliness. It was once nice and pretty when it was new; I think Mom bought it when her and Dad first married. Ages ago, when life was still good for her. I don't know if it's ever been good for me. Not for a long time, anyway.
She was still asleep when I walked into her bedroom, and I took a moment to lean up against the door as my eyes slowly took in the tiny details of her entire world. And there's not much to it; her bed and blankets, the dresser holding her…clothes…if they could be called as such. Just mainly some older 'good' shirts and slacks, while the rest are nightgowns or sweat suits and the like. She's not picky, these days.
I get my dark blonde hair from her; I've taken shears to it recently, so it's all jagged and off my neck again. Still, I couldn't reach too well in the back, so I decided to keep it vaguely chin length for now, until I can hit up that old woman down the street for a cut. I got some flak at school for the hair, but I think people are used to me being weird by now. Me, the kid who lives in the library half the time and to himself. A loser.
After putting the glass back onto the bedside table, I drifted into the kitchen once more, feeling depressed that the pile of bills hadn't magically paid themselves and disappeared. They never do. Fuck it then.
Sighing, I pulled out the dilapidated pack of cigarettes full of mismatched sticks I've bummed off random kids; you bum from every smoker you see every once in and a while, and you don't have to go buy your own. If you conserve your own addictions, of course. I had the front door open earlier, and the screen door highlights the darkish street when I walk over to look outside; the moon is almost full but for a few days yet, and thus you can see just about everything. There seems to be a humid yet cooling breeze out there, so I pop the lock on the screen and step outside, careful not to let it slam behind me.
And I ambled down the driveway (with the beat up car that has miraculously carried me around since I first learned to drive it when I was twelve. It had been a necessity, even then), walking down to the curb and lowering my ass down, leaning into the space left by my spread knees as I flicked on my lighter. I had to lean further as I cupped my hand around the fragile flame, trying and failing several times before fate was kind enough to light that end of the cigarette for me. And then I leaned back more, my elbows on my knee caps as I slouched into my drags and exhales.
There's a new family across the street, they've got two teenagers about my age that catch the bus with me in the mornings and afternoons. But we've never spoken, because I'm not sure that they realize I live on the same street. But I think they must know now, because the two tumbled from their house and immediately caught sight of me, even in the moonlit dark. The taller one, the one I assume is older, raised his hand in greeting, and I half-heartedly flicked my fingers as I took another drag.
They were loud by just existing really, the shorter one never shuts up, I don't think. From what I semi-know, that one is named Garron, while the older is named something like…Kyle, or…Darryl, or Billy-Bob. Who the fuck remembers anyone's name? I only know Garron's because his brother is always telling him to shut the fuck up.
Anyway, the short one leapt up onto his brother's back and they roughed around for a few minutes, before he was thrown off to the obvious derision of his brother. They hesitated a moment, but were then inviting themselves over and next to me, a brother on each side.
"Hey." Garron was breathless, relaxing as he caught his breath.
I made a noncommittal noise, feeling ill at ease around two vibrant guys, compared to a dusty fart like me. I have no qualms saying such a thing about myself, I know that I'm boring and more like a forty-year-old than someone who's just turned seventeen two months ago. For my birthday, I bought myself a dollar ice cream sandwich from the convenience store down the street. It was delicious too.
"Didn't know you lived here." The other one leaned a bit closer to me as he talked, and I could feel the sweaty heat coming from him, something that…I don't know, but I wish they weren't sitting so close!
"Yeah." I feel like such a stupid retard, I have next to none appropriate social skills.
"Wha's yer name? Mine's Garron."
My fingers shook slightly, but I covered it up by flicking my ashes as I replied, "Wyatt."
"Shit, really? Like…the western guy?" I hummed my response, having gotten it a lot before, but usually from adults.
"Garron, shut the fuck up. Sorry, my brother's a fucktard. I'm Axel."
"You are not! It's Alex!"
This declaration caused Axel/Alex to reach around me and bash his dodging brother a good one, making me flinch at the meaty thud and withdraw from the body practically falling on me in his attempt to deliver another one.
"Stop, you asshole! Jesus…ok, call yerself Axel like a punk, see if I care."
And as uncomfortable as they make me feel…I also feel drawn to their color, to their…vitality. I don't have any of that; sometimes I wonder if I ever did.
"Mm…hey, ya got any siblings?" Axel suddenly redirected his attention at me, causing me to jerk with the unexpectedness of the question.
"N-no. None to speak of." Why is that always hard to say? I've been saying that for years now….
"Any not to speak of?" Garron was teasing, but my vision turned gray as I stiffened, biting out, "No. I don't."
I heard him begin to stammer an apology, but my acute hearing suddenly picked up on a thin and wavering call of my name, causing me to gasp and bolt to my feet, crushing my cigarette butt beneath my bare foot and hissing at the momentary flash of pain.
"I gotta go." I didn't wait for a response, just took to my heels as I rushed to my mother's aide; how long has she been calling me? I recall slamming the screen when I came inside, not bothering with the door as I slowed to a jog down the hall, turning into her bedroom and seeing her lying on the floor in a pathetic lump of covers and delusional woman.
"Damn it Mom." I felt guilty the moment I uttered the curse beneath my breath, quickly walking over and hooking my hands beneath her armpits as I struggled to heft her weight back up onto the bed.
"Pee." She mumbled as soon as I'd done so, making me sigh and stare up at the ceiling as I ground my teeth in exasperation.
But I then was pulling her to her feet and slinging her arm around my shoulders as I helped her cross the bedroom and into the tiny little bathroom. And let me just say that I no longer feel shame when I have to help my mom piss and wipe herself. In fact…this has never made me stop loving her. As she sat there a moment, her stream echoing in the toilet bowl, I stared down at the crown of her head, seeing the wisps and chunks of hair that have fallen out of the braid I'd put in it yesterday. I always braid her hair after her bath, as it's easier to handle that way. My fingers gently stroked her hair for a moment, and I didn't resist in leaning down to plant a kiss there as well.
Sometimes, I wish I could hate her. But I just can't. I once entertained the idea of having her put away, of getting this…burden off of me; the very thought had caused me to run and hurl, tears stinging my eyes at the notion of getting rid of the only person I've got. If not for my responsibilities, would I even exist? I don't think I would…I'd disappear, and nobody would ever care about it.
At least someone needs me.
I don't even need me.
--- --- ---
It was several hours after I managed to get her into bed and fast asleep that I was able to finish up the bills. We're still squeaking by; I'm going to have to get some more work soon, if I can. I really don't like to sell dope, but if it'll help pay bills, then I'm going to have to. Thing is, I've tried normal jobs before, but it's hard enough just to get to school regular, not to mention trying to leave Mom alone long enough for even a part-time job. If I had someone else to help me…if Dad would just give the fifteen dollars a month that he had used to…then I could have that much less to worry about. But he doesn't, and hasn't since I was fourteen, at least. And that had been when I still had Granny to help us. But she died of something…heart attack, I think her neighbor told me. And we didn't get jack shit in money, because…I probably got jacked, that's why. She had always said that she'd leave me something, but then again…she'd also wanted me to put Mom away. I think that since Mom never went to where Granny lived, I think that that bastard lawyer stole the dough. He'd been a bastard to me when I'd called him, not talking to me because I was a minor.
And Dad…why bother thinking about things like this anyway?
Of course, I could always think about the way I smelled one of those guys today. When they sat down, I'd smelled something sweaty and masculine and really good. I bet it was that Axel…I was drawn to his looks the second I saw him a week or so ago. Tall as me or taller, with slim hips and frame…but you can tell he's got some strength to him too. And I love his dark, dark, dark hair, the way it's just long enough to be messy without trying. And I bet he's my age too, a junior and all. I bet he's a great kisser, that he could unwrap three starburst at once.
That's supposed to mean something, or so I've gleaned from hearsay. I wouldn't really know, I've never kissed anyone before.
But it's Axel I'm kissing, in my mind, lying half-clothed in my dark bedroom. Axel who's rubbing my abdomen, instead of my own fingers, my face scrunched up in concentration of mentally synchronizing my hands with his. My hand that makes do for a mouth as I cup my erection and pull upwards, gritting my teeth at the feeling of imaginary blowjobs. What would I give for one?! A real one.
"Mm, Axel…." I feel dirty whimpering his name, and so I do it again, feeling that shameful naughtiness I always get. For wanting a boy. For masturbating when my Mom is just next door to my room. For wishing I had a boy here fucking my mouth with his cock, fucking me and making me scream because I actually have something mine. For the indulgence of it all, I would sell my soul.
For someone willing to do that, with me.
A/N: ah, i just bought vol. 1-3 of Disney's Greatest, and Bella Notta from Lady and the Tramp has been playing. for some reason...it fits. strange. ok, not really, it's far too slow. something more like Part of Your World from The Little Mermaid. (laughs) maybe if the thing was just a tad bit more depressing? (really cracking up now) ok, staying off exedrin mixed with cherry coke.