Things didn't go as he planned. He took one step into the small apartment and everything instantly came back. How Eva would be painting, Loki would be looking alongside trying to learn, it was like he was back, back when he was a part of a happy family.
Eva was four months pregnant. She was in her studio teaching her seven year old son the effect certain stokes have on the painting. Jo came in and smiled at them both. He walked over to Eva and wrapped his arms around her waist. He ran his hands over her slightly larger stomach and kissed her on the cheek.
"I'm home" he whispered, the smile growing across his face as he felt his baby give a small kick.
He could feel Eva's smile grow, and for a moment, it seemed like it was just the two of them. Then Loki turned around with his dark hair and green eyes, his great toothy grin spreading even bigger.
"DADDY!" He came running towards him and clung to his leg. Jo smoothed the dark hair on his sons head, just before running his fingers through his own black hair. Loki was his son, and no one could doubt that, they looked so alike. However Loki was more clam than Jo was, more calm and understanding, and definitely more talented. Jo wondered what the new baby would be like. They had chosen a few names Vera if it's a girl, and they were debating between two names incase they were to have a nother boy. Fyodor, which was Jo's granddad, or Mihael. Jo liked Fyodor, but Eva like Mihael. The baby would be born sometime in March, Eva was planning to re-paint the nursery, so that the new child would feel just as special as Loki did.
Little did they know that the baby would be early. Little did he know that in one and a half months he would say goodbye to the only woman he ever loved. And it was all because of Mihael. Different memories now began to pour into his head. He tried to kill Mihael, in this very room, just a week before. He had shoved him in the water, held him there. He was going to kill that little bastard, and then he heard Eva screaming at him. And so he pulled Mihael out, without much time to think he told the boy to pack his things. Mihael looked confused, so he grabbed him by the wrist and began to throw things into a small bag. A few t-shirts, some pants, a sock, and a flashlight. He threw the boy in the car. The walls of this apartment were filled with bad memories, with his arms up against the wall he could find himself no longer capable of standing, weighted with all the guilt and pain, he collapsed to his knees and began to cry. He didn't know how to stop feeling this way, but he had an idea. The vodka, a strong reminder of how HE had single headedly torn his family apart, was in the kitchen, probably only half empty, but there would be more bottles. He stumbled into the kitchen and drank. But rather than letting the memories float away with each sip of the burning liquid, the memories began to hit.
Loki stumbled in late. He smelled of smoke and was carrying an empty bottle of vodka. Jo lay on the couch, having not noticed the actions of his 11 year old son over the past few months.
"The kid want's dinner, how was school?" Jo offered his best smile to his son, Loki answered his father with a drunk,
"Fuck you dad."
Jo heard a clumsy clatter of pots and pans that he knew was Loki making dinner. Mihael came in, still in tears from the recent….incident.
"Dad, is Loki here?"
"Of course he is, stupid boy, you know what the clatter means." He gave Mihael a threatening glare and he toddled off to the kitchen.
"Loki, can you reach me a glass of water please?"
Was that kid seriously still thirsty? He had asked for water over five hours ago, so Jo filled a glass with boiling water. When Mihael dropped the glass he made him pick up the pieces and mop the floor, then he started bleeding, so he had to clean that up too.
"Yeah sure kid, here you go." Loki's words were still slurred, but were kinder now. Jo took a swig out of bottle 4 of the evening. Most nights he would go to Isaac's bar, but today he had to stay late because of stupid Mihael. He took yet another sip and let the fire burn his throat.
Jo copied those acrions, taking a sip, wincing at the burn, and then another shot, another sip, another swig until the bottle was empty. He cried and drank until the end of the night.
