Chapter 1

It was just any other typical, boring Saturday morning. Jack had come through my window in the middle of the night, saying he couldn't sleep. We stayed up and talked for a bit. He told me his parents got into another fight and that he was getting annoyed by the constant bickering. Finally we both settled into my bed, back to back, and slept until the early afternoon. I woke up slowly, still dazed by my nice dream. I noticed Jack wasn't in my bed anymore and at first wrote last night off as just a part of my dream, until I smelled mom making breakfast downstairs…..Mom only made breakfast when Jack was over.

I stayed in my pajamas and clambered down the stairs. But before I left I saw my desk drawer, with all my short stories and journals inside, was left ajar. I knew I didn't leave it open. I hadn't opened it in months.

When I reached the kitchen Jack was already stuffing his face with pancakes and guzzling down a glass of orange juice. He paused for a moment when he saw me in the door way. He swallowed the rest of his food and gave me one of his dazzling smiles.

"Man, I thought you would never wake up. You were sleeping like the dead and don't look much better." He chuckled at his comparison and continued eating. My mom stopped what she was doing when she heard Jack talking to me. She turned to me and looked clearly upset and angered. Probably because I ruined her alone time with her (desperate and increasingly disturbing) crush, Jack.

My mom is really starting to freak me out. Even though Jack is the same age as me, she still tries to flirt with him and to get….closer to him…..She's really messed up somewhere in that head of hers. I snapped back to reality when I hear my mom's shrill, fake sweet voice.

"Now Michael, how many times have I told you to get up off your butt, get ready, and do something productive in the morning?"

"Never," I mumbled, but she wasn't listening to me. She was making sure Jack could hear her and support her. (That would just boost her fantasies, wouldn't it?) But like usual, Jack always stood up for me, making up excuses for my actions.

"I don't know, Ms. K. With someone like Mikey, he needs all of the rest he can get to preserve his strength. Besides, it's difficult to get him out of his room now. Just think of how hard it would be to keep him away for hours at a time." He laughed again and my mother just stood there, flustered and turned back to the stove. I grabbed the orange juice and poured myself a glass as I waited for my bread to toast. Mom didn't make me any breakfast; she only made things for Jack.

I wanted to go eat in my room, so I didn't have to stay in there with my mother longer than necessary, but stopped when I saw the look Jack gave me and sat down in front of him. After about twenty minutes my mom left for work, waving and giving a very "promising" goodbye to Jack….She said nothing to me. Jack, being as oblivious as ever to my mother's fatuous advances, said a quick goodbye back and tugged me back to my room when she closed the front door.

He let go of my arm and walked over by my desk. I knew he was going for that one drawer so I lay down on the bed and curled up on myself. I hid my face in a cool pillow when I heard him flipping through some pages in one of my many note books.

"You stopped," he said quietly. I didn't say anything back to him. "Mikey….. Hey, come on. Why did you stop? Please tell me….You know you can trust me." Again I said nothing. "What happened, Mikey….Mikey?" He yelled my name and picked me up so that I was now looking him in the eyes. "Did she do something to you?" he asked, looking into my eyes for any reaction.

"I just don't see what's so special about wasting my time on such stupid things…It's just aridiculous and foolish idea to think that I could spend my life being a writer, being a somebody! Besides, who would care about some nobody? My mind is something that no one wants a peak into….I'll die as I lived…Being nothing…." The way I spoke would make you think I was cutting you with a razor tipped with poison. I grabbed his hand that was gripping my shirt, but it held fast like an iron clamp. I looked at him and glared daggers up at his face, still trying to pry his hand away. Frustrated, I just left my hand on his, still glaring at him. After awhile his gazed softened and his gripped lessened on my collar.

He sighed tiredly and held my hand over my heart. "I…I'm sorry, Mikey. It…It's just that, I'm scared that one day you're going to….hurt yourself…" He paused and looked down at our intertwined fingers, embarrassed by his words.

"What? You think I'm so self pitiful that I would try to kill myself?" I said, slightly raising my voice. He looked back up at me with sadness and worry in his eyes. "N-n-no! I don't think you're 'stupid' and I don't think you're 'self pitiful'. You know what I meant. I…I...I just don't want anything to happen to you, Mikey. Without you I would just be…all alone." He rested his forehead on my chest and just sat there, slightly holding on to me. Jack always did this when he felt upset or lonely. It made him feel grounded, real….like he existed. As a child, neither his mother nor father ever picked him up, held him, or gave him any source of reassurance. That's why he did it to me. I was the only one who wouldn't turn him away or ridicule him. I understood how he felt. In some way, this comforted me as well.

Jack's family is what you would call a step up from a broken home. His father was a mechanic with a shop near the outer boundaries of town and he also had a history of hitting the bottle to hard. His father would always show up at late intervals in the night smelling strongly of liquor and sweat. (Most likely from the local bar that he was rather fancy of.) Both of his parents smoked, but his mother was the worst. Jack's mother was no better than his father. She could be a cold, cruel, sadistic person when she was challenged, angry, or in most cases, drunk. His father would mostly just divulge in cans of cheap beer and maybe a glass of whiskey at times, but his mother could vary from champagne to straight up vodka. His mother still acted as the teenage girl of her days and not as a respectable mother like she should have been. She worked from time to time up at the diner on Thompson Boulevard, usually the night shifts. His parents also fought a lot when they were left under the same roof for too long. Jack had two siblings, an older brother and a little sister. They never talked though. His whole family were all pretty much distant with each other. But in all honesty, my family is not so far off either.

It's only me and the thing I'm technically suppose to call my mother. I don't really remember what happened to my dad, (if I ever even had one). The last thing I can recall is when I was four. I was playing with my homemade stuffed toys (the sweet old lady next door made me them) when I heard crashes and yelling downstairs. It was two voices, one high, one deep. I couldn't make out what they were saying…Suddenly, a man opened my door and walked over to me…..His face was…blurred out. Even today, I can't remember what he looks like. He crouched down to me, ruffled my hair, and told me something. I can't hear what he's saying, but I can see his lips moving. He kissed me on the forehead, got up, and left my room. I got up and went over to my window when I heard the front door slam close. The man now had a suitcase and threw the brown, leather rectangle into the trunk. He slammed the trunk and got into the driver's seat. He had just started up the car when the woman came out screaming again. She started to bash the hood with her fists in a fit of rage….Her face was blurry too. The man backed the car out into the street with the woman chasing after. She started, half heartedly, running down the street after him, but gave up quickly and instead threw her shoes at the car….The man never came back.

My mom, from the day I was born, is a raging alcoholic and a "mistress of the night", so to speak. During the day, she works at a pancake house across town, but during the night she works at an "art club". (I think you know what I mean.) She's always bringing home a new guy every week. I never liked any of them. They were all the same type, narcissistic, arrogant idiots with too much money at hand. Some of them just had too much pent up frustration and just wanted a human punching bag. Mom could never let one of them ruin her "perfect" face though, so she would just lead most of them to my room. She made sure that they didn't hit me a lot in places where someone would take notice. This actually played a part of me meeting Jack in the first place. It was a little over six years ago, back when-

Cold water splashed against my face, entering my nostrils and my mouth. The metallic scent of blood striking me out of my thoughts and the water making me gag.

Cough…Sputter…Hack…"Mikey….Mikey, you okay buddy?" I was still getting over the shock and just nodded my head like an idiot. "You blacked out again, bud. Your nose was bleeding pretty badly too." Well, that explains the smell. I was recovering slowly and finally realized we were in my bathroom. I was sitting on the toilet, soaked to the bone. A sudden chill went down my spine causing me to shiver. "Oh! I'm sorry, man! I yelled at you and shook you, but you didn't respond. The only thing I could think of was to throw water on you. It always works in the movies!" As my senses slowly came back to normal speed, I listen to some of the things he was babbling about. It got more ridiculous and laughable as the seconds dragged on. Eventually, I let him off the hook. "It—it's okay. Thanks."

He let out a sigh of relief and had his signature goofy smile back in place. "What were you thinking about anyway?" I paused, thinking if I should tell him or not… "My…dad…." I looked down at my feet, feeling ashamed of myself for some reason. Suddenly, I felt thick cloth fall on my head. Jack was drying my head gently with a towel. I just looked up at him. When he noticed my stare, he looked at me and smiled. "We don't want you getting sick now, do we?" He chuckled and went back to his task. I let out a sigh, not of anger, but of relief. Things are finally starting to become a little more normal.


I've been working on an idea for a story for a while now and I've planned out alot of this story in the last year, but I would real appreciate any ideas you may have.

So please review and tell me what you think and if I should continue or not.