Cole couldn't help but listen in from behind the door closing him off from the downstairs as his parents fought yet again…

"Are kidding me Lou? I need a man with a backbone," spat his mother angrily, her face probably an irritated red. "And the sad part is it's not about your dancing and singing, it's about your constant need to have control over Cole." Without an answer yet, she slammed something against the wall, and the dark-haired heard his father cry out like he was hit.

"My trophies!" 'Of course,' sighed Cole silently.

There were footsteps, and they must have been whispering angrily now. They figured their ten-year-old child was awake by now. He could hear how much venom was thrown back and forth. Mostly by his fed up mother.

Finally Sheryl decided whispering wasn't enough, "It's incredibly pathetic how you have to flaunt these like it was for a show dog." Usually she wasn't so mean, but her mood swings were random at times, but it was over none other than, yet again, their son. "It's disgusting how you bring Cole around like he's nothing more than an item for amusement!"

Spluttering from Lou, "I do no such thing! You must be even more messed up in that head of yours than I thought."

There was pure silence, then she must had taken that to heart, "Oh really? Than you must want me gone." He probably nodded fiercely, "Alright then, I'll have Ken come by tomorrow and I'll be off." The mentioned man was Sheryl's younger "special friend" that got his father madder than nothing else. Cole figured she loved this new man more, but wished that the marriage wasn't so bad that it came to this.

The sounding of footsteps coming towards the door caused Cole to rush back up the wooden stairs and into the hall. He was glad his door was still open, so he could pretend to just be leaving. She passed him, and her dark hair was parting from the lazy bun easily though she reached out a hand tiredly, "Come with me?" At his slight reluctance, "I know you overheard, Cole."

Nodding slowly, the shorter took his maternal figure's hand and let her lead him to her room. The room made him jealous of her, with its beige walls and Victorian style bedding and dressers. The vanity was secretly his favorite of it all. The older and larger piece of furniture held all of her makeup and accessories easily. She never wore too much, but his mother adored dressing him up and painting on makeup.

Cole immediately sat down in the cushioned wooden chair delicately, like usual, and she smiled sadly. "Oh, I wish I could take you with me, baby." It wasn't as if she couldn't try, but it was doubtful it would happen. The judge would look into her terrible habit of stress shopping or not think Ken would be able to take care of some other man's child. Maybe Lou would be better, besides his pathetic needs for control. Quickly, the woman wrote a note and placed in within the drawer Cole was never to open for whatever reason.

"Open this drawer when I'm gone, and… well, you'll see," she grinned weakly, and then blocked the future divorce from her melting mind. Opening the drawer on the other side, she pulled out some random makeup items, and noticed how his face lit up; just like a 'momma's boy'. 'Oh Lou, what you going to do?'

-l…l-

It had been weeks since Sheryl graced them with her appearance, but Lou seemed to be doing just fine… If drinking his pain away was that. He was pouring himself a glass of whiskey now, but ended up leaving it and taking the whole bigger plastic bottle instead.

Cole was busy cutting up pictures on his bed. Only ones that had him in the shot, anywhere though, because it was his fault for this. Despite family therapy and reassurance from family members he rarely saw, he still felt the blame was all him. 'Maybe if I actually liked dancing,' sighed the boy in thought, 'Then Mom would still be here, and Dad would care about me for once.'

Lou grunted and realized he had yet to actually drink the whiskey, so he took a chance to go see what his son was up to. It was eerily quiet, and he hated that idea. He put the cap back on the alcohol and walked up the stairs to see his son. Reaching the close door he rapped a few times, hoping the boy would allow him in. There wasn't any noise except for… scissors? Worried now, he quickly opened it to show the other snipping up photographs.

The man made his way over in a flash, glad he was sober. Cole didn't stop though, so it was a struggle to grasp and take away the sharp object. Noticing the only pictures that were getting attacked were ones that had the full family in it, Lou was relieved to find one last one. Taking it, along with the photos that didn't have his son in it, the male put that onto the table, placing the scissors with the sharp side facing away. "Cole, why did you do that?"

The boy looked choked up, "Because it's my fault Mom left."

"No it's not," tried the adult, "We never really got along in the first place."

The boy sniffed, but allowed the older to hug him one armed to the slim chest, "Then why were you two always bringing me up?"

It was silent while Lou thought of just why, hoping this could be avoided, "Cole, she doesn't like my need for perfection and I don't like how I practically force you into dancing and whatnot… But I got that from my own parents, and I'm sure you'll eventually love it too."

The dark-haired child stood up and padded across his wooden floor, "No, I don't want stupid dance lesson or quartet practice! Mom never made me go to that stuff. I have a choice with her."

Before he let his son leave the bedroom, "And look where that got her, a spoiled kid."

Freezing up, then gripping the doorframe harshly, the boy didn't bother looking over, "You're just jealous Mom is better than you." He nearly felt bad from the shocked and hurt expression he gained in return. Instead he let his father stay in the room, and moved over to the room he still adored, his mother's.

Going in, he smiled immediately at how it seemed to greet him as the new caregiver. When Lou and Sheryl were desperate to keep trying, the woman had moved in here to keep from blowing up at her husband. Then when they realized that didn't work, this altered guest bedroom was now Cole's. Or so he figured, but now he'd have the guts to see what his mother wrote for him on the sticky notepaper. Opening the drawer for the first time in awhile, he found it lying on top of all the extra and backup makeup.

'Cole,

Oh baby, I know I may never get to see you much anymore (Ken can't stand your father) but just remember I'll try in a few weeks! The judge never said I couldn't visit you, and I live a town away. Anyways, don't worry, and pretend to like dancing and singing until you find an outlet. Whether or not you believe it, your father loves you too.

Be good,

Mom'

It was abrupt, but nice to see her funky cursive writing all over the simple note. Of course, missing his mother would entail to make him want to come here often. It was instinct it seemed. When someone you care about it ripped from your life, you want nothing more than to have as much of him or her around without being able to actually have the essence around.

Currently, his father was trying to get him into an expensive private school for dance and other creative arts. Feeling nervous and cornered without a choice, he was hoping to find some refuge in this vast room.

The phone rang from another room, and his father could be heard getting it. There was a greeting, and then it was quiet as Cole opened the opposite makeup drawer (his mother allowed him to keep everything in the vanity.). He never felt he could really put it on without her magic touch, but thinking about doing it was good enough for now.

Sudden sobbing brought him from the odd smell of opened press powder. He placed it all back in the delicate drawer, and walked out to find Lou leaning in the hallway, holding a hand over his face and shaking. Noticing his son walking on this, he put the forgotten phone back on its receiver.

"What's wrong, Dad? Isn't Mom coming for a visit?" At the expressionless shake of the head, "Then why are you so sad?"

"I'll tell you when I find fit," Lou sniffed and walked away, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. It scared Cole to find his father chugging the forgotten whiskey with ease.

~l…l~

At thirteen, Cole found himself even more curious to why his mother never called or wrote. Not even visiting once, which was odd seeing as she never lied to anyone. Deciding to find out, he waited for his father to be out, and call a number that his mother left behind. Eager to finally call it for the first time now, the boy waited a few rings…

"Hello?" It was a deeper and soothing voice, and had to be Ken.

Imagining how confused the blond probably was, "Uh, hi, this is Cole?"

A bit of shuffling, "…Sheryl's kid right?" Figuring he guessed right, "Well, I'm sure sad they decided for no funeral, or we'd get to see each other and bond, right?"

"Wait, what?" He felt his pale skin starting to go gray in worry.

"Oh, Lou didn't tell you?" A sigh and swearing sounded from the other end quietly, "Your mother… she went to go see you a few weeks after the divorce by walking. Though Garmadon seemed to have a few other plans for our town, and starting breaking trees with his lightning. One ended up getting your mother, crushing her to where no one was sure it was her…"

Fighting back angry tears the boy answered, "Why didn't Dad tell me?" Without waiting for an answer, Cole continued strongly, "I found someone I hate as much as Garmadon right now, though… I wish you were my Dad, Ken." Not wanting to make this any more awkward, he hung up the phone and slammed it down on the receive in the kitchen. Turning around, he did his best not to hate himself at how Lou looked just then in the hallway near him.

The adult said nothing, only entered with the groceries. Then he placed down the paper bag on the round table and pulled something out of it. Noticing the bottle looked and smelled familiar, the son looked faint. Maybe he was the reason for all this… "I would get packed for boarding school," muttered the older male, "though I bet you finished, and that the teacher will be your father, since I'm doing such a poor job."

It was sad how it would take nearly four years to get rid of all this space and pain, but first, Cole had to pack to get away from it for as long as he could. No matter how much despair his mind was twisted into.