First of all, England and France are amazing characters and I'm sorry I'm using them this way.
Second, this story is one chunk of raw emotion. No thought-out structure, no pretty dialogue. I will look into polishing it later when I can be a bit more objective about it. But raw emotion has its value, too, if only for other people to relate to. That's why it gets posted in this form anyway.
Third, trigger warning: abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, etc.
Stay safe, stay strong, and have a beautiful day. You rock.
They were at it again. Matthew covered his ears to block out the yelling.
"It's called decent parenting!"
"One hundred years ago, yes!"
"Don't pretend like I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm talking about! You should take a good look at yourself and maybe actually think about the children for once!"
"I should?"
Alfred slipped into Matthew's bedroom and closed the door behind him. "Fucking hypocrites."
"Please, let them stop," Matthew sobbed. His heart was pounding like crazy and he feared he might completely zone out again. Not that it seemed like such a bad idea, taking a little mental trip elsewhere.
Alfred sat down next to him on the floor and wrapped an arm around him. "I've tried everything. I've cried, I've begged, I've approached them rationally..."
"I hurt myself, smoked some bad stuff, ended up in suicidal crisis..."
"They're not going to change." He squeezed his brother's shoulder. "No matter how much harm they cause us."
"Do you think they even realize what they're doing?"
"That's the worst part, Matt. I think they both genuinely think they're the good guys."
"I hate it here. I hate Mother's Day and Father's Day and this whole crap about happy families. It's not real. It doesn't exist."
"I think it does exist, somewhere out there. But I simply don't deserve it."
"What if I were just a little better, huh? Just a little smarter, and a little less awkward, and a little kinder. Surely that'd make a difference?"
"I'm not sure anymore."
"Maybe you should for once cook a decent meal!" Francis yelled. "Alfred's not getting any skinnier!"
"I fucking heard that, asshole," Alfred breathed.
"They think we don't have ears or something." Matthew hugged his stuffed bear. "I heard Dad mention how he thinks I'm too old for Kumajiro and how it's best to swiftly take him away from me, like a band-aid. I've been hiding him ever since. You and Kumajiro are the only ones I trust."
Alfred wiped his eyes. "My grades are falling again. Won't be long before they give me shit about that again."
"You're trying."
"Not enough."
Matthew looked at his feet. "I need new shoes. Mine are falling apart."
"Don't let them hear it."
"It's so mean! They insist on buying things for us, but then they start complaining about how much money it costs. Like, if it's such a problem, then just let me buy it myself! No need to be so shitty about it."
"But if they buy it, they can declare themselves Good Parents for all the 'sacrifices' they make."
"Well, if it's so terrible to parent us, why don't they just throw us out? I wouldn't mind. I'm dying to leave this place."
"As soon as we have enough money, we'll run. Just a little bit longer, Matt. Please stay strong just a little bit longer."
"I'm trying to. That's why I'm about to start therapy for the fifth time."
The yelling intensified and Alfred took out his iPod. He inserted the splitter, so they could attach two pairs of headphones to completely block out the sounds. They could each listen to their own devices, but this felt less lonely. Alfred pressed shuffle and they both closed their eyes, embracing each other. Retreating into their own little world.
The first song was loud metal. Matthew's music. He let the sound fill his head entirely, drawing everything else out, not caring that the sound was a little too loud to be healthy for his ears. It was an escape, a drug almost. God, he needed a hit right now.
Next up was Frozen's Let it Go. Alfred loved Disney. Matthew suspected that he found the hope and love there that he didn't receive at home. Arthur called it childish. Matthew liked to think of it as survival.
Just a little bit longer.
Just a little bit longer.
Alfred paused the music. "They've stopped."
"You should go back to your room. If they find you out of bed, they'll get angry all over again."
"Don't harm yourself, or drink, or blow, okay?"
"Okay. And you don't eat. And if you do, don't throw up."
"Got it. 'Night, Matt."
"Goodnight." Matthew crawled into bed, clutching Kumajiro. In some ways, the silence afterwards was even worse. But nothing hurt as much as the faked happiness that would come after. He took a deep breath.
Just a little bit longer.