Content Warning. The story begins describing Erin and Jay's childhood. Themes include child neglect and abuse. I will add a CW at the beginning of my chapters until the story progresses away from these themes.
"I'm not going to tell you again. Quit that crying, Erin." She hears her mother's voice on the other side of the door. Using all her strength, Erin twists the doorknob attempting to pull it open. She grunts, exerting more grip on the knob. Whimpering uncontrollably, she tries both of her hands to open the door. Her fingers slip off. Pausing for a minute, Erin hopes the movement tricks her mom, leading her to unlock the door when her mom releases her hold. With as much strength she can muster, Erin grabs the knob. It does not budge. She cannot stop the wails, her screams, her frustration.
"I'm serious, Erin. Stop crying," her mother orders - in a tone others would see as a form of discipline, but she knows it's not the same thing. Erin forfeits the effort in getting out of the closet her mom shoved her in. Slowly releasing the knob, her fingertips linger for any lasting bit of hope her mom will change her mind. She uses her sleeve to wipe the snot from her nose. Shuffling to the floor, she takes off her backpack and draws her knees to her chest. Her sniveling only displeases her mother further.
"Count until you can't count anymore and then keep counting," her mother scolds, satisfied not hearing a response. "If I see you out of this closet, there won't be dinner. I got to keep my job. The little money I have is running dry."
"Le-Let me stay … at the house. I'll be quiet there … I promise," Erin whines, unable to keep the desperation down.
"The building is crawling with DCFS workers. They will place you somewhere like that," she snaps her fingers, "I need the checks I'm getting," she glances down the hallway, "Your uncle was supposed to take you tonight. No one's seen him in weeks. Now, I'm left dealing with you, figuring this out."
"I don't want to stay in here," she sniffs, scooting back up to the door.
Erin hears her mother sigh on the opposite side of the door. She grabs for the doorknob, and it nudges a tad. The door cracks open, and before Erin has a chance to escape, her mom shoves the door closed. "No," bawling, she slams her fists on the door.
"I'll teach you to stop crying if I have to; you better listen to me," her mother almost pleads, "Take a nap in there, doddle, whatever you do, just stay in there."
After a few minutes of prompting, her mother calmed Erin enough to stay in the closet. Bunny, her mom, presses on she knows what is best. Often her best is terrifying. They moved from place to place. The list of names and phone numbers Erin had to memorize was maddening. Life with her mom scares her. The chill in the room picks up, the fan blowing from above her mild comfort in being alone. Erin pulls up her hoodie, tying the strings. She nestles her chin on her arms, resting her head, using the dried streaks on her face to ground her. A normal day, she wishes for as her mind wanders in the dark.
"Damnit, damnit," Bunny stomps, her key not turning the lock. The green paper taped to the door and the cardboard boxes lined up are blaring indications to Erin that a normal day is out of reach. "Shit," Bunny rips the eviction notice from the door.
"Argh! The fuck is happening." Bunny rakes her hands through her hair, pacing the walkway. Evicted in the middle of the night, and it is bone-cold outside.
"Hey!" She calls out to an older male coming down the steps towards them. Bunny rushes over to him. "This is my place," she screams, her irritation boiling over, "You changed the locks on me?"
"Misses, uh, 72C," the landlord scans the plate on the door, "You've been overdue on rent. I got other people who pay, looking for a spot."
"I just got you your money," she spits. "Open the door," she flails her arms towards the apartment.
"There's already a new tenant signed to move in next week," the landlord leaves no room for argument.
"I told you in a couple of nights I would have the money. We had a deal."
"Mom," Erin cries, the situation worrying her. She huddles by their boxes, searching for her blanket.
"Shush," Bunny hurls around, commanding Erin with her hand. "Give us the night at least," Bunny asks desperately.
"No can do. You're out, lady," the landlord waves Bunny off. "Sorry. Good night," the landlord regretfully concludes, walking off.
The lack of regard in the landlord's compassion as he roams away that enrages her. The sour taste in her mouth stews as she watches the landlord fade from view. How dare he. Assuming they would have another place to go after throwing them out. Her loose hair blows lightly against her face, giving her some time to think. The empty pit in her stomach curdles, unsettling her. She is so angry. She recollects her focus on the apartment.
"You're walking, Erin," she struggles to grab all of their belongings, "Help me carry our shit."
…
"Where are we going?" Erin attempts to speed up, straggling behind her mom. Her shorter legs and the heavy boxes and bags in her hands weigh her down. She hardly sees her mom in front of her, the gap between the boxes providing a line of sight.
"Don't worry about where I'm going. I need to find a place nearby to sleep tonight."
"Me too!" Erin shouts frightenedly. "We going to a hotel?" She huffs, catching up to her mother's stride.
"Yes. I'll find us a room. Keep walking."
Erin stumbles on the carpet, her hands fumbling with the boxes. She drops them to the full-size bed in the room. The motel room leaves nothing to the imagination. Calling the room dingy is putting it kindly. She takes off her shoes, kicking them under the bed. "Doesn't feel safe here," Erin hops on the bed, sitting uncomfortably.
"Erin, please. I hear your mouth one more time," Bunny runs her fingers through her hair.
Standing up, she turns to Erin, "Nothing is ever good enough for you. You are in a bed tonight. I deserve some quiet. That's all I ask." Bunny digs through her jeans pockets, checking for her cash. She counts her bills. Sighing heavily, she makes her way to the door and slams it shut on the way out.
Erin flinches from the force of the slam. She pats around the mattress scooting back, curling up her legs, worried about being left alone. She knows her mother easily upsets when she sees her overreacting feebly. Unsure of how long her mom will be gone, she preoccupies herself with counting patterns on the wallpaper. The peeling of the orange, yellow, and white daisy floral design oddly consoles her. She zones out in her counting game, changing the categories from pedals, stems, and colors. Calmness becomes her, freeing her mind of any thoughts. She takes pleasure in the break from reality, nothing else to worry her. She feels less lonely. Musing at the floral wallpaper, it showcases its artistic interpretation. For Erin, the meaning is simple. Color on the wall instead of her staring at a blank one.
The door to the motel room jolts open, and Erin does not flinch this time. She glances over to her mom hesitantly. "Dinner," Bunny chucks the paper bag to her, and she scrabbles for it. Her mother leers at her expectantly, waiting for a thank you. Bunny places a plastic bottle on the nightstand, "Drink the water too. You haven't had anything to drink today."
"Thanks," Erin speaks softly.
…
Erin startles awake from a pounding on the door. "Mommy," she crawls to her and cranes over her shoulder, relieved she is breathing but asleep. She needs to wake her up, the bangs on the door continuing.
"Bunny!"
The hinges begin to loosen; the bolts barely screwed down. Erin scrambles off the bed, grabbing her water bottle. Looping her arms through her backpack, she scans around for an exit. None in sight, she runs to the bathroom. Peeking in, she finds no window or adequate cover. Her first thought is to turn off the lights, but the person outside will realize someone is here. "Mom," she whispers, trying to shake her awake. Bunny remains solid, unstirred. Erin starts to pace, her short legs frantically coming up with a plan.
"Bunny. You in there, Bunny!"
She makes the conscious decision to hide in the closet. Folding the door closed, she sits patiently and keeps quiet as possible, the screams for her mom increase.
"Bunny! Bunny, your room here?"
"What!" Bunny shouts, arising from the bed, she barrels to door. Opening the door, pieces of the frame molding peel off. Hoping most of it is salvageable, she turns to the visitor at her door. "Ugh, what took you. How much, Courtney," she invites him past the entry.
"How much you got." Bunny passes him three crumbled twenty-dollar bills. "Hmph. That's slim, bitch. Not enough for these," he pointedly refuses.
"I need a hit. We'll pass the needle. Get to eat your cake too."
"Let's make it a whole spread," he pushes her back in the main area of the room.
Stumbling, Bunny surveys the room, not finding Erin in bed. Her eyes catch the end strap of her backpack caught in the closet door. "Hey!" She yells as he shoves her onto the mattress. "Stop!" She claws at him to get his weight off her.
"Where's that sweet little daughter of yours tonight?"
Fighting to push him off, she answers him when his hand grips her neck, "I sent her to her uncle's."
"Your loss, huh? Bring her around next time. I could have given you a free pass."
"Go to hell." He slaps her hard.
Erin hears for mom struggle to fight him off, her screaming. Erin struggles to maintain her control not to cry - not to make a sound. Biting her tongue hard, she knows it will be bloody and swollen. Trembling, she shuts her eyes tight and shrinks herself small. Panic alarms her when she sniffs too loud. Tensing up to remain still and silent, she pictures the wallpaper, counting the flowers. She wants the horror to end. Erin counts and counts. Her lack of ability to count higher only scares her more. Rather than submit to her fear, her imagination numbs her and gives her figurative numbers to count.
The man finally leaves. Erin peers through the slats of the closet and watches her mom fix her clothes. She stays in the closet, and Bunny makes no move to check on her. Neither calls out to each other. Erin, feeling safe enough, cries to the point of exhaustion. Bunny shoots up, waiting for her high. Claiming the rest of the bed as her own, she drinks the brown liquid in her bottle until she passes out.
Grateful for the closet being in their room, her bad feelings about it disappearing. It protected her tonight. Removing her backpack, Erin adjusts it to form a makeshift pillow. Using her dreams, she brings herself light and warmth, playing in a field of daisies.
The heat of the sun on his cheeks stretches out the smile on his face. Chicago's wind at the beginning of spring catches momentum on his colorful pinwheel. He runs around in the backyard, his youthfulness touching the heart of his mother, watching from the patio. Jay and his mom spent the afternoon crafting away. They made pinwheels, paper planes, kites, and wind chimes. His mom always knows how to cheer him up.
Their family moved to a new neighborhood, and Jay will be starting a new school in a couple of days. A change in schools and his routine scares him. If the school resembles his previous one, he does not want to go. His mom sensed his apprehension and preoccupied him with fun activities. Jay turns to glance at his mom, and she waves cheerfully at him. Her brightness exudes more than the sun.
He continues to play, the breeze moving through long messy brown hair. The change in events almost has him forgetting his worries of adjusting to a new set of classmates. His gangly appearance, ahead of the other kids in his class, brought on a lot of teasing. Jay offset his awkwardness in being studious and well-mannered with his teacher. Inevitably it led to even more teasing. The teasing made him uncomfortable, and soon it never stopped. Each day was difficult as he tried to change how he behaved, and the teasing did not let up.
Returning to school, Jay fears he will deal with a new round of bullies. In exchange for his reluctance to agree to show up on his first day, his mom offered to get ice cream afterward. Jay really has a great mom.
"Mommy, did you see how it spinned extra fast when I made that circle," Jay says quickly, running back to his mother.
"You caught all the wind, huh?" She responds admiringly, petting his windswept hair. Every new interaction with her son fills her with joy. Experiencing his personality foster and his fascination develop are moments she holds dear to her heart. Her children are growing up so fast.
…
"You coddle him too much, Vivian."
"I am not," Vivian argues in a hushed tone, "He has been having nightmares." She turns over in the bed to her husband, "You know we had these boys' bassinets in the closet at our first place. It only makes sense Jay wants to be close. Especially when he is scared."
"He is never going to learn not to be if you keep letting him in our bedroom."
"Be glad I don't have him in bed with us. How'd you be acting then?"
"Better be the last time. I didn't get us this kind of house for them to be spending it in here."
"Patrick, take a breath and sleep," she scoffs. "You're going to raise your blood pressure acting like this."
"Good night, dear," Patrick shuffles around under the blanket, his back to her.
She answers him with a grunt, glancing over to her son. "Good night, my sweet boy," she whispers, shifting to lay against her pillow, sleep finding her.
Jay remains awake, pretending to be asleep. He listens to his mom and dad squabble. He fidgets on the foam sofa bed he lies on in the open closet. His unease does not alleviate. His mom takes the brunt of his dad's unwarranted aggravation. The anger he hears in his father's voice worries him. He feels he is causing the problems his mom faces with his dad. In the same way he tackles school, Jay tries and tries to change his behavior. None of it seems to improve how others treat him. It stays the same.
Knocking on his parent's bedroom door, Jay expected both to welcome him in – like what plays on the television. Only his mom smiled at him, hugged him, and tucked him in on his makeshift bed. His mom is his favorite person in the entire world. Her warmth and kind voice draw him to be closer. Mothers as beautiful as his check on their children and ensure their safety in every new endeavor. The feeling of his mother's presence in the room strengthens his exterior and prepares him for tomorrow, the prospect of school on his mind. Envisioning his mom awaiting arms after his first day, congratulating him, pushes him to fall asleep faster.
Slurps, clangs, and scrapes are the sounds of his early start to the morning. Annoying sounds to hear yet comforting, since it reminds Jay his brother Will is in the room.
"Finish up your breakfast, sweetheart. You have a big day today. The both of you," the cherry brown-haired woman reminds in a motherly tone.
"I think I had enough. My stomach hurts," Jay grumbles back, rubbing his tummy.
"You didn't eat much of your cereal. Probably why your stomach hurts, you're hungry," Will gibes him, jumping from his seat and grabbing his backpack. "Mom, I'll see you after school. I'm taking the bus."
Vivian waves him goodbye, smiling at her eldest. "Okay, Jay. It's time for you to get ready too," she pats the countertop, making her way to the door.
"I'll start the car, grab your stuff," she looks back to him, "You're going to have a great day. Positive attitude and that smile of yours. You will do fine. I believe in you, sweetheart," she disappears, exiting the front door.
…
"You couldn't even go one hour in that school," his father berates from the front seat. "I had to pick up and leave my shift to get you. Unbelievable," he scoffs. His driving becomes erratic, speeding through the yellow lights to arrive at their house faster.
Jay does not comment, and he clutches his seatbelt. His nerves shoot rapid-fire. He distracts himself with the passing buildings and people moving through the streets.
"You probably aren't even sick, making it up to avoid school today. Learn to grow up, kid. I got work. Your mother and I have jobs. We cannot keep picking you up. Kids go to school. You're gonna have to learn to deal with it," Patrick reprimands unseemly, not fully understanding why he picked up Jay. His wife called and ordered him to retrieve their son from school. Adding on, she wants him to stay with Jay until she could leave work early.
"So, am I going to know why you are ruining everyone's day today?" He barks to Jay, glaring at him through the rearview mirror. "I would expect regular hijinks from Will maybe by lunch hour, but you, you are in the third grade. Nothing is hard about that. I'm getting tired of your charade."
"Umm," Jay murmurs, wringing the seatbelt between both of his hands. He nibbles on his bottom lip, glancing back out the window.
"If it is some bullshit from that nightmare you had last night … I am going to have some words with you. Because you slept in our room, that should have settled you."
Jay starts to breathe heavier, the increasing worry of telling his dad what happened. His stomach twists in more knots from this morning. His throat gets fuzzy, and his mouth starts to salivate. "I don't feel good," he cries, "Can you pull over?"
"What is it now!" Patrick's driving becomes aggressive, weaving across the right lane to pull over to the shoulder. He is adamant about returning to work. Dealing with his children was not how he planned for today to play out. Attending to his young son is not a task he is fond of. It certainly is not a pressing matter to him. He should locate a neighborhood babysitter. The sounds of his son heaving out the side of the car gears him back to the present.
"Are you okay?" He reaches his arm to the passenger seat, peering over his shoulder at Jay. "Don't get any of that on my seats." Shaking his head full of disdain, "You threw up while at school, didn't you? Is that the reason they sent you home early? Come on, stop being such a wuss. Barely touched your first day of school."
"Why are you mean all the time," Jay argues. Wiping the corner of his mouth, "I didn't do anything wrong." His father plays the façade of doting father in front of strangers but reacts aggrieved towards him. He tries to understand why. It is nothing short of a hostile environment when he is around his dad.
The smashing of the third bottle on the wall sends Jay running. One case deep, absolutely bladdered, a drunk Patrick Halstead turns deceptive and extremely manipulative. His behaviors more frightening than the toplofty version Jay encounters on the day-to-day.
His father sluggishly pushes himself along the wall, attempting to locate his son. "Jay, you being home early is good. It will give us time to chat. You can tell me why you had to leave early," Patrick languorously baits, slack-jawed, trying to trick Jay out of his hiding spot. His skin clammy, he begins to slump down, moving back to the couch.
Jay hears him shifting to long-winded nags. Huddled in the hall closet, he scoots back to press against the wall. He conceals himself, moving the longer coats and boots in front of him. Doing so reveals a pack of glow sticks. Vivian Halstead is an angel of a mother. All too familiar with Jay's affinity for closets and creating, she places items in every closet for him. She does it, especially for times such as these, hiding from his father.
Wordlessly picking up the toy, Jay assembles one, connecting the ends to make a necklace. Whether or not the crunching sounds of the glow sticks alert his dad, Jay continues. Making a crown, bracelet, and a pair of mock drumsticks, he plays a beat on his crossed legs. If Jay were confident enough, he would probably title the song he sings along in his head. The lyrics of an easier life he wishes he had. For better times with his dad and with school, ending it with how much he loves his mom. He repeats the phrase his mom uses to give him strength, "Now is temporary, seconds after are in the future, and how you react is in your control." Tears well in his eyes as he recites the phrase repeatedly. He wants his mom, her enlightened words, and her hugs.
The jingle of his mom's keys before she tosses them in the bowl in the foyer relieves him. His mom is home. She rushes past the closet to the living room, greeting her semiconscious husband. An argument ignites about his drunken state, the condition of the room, and lack of care to tend to Jay. Every little thing happening is impossibly hard for a kid his age to process, to find ways to cope. He mouths the words again until his mom gently pulls the door open, calling out his name.
"Sweetheart. Oh, I'm here now," she crouches down to her knees, "He's going to change. I'm making sure of it."
She reaches her hand out to Jay, and he hurriedly crawls into her embrace. "Sorry to hear you are not feeling well. I should have kept you home," she rubs his back tenderly, "You are incredibly brave."
"I love you," Jay sniffs, his arms wrapping tighter around her.
"I love you. Always."
AN: Hiya! So ... lol I have not mastered the skill of a one shot. Stories be long. This will be another fuller story. The ending is finished but I haven't written the rest. Stick with me :). Chapters will be shorter and spread out. I'm hoping that will help me update sooner, no promises. My muse for this idea came from the Schitt's Creek housewarming episode. Who doesn't love a bit of nostalgia?
WOW. Here I am with a second story, crazzzyyy. I'm actually really liking this so potential of another story may be in the works, after this one is complete.
Happy Pride Month, y'all. As always thank you for any comments, favs, follows, and the like. Excuse any grammar mistakes.