Crippled

CONTENT:
Rating: Teen
Flavor: Drama
Language: some
Violence: yelling
Nudity: none
Sex: none
Other: none

Author's Note:

We come to the inevitable conclusion of our story. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Robert looked for a chair to sit in... he was fairly certain there was one under all the mess. With a shrug, he sat on the edge of the bed. "I understand you and your dad got into it pretty bad last night."

"Yeah, what'd he tell you?" Water ran in the sink.

"Well, he said you got drunk, wrecked your car, had drugs on you, and then you got into an argument and you hit him."

The water kept running.

"Was any of that inaccurate?" Robert asked, staying with a mild tone.

"Not... Well..." Tommy's voice faded. "No."

"I know you and your father don't see eye to eye, but he loves you, Tommy."

Crippled

(Tommy is 17. Rebecca has been dead 9 years.)

==#==

Malcolm had already packed Tommy's bags. He didn't want any argument, any drama. He was done with it all. Tommy was going to rehab.

Tommy, of course, hated the idea. What about school? What about his friends? What about graduation? What about 'fair,' which is the word he used all the time when he wanted to get his own way. Well, he should've thought of all that before ending up like this. This was the only way.

They pulled into a parking space facing the rehab center. Malcolm turned off the engine, and they sat in silence a moment.

Tommy glared out the window. Then he said, "I turn 18 in a few weeks. Then I'm going to walk."

"Please, Tommy, work with the counselors. I want your life to be so much more."

"Well, I want my life for myself. I don't want to be what you want me to be."

Frustrated, Malcolm snapped, "You want to be a junkie? Because that is where you're heading. For God's sake, Tommy, you've been doing drugs since you were 13!"

"You weren't complaining when the meth brought my grades up."

"Drugs are just a crutch," Malcolm explained, trying to keep the tone civil. "I want you to be strong on your own."

"Well, some people are crippled," Tommy said, his angry stare boring into his father now. "If you take their crutches away, they can't do shit."

"And some people can go to rehab and learn to walk again!" That shut down that argument. Tommy looked away again. Malcolm tried to rein in the years' worth of frustrations with his son. "Listen, Tommy... you can be anything you want to be, a musician, or a writer if you want; it doesn't have to be a business major or a lawyer or a doctor. I won't ask anything from you, Tommy, but just this one thing." All his hope hinged on this. "Please, don't waste your life pursuing chemical happiness, wrecking your body, destroying your mind, and then dying young, choking on your own vomit. I couldn't survive losing you that way."

He stared at the steering wheel, feeling his control slipping. What if Tommy just used that against him? When would he see that he was hurting himself in an effort to hurt his father?

Tommy remained mute, staring out the windshield a minute or two. Then, without a word, he got out, grabbed his bag, and headed to the rehab entrance.

Malcolm, knowing he was not welcome, did not follow. Only his prayers went with his son.

==#==

Tommy made good on his threat. He turned 18, and the money in his first trust fund was legally his, to manage and use or abuse as he saw fit. He got a real estate agent to score him a sweet downtown apartment. He signed himself out of rehab, a full adult now. He made it to his high school graduation, with some bullshit story about studying in the Amazon rainforest for a few weeks.

College opened a new vista for party opportunities, chicks, drugs - anything and everything he wanted. The pool full of beer was child's play!. He and Oliver ran wild, becoming the darlings of the paparazzi and the bane of their families. A team of naked cheerleaders? No problem! Renting a stadium to host an orgy on the end zone? A weekend entertainment. Wrecking cars and breaking hearts, that was Tommy Merlyn.

He sat in his leather couch, two up-and-coming models on either side of him, feeding him caviar and cheese wedges as he sipped champagne. A smile stretched across his face, and he raised his glass in a silent salute to his father.

Oh yes, the best revenge was living well!

==X==