I locked myself in my room until Gerard had gone out for a few hours. Only then did I wander down over the stairs then plank myself in the living room, waiting for Mrs. Way to prepare supper. I was fucking starved.
"I wish you and Gerard would get along." I looked up to see that she was walking in through the kitchen with one of those TV trays that you can set up when you want to eat in the living room. She set it up in front of me while I just stared at her. I had been slouched down in the arm chair with one leg cocked up and the other hanging over the arm of the couch. Personally, I thought it was the perfect position to get some ass in. I popped the ear phones from my MP3 player out of my ears. I used to keep them in all the time, even though the device was rarely ever on.
"I mean," she spoke up again, "I'm hoping you're going to be here for a long time."
"I'll try," I lied.
She gave me another one of her sickly smiles before retreating back into the kitchen to get my meal. She came out shortly after with a plate piled with macaroni and cheese. I stared at it for a while before noticing that her bony hand was stuck in front of my face holding out a fork. I took the fork with a quick 'thank you' then dug into the much needed food.
While I was eating, she started to set up another TV tray, then brought out another plate of pasta. I watched, confused, as she set out a fork and a knife. She left the living room again then back with two tall glasses of milk. She handed one to me then laid the other on the coffee table before walking to the end of the staircase.
"Mikey, darling," she called out, "Supper is ready." I should have known.
Shortly after her call, Mikey came pattering down over the stairs, then shyly took a seat on the couch next to me where his supper had been set out. We both ate in silence while watching some weird talk show that was on mute on the television. It made no sense, in theory, but the television was always on mute, so I never questioned it.
Mikey and I got along, we just didn't talk much, because well, we didn't have anything to talk about. It wasn't like there was a huge age difference, it was only two years. He was fifteen, I was seventeen, but when you're our age, that makes a world of difference.
After eating, I stored away in my room again. Even though I had been with the Ways for over two months, I still felt out of place and nothing but a burden. I tried to stay out of the way for the most part. I sighed, thinking of when I lived with my family. I laughed at the thought though, I never really liked them anyway.
I got up from my bed and walked over to my dresser. I opened up my underwear drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The packet never contained cigarettes, though, instead, it consisted of seven pre-rolled joints and a black 'baby' lighter, you know, those miniature ones that you can stash away anywhere.
I flicked one of the paper-rolled joints out and placed the lighter in the palm of my hand. I stashed the packet back in the drawer then ventured to lock my bedroom door. I twisted the knob a few times to ensure that it actually was locked, then I went straight for my bedroom window. I was lucky that my bedroom was on the back of the house, and that the back of our house was in fact facing towards the woods and barren land where no one would see me.
My window was pretty low, yet it wasn't one of those tall windows. The house had a weird construction, it was like nothing was how everyone else would have their house. I liked it.
Opening the window and leaning out slightly, I lit up the end of the joint. I took a few quick puffs then took a long draw, keeping all the weed smoke within my lungs temporarily before exhaling the grass-tasting fumes. I finished the toke just like it was a cigarette then doubted it on the windowsill. I left my bedroom then went down the hall and into the bathroom, wrapping up the end of the joint with tissue then flushing it down the toilet.
When I finally got back into my bedroom, my high was starting to dull my brain. I laid flat on my back on the bed and plucked the earphones back in my ears and turned my music up as loud as it could go. I relaxed and let my heartbeat take on the insane rythem of the drums as the guitars numbed my blood stream.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew it was completely dark in my room and the batteries were dead on my MP3 player. My high had been nearly gone, it was left as nothing but a dull throb in the back of my head, and as irritating as a migraine. My mouth was dry and I was annoyingly hungry.
I stretched to make my muscles somewhat useful and not as tight before I got up and slouched out of my room. I slumped down over the stairs and looked around, the grandfather clock read nine thirteen. Mr. Way was usually at home by that time, and watching the news. That was pretty much the only time that the television wasn't on mute with the subtitles, but that night, he wasn't there. I found that really strange, because since they were in the employment of foster-care, they couldn't just leave the house unattended at any time, or they could lose their job.
It was then that I had remembered that Gerard turned 18 not too long ago, making him a legal adult along with a legal 'baby-sitter'.
I wandered into the kitchen, my mind set on a big bag of chips, some chocolate and a tall glass of Pepsi. Gerard was sitting at the kitchen table painting some kind of picture when I entered. If I hadn't been coming down from a high with a serious case of the munchies, the strong repulsing smell of the paints would have turned my stomach.
I proceeded to ignore him then went on my merry way towards the junk cupboard. After retrieving what I desired, Gerard decided to be an asshole, "Stoned again, I see." I rolled my eyes at his comment, "I can see you're packing on the weight from the after effects."
I laid my food down on the table and glared at him. An idea hit my mind, "What are you painting?" I asked him, acting nice for once in my life.
"Something for an art contest," he replied, giving me a curious look.
I picked up my glass of drink and dumped it over the canvas that had been flat on the table. Gerard jumped up and scooted back as the sticky liquid mixed with the paint flooded towards him then spilled onto the tiled floor.
"You fucking asshole!" he shouted at me, "What the fuck did you do that for?"
"I'm stoned and fat, remember?" I asked him, putting the glass on the counter and getting more Pepsi, "It's what I do."
I grabbed my bar and bag of chips and started off towards the living room, "Good luck with the art contest," I said before vanishing out into the next room.
