(A/N): Wow. This took a long time to upload you guys. I'm sorry. I've been busy with school and limited access to the internet. I hope I didn't loose any readers. Thank you to those who are still sticking around and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks to cravingsmiles for her help! Enjoy guys! Next chapter will be up much faster, I promise.
1969
Steven was torn from his sleep by the sound of a slamming door.
"Fuck off, Bud! That was the last of it, and you told me you weren't gonna do any more! You fucking liar!"
"This is the last time! I can't be sick all fucking day, Edna. How else am I supposed to work?" Bud's voice boomed through out the house.
"Work? Are you kidding me? You haven't been to work in weeks, you son of a bitch! I had to go beg my mom for money so I could pay the light bill 'cause you spent all the money on your precious fucking cocaine! This is bullshit, Bud! I'm not doing this again!"
Shutting his eyes, Steven rolled over to bury his face in the corner of the couch. Today was Sunday. He was just grateful he could return to school tomorrow and have another five consecutive days of not listening to their arguing every morning. Summer break had been almost unbearable. The walls in their tiny house were thin and did little to muffle voices in any room. Being in the kitchen was no different than being in the bathroom down the hall. No matter where he was, when anyone spoke it sounded as if they were right next to him.
He jumped a bit as Edna came bursting through the room, eyes blood shot and smudge marks on her cheeks, "Fuck your Dad! Fuck him! All he does is do his blow and sit on his ass, while I work my ass off."
Young Steven rubbed his eyes and sat up, making room for his mother. Planted beside him, she cupped her face in her hands and sobbed. "I fucking hate him, Stevie. We have to leave. We can't do this anymore."
Steven shifted uncomfortably. "It's okay, Mom." He could never understand why she got so mad at him when she did the same thing most of the time. He had always known there was something not right about her, but she was nicer to him than Bud so his small hand wrapped around hers, anyway.
"No, baby. It's not okay. It's not okay." She sniffled and turned to look him in the eyes. Her pupils were dilated and Steven had to try hard not to grimace at her. That would only make her mood worse. Anytime her eyes looked all huge and black he knew things weren't right, though he wouldn't dare ask why anymore.
"Why does he do this, baby? I don't understand." Edna whispered running a slender hand through his hair.
Shrugging his shoulders he diverted from her gaze and kept his expression blank. He never knew what to say to her.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open causing Edna to shoot up off of the couch. Bud tumbled into the room, face beet-red. "Edna! What the fuck are you still doing here? You want me to be sick, bitch?"
"Honestly, I could really give a fuck, Bud!"
Steven let his face fall into his lap and curled up at the tone in his mother's voice. Things were about to get crazy, and he wished he wasn't there. He could feel the tension mounting in the air. When they screamed like this, he thought they sounded like they were monsters or possessed by demons. It was never good, and always ended the same way.
Edna ripped away from her son and charged toward Bud, who didn't appear to be backing down. Steven buried his face in his lap and laced his fingers over the back of his head.
"Me and Steven are leaving you, Bud! You'll never fucking see him again and it's all your fault! Come on, Steven!"
Nose to nose with her husband, Bud responded by grabbing her by her hair and throwing her down on the couch. Steven's heart jumped into his throat as his mother screamed. It was blood curdling, and he just wanted to go. Edna wasn't really going to leave. She said she would all the time. Steven just figured it was a way to provoke Bud so he would hurt her. Sometimes he even wondered if she liked it, and quickly pushed the thought out of his head. Some things were just too much to think about.
"Bitch, you are not taking my kid away from me! You ain't leavin' me either! Now get your ass to Jared's house and get me what I need. Whatever you have to do for it, I don't give a shit. Use that spent pussy of yours if you have to!" The look in his eyes was feral as he spit into her face.
Dead still on the couch, Steven prayed into his lap for them to just not notice him. He wasn't sure if there was a God, but some of the kids at school told him God does stuff for people who pray. At this point, he would take any help he could get. The way his dad appeared like this was terrifying. His black hair seemed to be wet with grease. His skin was shiny, and his eyes were huge and red contrasting against the cold, pale blue. A shiver ran through his spine.
"Fuck you, Bud!"
SMACK
"You wanna say that again, Edna? Dear?" Bud taunted as Edna whimpered. "Do ya?"
She sobbed out something illegible as he back handed her again, "I said, do you want to say that again?"
"No!"
"Alright. Now go to Jared's. And if your not back in thirty minutes I'll lock you outta this fuckin' house and you'll never see us again."
She nodded frantically, and Bud raised off of the couch allowing her to scramble out the door, keys in hand.
Wide blue eyes were fixed on Bud until he snorted and spit on the floor, shooting a glare back at Steven's gaze. "What the fuck are you looking at, boy? Pick up this god damn room. There's shit everywhere. Clean it before your momma gets back."
Steven dutifully nodded, not meeting his stare, "Yes sir."
Once he heard the bed room door shut, Steven let out a sigh and took in the room. Beer cans and glass bottles littered the floor. Even though it was early in the morning mid-August made the already cramped house feel like a sauna, and the stench of sour beer was rampant through-out the rooms. Steven pulled his shirt off and threw it in the corner before trudging through a sea of beer cans to grab a plastic bag from next to the front door. The plastic seemed to be in a pile of black, putrid gunk. He had no desire to try to find out what it was.
It was crazy. He never understood why, but he often felt sick being at home. It was strange, the way he would do anything just so his Dad wouldn't have a reason to yell at him. Too look at him. His eyes scared him. He even dreamed about them sometimes. He would be in a room, dark and cold: the sense of fear would suffocate him and then Bud's powerful gaze would be fixed on him. It amazed him how his mom stood up to him sometimes. But, she would always back down. Whether by force or will, Bud always won. Most of the time Steven was good at staying out of his way. He mostly played outside in the street with other kids, or alone in his back yard, building fires and making things out of mud. He knew not to ever go inside unless his Dad told him too.
The one time he heard his Mom's shrieks and a loud bang he ran inside only to find his Mom cowering behind a turned over couch and Bud with a bottle in one hand and a gun in the other. Bud screamed at him to 'get the fuck outside, boy'. He made the mistake of running Edna's side and Bud shot off the gun. Luckily, neither of them were hit.
He shook off the memory and began to fill the plastic bags with beer cans. He couldn't understand why his mom wouldn't just leave. It made him angry sometimes. Steven saw the way Mrs. Forman treated Eric and his jealousy gutted him clean every time. As he grew up and was allowed to go over to other kids houses he began to notice something was different.
Whatever it was, it wasn't fair at all.
As he sifted through mounds of aluminum he came across something that shocked him. His finger tips grazed something hard and cold, and curled around the object.
No way.
How could this be here? Edna and Bud never left a full beer around. Ever.
A slight jump in his gut sent him flying into his room. He had to pause and breathe to calm himself down. No way. No way. Why was he so excited, though? It was just a beer. His parents drank the stuff all the time and they always just acted crazy. It couldn't be that special.
But then there was the part of him that knew their entire lives were centered around it: a part of him that knew they cared about this can more than him. That part of him wanted to know why.
Why did they care so much about this drink? He always smelled it on them. He thought it smelled a lot like baby pee and couldn't understand what they found so appealing about it. There usually wasn't even food in the kitchen. Yet, there was always this stuff.
He ran his hands over the still-cool metal. It sloshed in his grip as he turned the can over to read the label. It was just some big red letters. Even the labeling wasn't cool. How could this be something they cared about so much?
He ran a hand through his curly mop and spun around to throw the lock on the door.
Oh, he knew this was bad. He knew that if his parents ever found out it would be bad. They had never told him specifically that he would be in trouble, he just had that gut feeling that was usually right. But how would they find out? Bud was in his bedroom trying to lay down. When he did that Steven knew not to bother him and that he wouldn't be coming out anytime soon. Edna was gone to go get more of whatever that stuff was and even when she got back she would head straight to the bedroom and they would leave him alone in the living room for hours like always so what was the big deal? They didn't even care, when it came right down to it. Sometimes he even wondered if they'd be better off with out him.
That solidified it for him. They wouldn't care- didn't care about him, and they wouldn't find out anyway.
Steven made his way over to his mattress and lightly scanned the beer again.
"Here goes." He mumbled popping open the lid. He brought it to his nostril and inhaled. The stench was horrifying. He felt like he might as well be drinking toilet water.
Then again, he thought, Edna and Bud really like it.
At this point the wasn't sure why he going to drink it. His reasoning darted back and forth from the thought of just getting back at his parents for caring more about this drink than him, to wanting to know why it was so worthy of their love in the first place.
Before he knew it he was downing the liquid. It stung down his throat and he felt the urge to vomit come over him. Setting the can aside he buried his face in his hand and held down a wave of retching.
A beat passed and he pulled the can to his lips again and choked back another swallow of the putrid liquid.
It was funny because the longer he sipped on the drink the less disgusting it became.
Before he knew it he was laying on his mattress staring at the ceiling. The sound of a car door slamming seemed more distant than usual. He smiled as his thoughts seem far away from him. He couldn't really understand what was happening, but when the sound of Edna screaming at Bud seemed a little quieter than usual, and the bass in Bud's voice seemed a little less scary he slowly drifted into a deep sleep. A small smile on his face.
Hyde's eyes slowly opened. White, everything around him was white. That was the first thing that registered. It was strange, it seemed as if he had just fallen asleep. Suddenly the dim soft light of the morning was peeking through his window.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Where the fuck was he again? Oh yeah.
Rehab.
Hyde grumbled and rolled over remembering the night before. So much for serenity, he thought bitterly. Immediately he felt the urge to reach over to the nightstand and find his pills and his whiskey. It had been his morning routine for years now, and honestly he had no idea what to do without it. Another groan escaped his lips.
There was a knock at the door and a young nurse walked in, "Steven Hyde?"
He grunted and luckily for him ( or her ) she took that as a yes. "I've brought you your meds and someone will come in soon to bring you your breakfast. Are you feeling hungry?"
"Fuck." He coughed out, "I just want a cigarette."
"Honey, you can smoke later. For now you just need your rest. You're only on day one. We have to observe you at all times."
He had no reply, instead just downed his meds and burrowed back into the white sheets. The nurse seemed a bit taken back at his aggression. He heard her pause before finally exiting the room. Not having much to say was wise he assumed. If he said more than a few words at a time right now it might be catastrophic and he might have to leave…
Wait…
Shit, no. Hyde mentally kicked himself. He had to stay here. Jail was not better than this. Besides, he came this far, already checked in. Already had to pay the money so he might as well ride it out. Plus, the last conversation he had with the last of his friends quickly conveyed to him he was on his own unless he dropped everything.
Though really he couldn't blame them.
He couldn't blame her either. Donna. He had stayed with her for a few nights, told her he was going to kick the habit and he just needed a place to do it. With no where else to go and nothing but a small bag of clothes and a sleeping bag, his oldest friend couldn't turn him down. He gratefully accepted her kindness and wound up dope sick in her bathroom while she was working.
Needless to say when she returned home her TV and stereo were missing and Hyde was no where to be found.
That malignant guilt seemed to creep up on him again. This was such a strange feeling. He felt so numb. There wasn't really any emotion involved. Just a physical sensation. A dull throb in his chest.
He was so tired.
Last night the nurse had asked him about his family history and what drugs they had done. That was probably the worst thing they could have asked him at the time. He proceeded to go into a rant about the fucked up ways of the establishment and how they didn't really care about their patients. It was just some scheme to get money out of people who were hopeless and they were the people with the real problems. He then tried to pry the clip board out of the nurses hands.
Thankfully for Steven, Maria was pretty head strong and defiantly look him in the eye, and waited for him to calm down before explaining to him for the fourth time that night, she had been where he was.
"It's just sick people teaching sick people, Steven." She noted firmly, "But I'll tell you this. It's better than you feelin' like your dying out there on the side walk, huh?"
For some reason the thought of himself vomiting his brains out onto the side walk and then possibly stealing a stranger's purse or, God forbid, another car shut him up fast.
Yesterday he had more feeling than he did today. He almost liked it. After feeling terrible for so long. And having so much ache in his heart and in his mind feeling nothing was a nice change for once. Though it's no lie he would have preferred a tall bottle of Southern Comfort and a bag of heroin. Last year, on his twenty-seventh birthday he had the bright idea to go out like Janis Joplin.
Needless to say it didn't work.
This was okay for now, though. He probably needed the sleep anyway. Even if he didn't stay as long as they were planning for him, at least now he had a bed. And after two years of squatting, this was something he would be dumb not to take advantage of.
He rolled over, not really caring that the nurse was bringing him food. He wasn't hungry, and he was sure the food was terrible here, anyway. Institution food was always crap.
He pulled the crisp white sheet over his head and the hospital-esque smell brought him back to fake injury visits to the hospital for drugs.
Hyde shuddered at the thought and threw off the covers. If this was already happening, it wasn't good. Hyde assumed that being in rehab would make the cravings not so bad. Or something.
"Fuck."
His eyes fell on the window once again; so still, just being.
He vaguely wondered how many addicts that window had seen at their most vulnerable moments and shot a glare towards the light before rolling over once again and settling into a restless sleep.