Yet another multichap from little ol' me! Yay!
So here's the basics... I don't own anything except the plot. This is completely fictional.
Oh, and another thing, if the chapter is in italics, like this one, it means that it is a memory from gerard's childhood, when he was 11 and mikey was 9. If it's not in italics, it's what is happening currently, so gerard is 17 and Mikey is 15... Cool?
Mikey took his seat at the dinner table and reached over for the jug of juice, his hand trembling a little under the weight.
"So how was school today?"
Mikey looked up at the sound of his mother's voice.
"It was fine, Mom..."
"Just fine?" Her voice was scratchy, bored, perhaps even slightly disgusted, like she had hoped for a more entertaining answer. I didn't blame her though. She worked long hours, most days doing some form of overtime, and any time she did get at home, she was cooking cleaning, checking both mine and Mikey's homework. Her life was busy and dull, so maybe the one thing she could attempt to find interest in also being just as tarnished, was like heartbreak.
"Yeah. Just fine"
"It's always 'just fine' with you, isn't it? You've always gotta be so routine, don't you?" she sneered as she dished out a handful of leafs from the salad bowl to her place, "it really does get quite sickening..."
"I'm sorry, but-"
"No buts, Mikey", her voice raised suddenly, almost shouting, before sinking back into her nonchalant, depressed tone she always used, "When you've finished eating, you'll load the dish washer, okay?"
Mikey nodded as he picked away the breadcrumbs from a fish finger, dissecting it and finally nibbling, despite being far from hungry. I'd noticed that he never ate that much these days, but something always told me it was a little more than loss of appetite.
Finding my voice for the first time in the duration of the meal, I politely excused myself from the table. Just one more person needed to use their vocal chords that night.
"Why?" my mother hissed, "Can't you wait till we've all finished?"
"I need to finish homework. Is that okay?"
"On you go son, I'll clear up your plate..."
My head shot round. For the first time that night, and possibly many before hand, my father had spoke without being directly asked a question. It was only when my mother's eyes pierced him like daggers that I remembered why he held such a dedicated silence.
I was surprised the man had managed to stay vaguely optimistic over the years. Nothing had turned out the way he had planned- he had never got the job he dreamed of, he barely made enough money to keep the family up and going- it was all, ever so slowly, crumbling away from him. Everything had aged and rotted. even my mother, his child hood sweetheart, the one he had got down on one knee for at the here age of sixteen, the woman he had promised 'forever and always' had molded into a distortion of the girl he had fell for. Now she was bordering on her forties- too old for love, to weary for fun. Her youth was a cripple.
But my father never did show his pain. He masked it, hid it, glazed it with a thick layer of courage and enthusiasm. It was only when I watched him sit in the driveway for ten minute, maybe more, simply bracing himself to enter the house that I could feel his sorrows.
Nervously chewing on what remained of my thumb nail, I left the table, quietly exiting the cramped kitchen and making the descent down the stair leading to my basement-come-bedroom. It wasn't much, but it was home.
Pushing the door over, I fell, collapsing on my bed, my limbs aching and flesh worn by the wind.
Things were stressful those days, I couldn't deny it. But I felt no pity towards myself. I wasn't the worst off in the bunch- I had friends, a roof over my head, I did well in school, I'd never been bullied to any major degree, I'd never been abused by either of my parents- it was just the little things. All those bitchy comments and dull tones were barely sparks in reality, but with a little fuel they could burn and scold my skin like wildfire.
So I would ignore it. Even when my skin was charred and incinerated, I would suffer through. I would not complain, no matter what. Complaining only made things worse.
So, there I lay, studying the ceiling. And there I would lie till the morning sun broke through the clouded sky and my alarm clock broke through the silence.
But that was just another ordinary day for me.
