Dib's feet lead him to that familiar establishment that could barely be called 'home'. He stopped and stared, dropping his cigarette on the cement and crushing it with the heel of his leather boot. A lazy gaze watched the first window for any sign of life. None, as usual.
Walking up the cobblestone drive, he wasn't surprised to find Gaz's car missing from it's usual spot in the cluttered garage. She was always out. A plethora of friends that never had a dull moment in their life, drinking, dancing and fucking the night away. What did surprise him was that Gaz wasn't pregnant. Yet.
His hand clutched the cold brass handle and he pushed the old door open, stepping onto dirty peach colored carpet. Crumbs and remains of toast were resting on the counter while the skeleton of a chicken still sat on the table from the previous night's dinner. Already flies hovered, covering the meat disgustingly and scattering as he approached the table. It was annoying how no one cared anymore.
Removing the offensive meat from the table and dropping it into the trash, he plopped down on the white leather couch. His father had an obsession with white. White or damn near it. Everything he could get in white, he'd get in white. Counters, tables, refrigerators, microwaves…fuck, he had a white coffee maker.
His hand fumbled with the switch on the little appliance, waiting for the black liquid to brew so he could wake up more, though he really didn't want to. Waking up meant facing the reality of life. His sister hated him. His father hated him. Their neighbors hated him. The kids at hi skool hated him. It almost depressed him. Almost.
Mixing in one part milk and one part sugar, he sipped at the warm liquid, a half-lidded gaze staring at nothing in particular but the cracks in the white tiles on the kitchen floor. Life was pointless. So pointless and…tiresome. Always tired. All he ever wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn't. He hadn't slept in days and for good reason. It was like a…self-made insomnia. Coffee had been his friend for years now, sleeping maybe 18 hours a week total. He didn't care about his grades or his performance, so sleeping wasn't necessary. Which was good.
He hated sleep. All it brought was nightmares and fairy tales. Though there wasn't much a difference for him. His good dreams were bad and his bad ones were worse. He'd dream that the world hated him and were locking him up deep away from the outside. He'd dream that he was in an insanity asylum, the Crazy House for Boys, with all those other crazies. Piles of pills, sneering looks, shadows everywhere…taunting and teasing him, causing more nightmares. Not a single helping hand was present. All there was were pills and injections and padded walls. And those were the 'lighter' nightmares. His 'good' dreams consisted of lies; his father loving him, his mother still there, his sister half-way looking up to him. He'd have millions of friends. All lies.
He layed back on the couch, his mind wandering freely over everything about life he hated. Maybe he should write poetry. His 'acquaintance' wrote poetry all the time, and it helped him get over his problems. It made everything less…clustered and cluttered. Maybe poetry was a good avenue to head down.
Amber eyes glanced towards the basement as his father came out of the dark room for the first time in months, seemingly distraught and lost in his own home; a sight which rarely graced itself in his presence. The old man's eyes fell on the teen reclining on the couch still dressed in all of those heavy clothes, even his boots, and sighed.
"Son," came his serious voice, which Dib barely recognized, and watched him for a few moments. "Son, I want you to meet Alex, an assistant of mine." Gloved hands gestured towards a smiling scientist standing at his father's side. The man bowed and approached the teen, a hand outstretched. Dib just watched the hand lazily. "Get to know him well, son. Go upstairs and pack your things." His father seemed disorganized and in a rush to do something, but all that registered in the teen's mind was 'go pack your things'.
"What…why?" Dib slowly sat up. He set the coffee cup on the table, not caring to find a coaster first. "What's going on, Dad?" His father hoisted him off the couch and pushed him towards the stairs. He simply stood there and stared at his father.
"Get going!!!!" his father shouted, pointing at the stairs and Dib simply walked up them, his eyes wide in more shock than fear. He looked about his room, wondering what was going on. He began to slowly gather his things, leaving them more in a pile on his bed. Trench coats, shirts, pants, extra pair of boots…He didn't own much. He had just started unhooking his computer when his dad threw a few boxes into the room.
"Dad…" The teen watched as his father began to head back downstairs. "DAD!!!" Dib followed, his rage slowly rising at his dad's failure to answer. He grabbed the shoulder of the man in front of him to turn him so they were face to face. "What the FUCK is going on?! Why do I have to fucking pack up? Where the FUCK am I going?" Old eyes simply stared at him.
"You are going to live with Alex. You are going to live with him and get out of my life. Gaz is with a friend of hers and you have no friends. So you will live with Alex. Alex will keep you taken care of. He'll keep you in school. You'll be good." With that his father left, leaving the little boy that used to be his in the care of some strange man.