Disclaimer: I love D-tent, but as if they'll ever be mine! (hugs Zero tightly and brandishes Holes DVD) STAND BACK, I'M ARMED.

These Kids

I Promise

(SQUID-BASED. FROM HIS MOTHER'S POV.)

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If you looked in the window, you would see a middle-aged lady standing in the middle of the room. She has her face down and her unkempt hair hangs around her face darkly.

She gives the place a depressionable air; sort of like the person you would never want to be.

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I'm thinking deeply, and I hate it. That's why I like drinking so much; because I don't have to think.

Just deal with everything next morning.

My job? I work at a pub every morning for peanuts. The peanuts, fortunately, pay for all the vodka and beer I need. The child support money that bastard sends helps with the rent and food.

At least he pays the money.

He doesn't even know his own son doesn't live with me anymore. Got sent to some juvenile camp because he broke into someone's house. Sometimes, it's good to see that boy's gone. But most of the time, I don't like it. He was good at cleaning up the house and helping me when I was a little drunk.

Just a little.

I bite my lip as I look in the mirror.

I'm only thirty-six, but I look much older. I used to be a pretty girl, too. Just ask anymore. Back at school, I was a very pretty girl. It wasn't plain obvious, but people seemed to notice after awhile of knowing me.

I liked my eyes the best; they were almond-shaped and I had the most beautiful eyelashes.

You probably think I'm very vain, thinking such things about myself. But I'm allowed to think them, because I'm not pretty anymore.

Boys used to like me a lot, and a lot of boys used to like me. No one ever asked me out, not until I was in the tenth grade. I was a nice and friendly person. Something I'm not now.

People really liked me...

I had the perfect life.

I groan as a quenching feeling slowly comes over my brain.

I sink onto the floor and close my eyes.

My son... Alan. His father was... he was a nice person when I met him.

I remember I used to really love him. Him and Alan. Yeah, I used to love Alan a lot, even after his father left.

He was my pride and joy. I never wanted to let go of him.

But that all changed, of course.

I met his father, Ray, when I was twenty. I was working part time at a restaurant and he was a customer. We hit it off and I do remember that warm and fuzzy feeling I got every time he smiled at me. Or when we spoke.

I hate remembering things like that. They're all in the past and they're not coming back.

I haven't drunk any alcohol in the past three days. I'm not entirely sure why. And I've been thinking about Alan and Ray a lot. My parents and sister, too. I don't have any of them anymore. They all left me when I turned to alcohol. Well, I only turned to alcohol after Ray left. Alan was the only person who didn't leave me, but they took him away.

Maybe I remember all this because I haven't drunk for quite some time. The craving was strong, though.

For some reasons, tears spring into my eyes.

My bloodshot eyes that will never again have the pretty sparkle in them.

My eyes that have seen many things; good and bad.

Ray and I got married... we named it the happiest day of our lives. That soon changed, of course, when Alan was born. We named that the happiest day of our lives.

But that no longer stands.

My son; he was mine and Ray's. He looked a lot like him, but he had my eyes. I loved him so much. Many sleepless nights and tiring days we had to suffer to look after our baby, but we endured it happily.

Because he was our son.

Alan was spoilt rotten. Ray and I filled about thirty albums with photos of him. We'd take him everywhere and sing him lullabies; every few minutes we'd hold him close and say 'I love you'.

Those memories are fuzzy now.

I remember Ray used to do that to me, too. He'd hold me and whisper 'I love you', and I believed him. I loved him back... and that was a mistake.

More tears are pouring down.

I hate thinking deeply. So many emotions to deal with. I definitely needed a beer to help put me back on track after this.

But I can't move at the moment. And I can't stop thinking of my son. For some reason, I really want to go back to the past. When it was much easier to hug my son and tell him that I loved him. When I still had Ray. When my parents were still around, and Joyce could help me out as only an older sister could.

Even if Alan was still here, even if he wasn't rotting away at the correctional facility, I still wouldn't be able to hug him and say 'I love you'.

For one thing, I don't. But maybe if I went back to the past, I might learn to love him. Again. Babies are easier to love than teenagers.

Still... he was a good kid. He must think I hate him, which I... do... Yeah, I guess I do. Funny, how you can love a person so much, but hate them the next day.

It didn't happen overnight, though.

Alan and I used to be very close. I was the perfect mummy to him. But as the years wore on... we drifted apart. First I stopped walking him to and from school because I was busy. Then I stopped tucking him in at bedtime. I stopped saying "Goodbye, I love you" when he left for school. I stopped giving him hugs and kisses. I stopped making proper meals and stopped eating at the table.

All while drinking.

Alan sensed something was wrong. One afternoon he asked me to help him with homework but I told him snappishly I was busy.

Yeah, I still remember that.

He stopped asking me to help him after that. He became independent and quiet. He had stopped coming to me for hugs and comfort after bad dreams a long time ago.

It didn't help that he was growing up so my time with him was becoming shorter and shorter.

My drinking addiction steadily increased as the days wore on. The first time I passed out Alan was so scared he locked himself in his bedroom and wouldn't come out.

I'm crying badly now. My straggly blonde hair looks dead and I sob into my weak and wrinkly hands.

I'm the one thing middle-aged woman (like me) fear of becoming the most.

An old lady whom no one loves.

One time I saw Alan's friend's mother give Alan a hug, and a sudden surge of jealousy rose in me. So I plastered on a fake smile and crouched down, saying, "Come here, Alan."

But he didn't come over to me. It had been many years since I gave him a hug and he was probably a little afraid of me, especially as I had hit him a few times. When I was drunk.

I started hating him after that.

Everytime I see him, I see Ray. The man who left me with a burden.

Money became a problem.

I spent it all on my needs and didn't really think about Alan.

I'm starting to see how unfair I've been. I hate feeling like this. For three days I've been thinking about Alan, and suddenly I become the worst mother in the world?

No, I never thought this way. I was the girl who had been ripped off. I got married young, had a child young, and pretty much threw away my youth. All for a man who promised me everything.

And then left.

I reassure myself that this will all end soon... At eleven o'clock... I will be so drunk I won't even be able to come home.

Then I won't be able to remember any of this.

I always accused Alan of stealing my money, although I knew I had spent extra on alcohol and just wouldn't admit it.

He stole, and I knew it. He stole food to keep himself alive. He stole money from other people to keep us both alive. To keep me from trouble. I've started to realise how many problems I'm coming across since he's gone. Bills. No food in the house.

He used to take care of all that, while I drank myself into oblivion.

Not a worry in the world...

Then he got caught and he was taken away. I was angry at him for that. Now I had to take care of myself, and that completely sucked.

I'm having trouble standing up, but I manage. I stagger towards the bathroom because I'm feeling a little sick. I look into the mirror again.

An old lady whom no one loves stares back.

It's all my fault no one cares about me. I deserve it.

See what depriving alcohol from me does?

I need to hang onto the lie that I am the victim, and alcohol helps me believe it. But now the lie is slipping away, and is uncovering the truth.

It's all my fault I'm where I am.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I see little Alan in my arms, smiling at me.

"I love you, mummy."

"I love you, Alan."

He... he was my child. He is my child. And... I don't hate him.

What I wouldn't give to have him back in my arms. He's fourteen, I know. But he's my son. He's still my little baby. And when I see him, I won't see Ray. I'll see me.

Because he's my child.

But it's too late. He's gone and he's probably glad he's far away from me. When he finishes his sentence, Social Services will put him in a foster home where the family will love him and care for him.

In the exact way I used to when Ray was still around.

If I had continued being the perfect mother, Alan would still be here. He wouldn't have needed to steal, and therefore, there wouldn't be any reason as to why he would need to go to a correctional facility.

I check my watch.

It's almost time for me to go to the pub and drink so I won't remember this depressing moment of reflection.

Tomorrow I'll wake up and I'll be back to normal.

Back to my naive, ignorant self. Back to thinking the whole world revolves around me.

Maybe that's why I'm not making any movement to walk out of the house to the pub. I don't want to forget about all this. Not anymore.

If... If I return to being a good mother, maybe they'll let my son come back?

I'll promise to love him and tell him so. I'll promise to cook him the food he wants and help him with his homework. I'll promise to find a decent job and be the good mother I once was.

I promise not to drink anymore.

That was an "I", not an "I'll". Not an "I will".

Because I've already made the promise and I won't break it.

I promise.

I smile slightly, and it feels good. I rise to my feet and carefully smooth out the crease in my pants.

I love you, Alan.

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If you looked in the window, you would see a middle-aged lady rising up in the bathroom. She has a small genuine smile on her face and her eyes brighten in the slightest.

She gives the place the air of someone who is willing to give whatever they've got to put things right again.

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A/N: Oh my gosh. I can't believe I wrote that, lol. That must be one of the most angsty things I've ever written. Well, feedback is always adored! (smile) I'm doing Zero's mother's POV, next. And then I'm not sure who to do after that! Why don't you suggest a fave D-tent boy? (I might include Twitch and Barf Bag, I shall tell you next chapter!) Okay, that's it. Please don't expect another update soon. Lol. I have CGL and my Zero story to write, too. Just please drop a review if you think this was nice/bad/terrible/okay/needs improving. Thanks! :) --MSQ.