Gunta?" a rough voice called as the old porch door swung cautiously open. "Gunta is that you? Get in here."

Marshall ignored his mother's croaky voice and current delusional state resounding from within the living room, instead storming into his small bedroom and slamming the door behind him, watching his many posters shift uneasily at the spontaneous combustion of brutality. A singular pale hand reached for the zipper of his backpack, yanking it downward in one motion, the other hand removing a small device from the now open bag.

His eyes were narrowed slits as he turned the device on and slipped the pebble-like buds into either ear, hoping to be soothed by jazzy sounds and clever lyrics. This was how a day in the life of Lee usually went. Fail several school assignments, suffer abuse from the Prince's goonies, and return home, only to avoid his alcoholic mother by blasting music in his ears until his next big consequential headache.

"You should be stronger than me..."

Marshall picked at the scab on his wrist, ignoring the stinging sensation that was being received from such an action. He had this nasty habit of always picking at fresh wounds, thus making them far worse than they were originally.

Who calls themselves a prince anyways? Just because he's rich and probably has some sort of sugar fetish he gets a stupid nickname.

Then again, the raven haired teen would have killed for a nickname of his own outside of "loser" and "hobo slut". Heck, even "homo" wasn't his scene. (Is it really that necessary to state the obvious to some people?)

The smoothness of Amy Winehouse's lyrics poured into his skin, distracting him from his troubles and blasting his fears away. Outside of his room his drunken mother grew reckless, but why concern himself with that? No, it was much better to stay locked away in his room, hidden from any possibility of harm. Not like he could do anything to console her which he hadn't already tried.

"I'm not gonna meet your mother anytime,"

"I just wanna grip your body, over mine."

Images flew into his head like wildfire in response to the lyrical implications, the kind of images you wouldn't want your parents to see. Marshall felt his cheeks begin to warm, matching the temperature of the handheld object which kept him company. He wished his mind wouldn't always wander like this, or at the very least that it wouldn't wander to him of all people. And today certainly hadn't helped.

Sighing, he removed the earbuds, and paused the song, just as his door swung open. So much for security and privacy.

The one time I forget to lock the door...

"Marshy...honey. How was Pre-K?" Marshall looked up at the middle aged woman, choppy bangs that somewhat matched hers flopping down awkwardly in his face. He could argue with Simone, he could attempt to remind her that it had been many years since the incident and he was no longer a small child that needed babying. But through all her drunkenness and her loose hold on sanity, Marshall knew to make an effort would be pointless. Better to give her those few words of assurance until she wandered back to her bottles.

"It was great, mom. Pre-K was great."

She smiled a little, happy believing that her son was accomplishing something, while he was just happy she at least remembered having a son. There had been worst days, he needed to at the very least remember that. Things could always be worse.

Her smile exposed rotting gums and beer-stained teeth, but her eyes were as soft as freshly fallen snow. The only part of her body that hadn't been worn out by time and pain and booze binges.

"And? Did you make any new friends?" She inquired, surprising both of them by her influx of coherent and intelligent sentences.

Marshall thought back to his earlier conversation with the school's meanest prep, keeping in mind the deal that had been made.

"I did, actually," he replied at last, smiling bitterly. It was quite obviously a lie, but she would likely never find out, or end up too wasted to care. At least, for the time being, Marshall could please his mother.

"He really likes me, ma. I may have finally made it with the cool kids."