Matt cringed as he opened the door, as if he was expecting something to jump out at him. In a way, he was right. "Matthew Kirkland, are you on drugs?" His father barked at him as soon as he stepped inside. "Welcome home, Dad." Matt smiled, and shut the door behind him. "You answer my question, boy." Arthur pressed on, and Matt groaned. "I'm sure Alfred told you that?" Matt asked. "Yes, your brother did tell me that." Arthur said.
"Where is the little rat, anyways?" Matt asked. "Picking your mother up from the airport. And you still haven't answered me." Arthur really wasn't going to let this go. "No, Dad. I'm not on drugs. Why the fuck would I be on drugs?" Matt groaned. "Because you're running with those thugs in Portland. And watch your language." Arthur said. "Thugs… You mean Mathias and Lukas? Jesus Christ, Dad, they're from Denmark and Norway. There isn't crime in Denmark and Norway!" Matthew exclaimed. "Well your brother told me you were out all night last night with them, and you couldn't remember a thing." Matt sighed in irritation.
"No, Dad, I remember everything. I didn't want to tell Alfred, because he'd be an asshole about it." Matthew said, coming up with a lie. "Then tell me, please, what did you do with these foreign hooligans?" Arthur demanded. A vein was starting to appear at his neck, and Matt fought the urge to smile while he mentally perfected his lie. "I went up to Portland. We smoked pot, played Scrabble, and I helped them clean their house." Matt had a talent for lying, but this wasn't so much of a lie. It's really all he did when he hung out with Mathias and Lukas.
"Then show me these track marks your brother was going on about." Arthur commanded, and Matt shrugged off his hoodie. "Now explain them." Arthur pointed at his neck. "Oh my god, is everyone in this family fucking stupid? Why would I shoot up in my neck? They're hickeys, dad. Honestly, I think you'd be able to figure that out with all the sex you have." Matt sneered. "And just who are you fucking in Portland?" Arthur yelled. "I'm not fucking anyone, Dad. But you might want to ask your other son that same question and see how he responds." Matt said, and walked up to his room.
Matt threw his dirtied hoodie into the laundry and flopped on his bed. He pulled out his phone, and the slip of paper with Tim's number on it he had been given earlier. He saved the number to his contacts, and opened up his messages.
Tim? It's Matt. He sent, hoping he had gotten the number right. Not long after, his phone buzzed.
Hey Matt, what's up?
Sitting at home. I should have stayed with you.
And why is that?
Already fighting, and my mom and brother aren't even home yet.
As soon as Matt hit send, he heard the front door open and loud voices fill his quiet home. "Speak of the devil," he sighed to himself, and went to his door. He debated even going down, but decided it would be worse if he didn't. He opened the door, and slowly walked down the hallway to the stairs. He felt his phone vibrate, but decided not to check it until he was alone again.
He walked down the stairs unhurriedly, and took his time getting to the living room. Though he tried to delay it, he knew what was coming was inevitable. He sighed and walked into the living room. He heard a feminine voice shriek and yell his name, and he cursed in his head as he waited for what he knew was coming.
"Matthew!" Francine yelled to him as he walked in. "Oh, you have gotten so big!" she exclaimed, and Matthew mumbled, "Well, you haven't seen me since I was 8." She chose to ignore that, and kept going on. "How is your French coming along?" she asked, and Matt gave her a cross look. "I haven't been taking lessons since grade school." He said matter-of-factly, but she ignored that too.
She decided that she was done pestering Matt and moved onto Arthur. This let Matt finally get a good look at her. Francine had gotten a lot skinnier since she had left. Matthew could vaguely remember her being curvy and buxom, but now she just looked skeletal. Matt wondered if she was still using, and decided she probably was. He knew it wasn't cold enough to warrant a long sleeved dress and fur coat like the one she was wearing. Arthur and Francine had already started to fight, and Matt sighed, and turned to go back upstairs.
Alfred followed him, and stopped him once he was sure the bickering adults couldn't hear them. "I'm sorry, bro." Alfred said, and Matt ignored him. "Did you hear me? I said I'm sorry." Al said again, following Matt further down the hall. "Yeah, I heard you. Why the fuck did you tell dad?" Matt asked, annoyance hinting in his voice. "Because I was worried about you! You were being all mysterious and you come home with these big ass bruises on your neck, how the fuck did you get them if they aren't hickeys or track marks?" Al asked.
"I honestly don't know, Alfred." Matt sighed. He knew his brother would give up if he just kept lying. "Fine, just, don't hole yourself up in your room the whole time Mom's here, please." Alfred said, and Matt didn't answer. He went into his room and closed the door in Al's face. He walked over to his bed and fell onto it with a sigh. "I'm not going to last this week," he said out loud, and pulled out his phone to see what Tim had replied.
Well damn, I'll sneak you out tonight if you want me to.
He quickly typed out a reply. I'm 18, I could leave right now if I wanted to and they couldn't do shit. But I'm going to try to at least stick it out for tonight. He hit send and put his phone back into his pocket. He could hear Arthur and Francine fighting downstairs, and decided to listen in.
"You're impossible, Francine, this is why I divorced you in the first place!" Arthur yelled, and he heard Francine scoff. "Are you joking? I divorced you. You cheating son-of-a-bitch, I divorced you!" Matt thought she was close to tears, but he could remember enough about his mom to know she cried crocodile tears whenever she could. "Yes, well at least my cheating isn't a federal crime! How could you bring this filth into my house?" Arthur yelled, and Matt heard the garbage disposal turn on. "Arthur! That was worth almost 200 dollars- I cannot believe you would do that!" Francine yelled.
Matt smiled a bit. Did Arthur just flush Francine's drugs? He laughed and felt his phone vibrate. You're a good man, Matt. I wouldn't be able to do that with my family. Tim had replied, and Matt quickly typed out a reply back. I've got a high bullshit tolerance, I guess, he sent, and went back to listening in.
"You've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on rehabs and you're still just a no good junkie. Really, Francine, I expected so much more of a woman of your pedigree." Arthur said bluntly, and Matt could hear Francine's crocodile tears start. "Oh, don't start that nonsense. Do your damn heroin if that's what you want to, but you won't be doing it in my home, under the same roof as my sons-" Arthur yelled, but Matt had decided to tune out when his phone buzzed again.
I envy you. Tim had said, and Matt thought for a bit about his next reply. Ha, yeah. Think you could do me a favor? He asked, and hit send. A few seconds later, his phone vibrated. Sure. Tim replied and Matt smiled as he typed. Bring me my pot I left. I get the feeling I'm gonna need it. Almost immediately, Tim replied. I'm on my way.
Great. Come to my house. Number 849. Big bourgeois brick thing, can't miss it. You can 'help me with my portfolio.' Matt replied, and waited until he got a text back. Oh trust me, I'll fix your portfolio up so nice, Vienna will be begging for you. Matt smiled and just sent a smiley face in reply.
After a while, Matt got a text. He pulled out his phone and, of course, it was Tim. Come get me in, asshole. I need a card or something. He had sent, and Matt grabbed his access card off his nightstand. Be there in 3 seconds. He typed, and quickly made his way down the stairs. "Matthew? Where are you going?" Francine asked him as he opened the door.
"Out." Matt said, and though Francine had continued to question him, he left. He jogged to the gate, and quickly let Tim in. Once Tim's car was through the gate, Matt hopped in. "That was stupid," Tim said. "This whole place is stupid," Matt replied. Tim chuckled and drove up to Matt's home, which was one of the closest to the gate.
As he pulled in the driveway, Tim's eyes widened a bit. "You were right, this is pretty bourgeois. A hell of a lot nicer than my little shack." He said. "I hate it. It's too big for just me and Al." Matt really did hate his home. It was at least 7,000 square feet, and was a 6 bedroom, 6 bathroom McMansion. Their cleaning lady always pitched a fit about having to clean the whole place every week, even though it rarely got dirty. It always felt way too empty at night, even when Arthur was home. No, Matt hated it.
"Hey, once you graduate, you can be a starving artist and live in a dirty little apartment. Fucking hipster," Tim scoffed playfully, and Matt rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I doubt they'll even ask, but just tell my parents you're a friend of mine. And tell Al you're over to help with my portfolio." Matt said, getting out of Tim's car. Tim's eyebrows rose. "Isn't it a little soon to be introducing me to your family?"
"Shut the fuck up, I just want to get high." Matt grumbled, and walked into his house. Tim followed, reluctantly. "Okay, just get up here quickly." He said, half-jogging to his room with Tim in tow. Just as Matt suspected, his family could have cared less. Francine was passed out on the couch, and Arthur was probably working his troubles away in his office. He didn't know where Alfred was, and was still too mad at him to care.
They reached Matt's room, and he ran to his closet. He easily found his stash box, and brought it to the bed where Tim was sitting. "My Box of Wonders isn't as big as yours, but I think I've done pretty well for myself." He hummed and opened his small box. He tossed his dismal baggy of reggie into his trash, and held his hand out expectantly to Tim. With a smirk, Tim put Matt's pot in his hand. "I'd love to smoke this right here, but honestly, you're fucked if Al comes in and we're smoking pot together," Matt commented, and Tim nodded.
"So, uh, since we can't smoke, it'd be really great if you helped me actually set up my portfolio?" It was more of a question than a statement, and Matt said it with a smile. Tim sighed and laid back in Matt's bed. "Fine, fine. Bring me your sketchbook, and whatever paintings or other et cetera art you have laying around." He said, and Matt had them to him in a flash.
Matt watched as Tim poured over his artwork. Tim had this smirk on his face, and it seemed to grow a bit as he turned through each page. Was that a good thing? Either way, it made Matt's heart beat a little faster. "I could always tell you were a good artist, Matt, but some of these sketches are phenomenal. I mean, you could build up a portfolio a hell of a lot better than mine was," he said idly as he flipped through Matt's sketchbook. "And they have meaning behind them. That's what the people look for when they go through your portfolio. And they go crazy for theme. So, I say you take all these commie paintings and sketches, and you just focus on them in your portfolio. Do some help with some charities, and make it look like you are 110% about the liberation of the proletariat, and I'm sure you'll get in."
Matt nodded, and Tim started picking out various pieces of artwork. "You're gonna want to put your best work first. These three are probably strong enough to get you accepted then and there." Tim pulled out a sketch of several workers in a factory, a Sovietesque propaganda poster, and a canvas depicting a destroyed landscape on a beautiful day. "This one's great. Explain it to me," Tim requested, and Matt nodded. "It's the capitalist dream. A world with no environmental restrictions." He said softly, and Tim chuckled. "I like it."
Tim pulled about 15 more pieces out, and looked to Matt. "These are probably going to do well enough to get you in. I have no doubts that you'll be accepted, Matt, you're one of the best artists I've ever seen." Tim smiled, and Matt's face went red. "Really?" he asked, and Tim looked down at Matt's art. "Yeah," he mumbled. Matt smiled and pecked Tim's lips. "Thanks."
Tim smiled and put his hand on Matt's cheek. He kissed Matt again, deeply. Matt opened his mouth and let Tim's tongue play with his for a moment, then pulled away. "A great artist and a great kisser," Tim mused. "I could say the same about you," Matt replied softly and pecked him again on his cheek. Tim grinned, and stood up. "I gotta get out of here soon," He said, and Matt pouted.
"What? I've got a business to take care of! Money is important, Matt." Tim said, pulling out his phone. "I'm important," Matt huffed, and flopped on his bed. "You are, but there's a guy coming from California to buy from me. He's buying a whole ounce off me, and I could really use the 800 bucks. And it's kind of a huge risk, being here while all your family is here." Tim said, and Matt sighed. "Fine, loser. Give me a kiss before you go." "Gladly," Tim said with a smirk.
He walked back towards Matt's bed and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I'll go with you to your car. Al's friends have gotten lost trying to leave before." Matt said, and pulled himself out of bed. He led Tim out of his house, and thankfully, no one was around. Francine had even moved from where she was on the couch. "I think I should win an award for the most irresponsible family ever," Matt mused as they reached the door. He opened it and walked out to Tim's car with him.
"I'd kiss you goodbye, but we'd get caught." Tim said as he climbed in his car. "Yeah, I know." Matt replied. "Tomorrow's Saturday though. Let me come over again, and I'll kiss you then." Tim said with a grin, and Matt grinned back. "It's a deal." He said, and Tim turned on his car. "See you tomorrow then, lover boy." Before Matt could reply, Tim had shut his door and was on his way out of Brookshire.
