A/N: Okay Chapter two! I'd originally intended for the story to go a lot quicker, and most of this chapter didn't exist, but then I got more ideas and decided to expand. Hope you'll enjoy!
SassyJ: At least we know he works out okay in the end. :) Thanks! I'd hoped my writing would get a little better as continued.
ArodLoverus2001: He'll be okay in the end, just has a long way to go. I actually feel terrible writing this, but as least we know he's always got some sarcastic comment in his mind whatever happens to him!
Guest: Whoever you may be, glad you liked it, your wish is granted!
He wanted to refuse the offer, but his stomach started growling in protest and he agreed, thanking her. It's not that he had anything against Mrs Roberts, kinda bland but nice enough, plus she was one hell of a cook. Mr Roberts was alright, too, if a bit of a neat freak. Honestly he'd probably eat there every night (they'd told him he was always welcome) if it wasn't for their daughter Rebbecca.
She'd been fine until she'd turned twelve, then she'd started making eyes at him, he'd just ignored her at the time, hoping she'd move on and start harassing someone of her own age. That was a year ago, she had yet to move on and, if anything, had only got worse.
He dodged several questions about school, and home, sat a little sideways in chair so that Rebbecca could no longer reach his legs with hers, had dinner and left.
The lights in his house were finally off by then.
The next morning his alarm woke him up at five, as planned, he crept downstairs to check yesterday's mail, hoping his father hadn't done so already. Luckily he hadn't, presumably having got tired of wading through so much junk mail. He found a "last warning" reminder to pay the water bill and the welfare check.
He took them upstairs and shoved them in his bag, there'd be easily enough to cover it, if he could talk them out of the late payment fees. He had a quick shower and made his way out of the window, just to be safe.
He got to the bank at opening time as it was quite a way away from his house. It was surprisingly crowded for this time of day and he groaned as he started waiting in line, trying to guess which clerk he'd end up with.
He knew the one in the middle, not personally, but he'd seen him working here every time he'd come so far. That was the one he ended up with when his turn came, he was a slightly overweight, graying man with a mustache. The pink shirt and baby blue tie didn't help.
Tim gave him the check he wanted to cash in as well as asking for a withdrawal to cover the water bill. The man frowned at him when he handed over his ID.
"Shouldn't you be in school?" He asked, as he started counting out the cash and slid it over to Tim.
"Shouldn't you have been promoted by now?" Tim shot back, pocketing the cash and walking out.
He was luckier with the water bill, they'd put a very sympathetic, mid thirties woman who obviously wanted kids, on reception. Tim made up a story about a tragic car accident last week and she agreed to let the fees slide.
He then headed all the way back across town to 'his' school. He leaned on the outer fence and waited for a while, eventually a young man in his early twenties walked down the street, Tim straightened up and the man 'accidentally' bumped into him, apologized and walked on, not before slipping Tim a fifty dollar bill.
Tim grinned and was about to leave when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see a wiry teenager with wildly curly dark hair, thick glasses and a few too many zits running towards him. Allan Brandon, smart kid, not so good at getting on with others, not really through any fault of his own, he was just a sensitive kid in a tough place and didn't have stature or charm to help him out.
Tim sighed, waiting for him to catch up, Allan took a while to get his breath back, reminding Tim he had asthma working against him too, and also taking time to notice he was, in fact, wearing sandals. Well this was going to be good.
"I'm so glad you came back!" Said Allan, finally breathing properly again, he noticed Tim's dubious look at his footwear, "Bosco's got worse, he started out a few weeks ago, asking for protection money, to protect me from himself, but he keeps putting the price up and yesterday I couldn't afford it, so he stole my shoes and shut me in a locker. I'm claustrophobic."
Tim raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued, "That means that you're scared of incl-"
"I know what it means," Interrupted Tim, "The hell am I supposed to do about it?"
"Talk to him? Please? He never bothered you."
"Fine, fine," Sighed Tim, changing direction and heading for the school instead. It was strange walking in after two months, The people who recognized him seemed to think so, too.
He walked up to a boy his age, who was sitting at a wooden table outside; David Ray, at sixteen he was already over six feet tall, and was widely considered to be the meanest, scariest bastard in school. Tim had found out that was just the impression he liked to give, and that he was actually a really nice guy.
Tim tapped him on the shoulder lightly, David removed on of his headphones and looked up, glaring, he was surprised when he recognized Tim and smiled.
"'Sup? Been a while."
"Actually, need you to do me a favor," Replied Tim, David looked like he was thinking about it.
"What would I have to do?" He asked, suspiciously.
"Nothing much, just stand behind me and look like you normally do," Said Tim, grinning, David nodded and stood up, following Tim into the main building.
He managed, with a lot of help from David, to change the terms of Bosco's tyrannical schemes. It wasn't that hard, he was a bully, but he wasn't the brightest of lights, and Allan was more than happy to have to write an extra essay every week instead of getting beaten to a pulp.
On his way out he ran into Tina, who came over to have a chat with him. He played a very small part in said conversation, just nodding along while she spoke, barely being able to keep up with the endless chatter. Finally the bell rang, she left for class and he walked out of the school.
She'd told him about her cat having to be put down, mentioning at least three times that she'd dumped Roger because he'd been insensitive about it, and then gone on to talk about the new bag she'd bought. He couldn't really relate to any of it, he'd never had a pet, unless you counted the large spider that lived in far corner of his bedroom ceiling, he'd named it Boris, as for bags and break-ups he really didn't have much experience. He pretended to understand perfectly though and she went away smiling while he appreciated just how tight her jeans were. It was win-win really.
He then decided to go home. He'd been avoiding his father for three days straight now, but had to make an appearance every once in a while else his father would get pissed off at him for "sneaking around" and "being devious and secretive". On the other hand, being at home too much meant he was 'lazy' and 'a dead weight'. Quite a hard balance to keep, he still hadn't got it quite right, but the afternoon was usually the best time to show up. The hangover would have worn off, he'd usually be eating, and wouldn't have started the drinking cycle yet.
As soon as he walked through the door, Tim knew it had been a bad idea.
"Close the goddamn door, you're making it drafty!" Shouted his father from the kitchen.
"Right, because it's the door, not the broken window that's causin' the draft," Muttered Tim, under his breath.
"The hell did you just say?" Asked his father, Tim bit his lip.
"Nothin',"
He made to go upstairs but got called back down into the kitchen.
"You trying to be smart?"
'Wouldn't dream of it,' Thought Tim, "No," He said simply, knowing not to push his luck, which seemed to be fading fast as it was.
"You cash the check this mornin'?" His father asked, looking Tim straight in the eye.
'So you do actually know what day it is?', "Yep," Replied Tim. He'd occasionally let his thoughts slip out loud, which had led to dire consequences, and now resorted to bitting his tongue in between responses. The way he saw it, it really wasn't his fault, some people were born with a stutter, others had a knack for giving public speeches. He had sarcasm.
"Then why the hell was there a three hundred dollar withdrawal this morning?" Challenged his father, taking a step forward. It took all Tim had not to step back, but stepping back meant he'd be grabbed, and being grabbed just accelerated the inevitable.
Tim managed to pull himself upstairs a few hours later. He'd tapped into the third of a bottle of Bourbon he'd stolen from his dad a few months ago. It wasn't a good idea, but it was easily accessible unlike painkillers.
Not being used to a regular intake of alcohol meant it only took a couple of shots to give him a buzz. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped though the numbers until he came to the number his brother had left him. Normally he would have thought twice, if not more, but the whiskey allowed to press the call button.
"Hello?" Came the voice through the receiver.
"Yeah, it's me," Replied Tim, toying with the bottle in his hand as he sat slumped back against the door. Occasionally he'd glance up at Boris the spider was had just caught himself a nice juicy fly.
"Tim? You sound strange, are you okay?" Asked Mike, a worried pang in his voice, Tim laughed.
"It's just the accent, you lost the habit of hearin' it," Replied Tim, Mike wasn't convinced, but let it slide as Tim continued, "Actually I was just callin' to ask a question. Dad ever take this shit out on you?"
He was met with an awkward silence in response, "Huh, I thought not. Any idea why?"
"Tim..." Started Mike, not sure of what to say, "I'm not sure this...It's really not a conversation to be had on the phone."
"Too bad, I need to know," Snapped Tim, he had another mouthful from the bottle, Mike could hear the sound of the liquid swilling around in the bottle well enough to get an idea of the situation.
"You remember the night mom went out in the storm after they argued?" Started Mike.
"No, why would I remember the night our mother died?" Asked Tim sarcastically, Mike ignored him and continued.
"Well, you were way to young to register what the argument was about..."
"But?" Pushed Tim, getting a little annoyed.
"I think dad thought she was cheating on him," Finished Mike, Tim frowned, this wasn't an answer, and the alcohol had muddled his brain more than he care to admit.
"So? That's my fault?"
Mike sighed, "No, none of it is your fault...I just think that maybe dad thought you weren't..his. Then, there's the fact that that was the argument that made mom leave and have the accident..." Mike trailed off waiting for a response. After a few minutes of silence he spoke again, "Tim? Look I'd really have preferred to talk about this in person-"
"You think I am his?" Tim cut him off.
"It doesn't really matter-"
"I fuckin' hope I'm not," Muttered Tim, taking another drink.
"Have you considered..Talking to someone?" Suggested Mike, already knowing what the answer would be.
"You mean a shrink? Why? Nothin' wrong with me, it's the rest of the world that's fucked up," Tim shrugged, cringing slightly as he did so, "Look, I'm gonna crash out now, thanks for the info."
Tim hung up without waiting to an answer. He briefly considered getting up and going to bed, but it seemed much too far away right now. Plus the floor didn't seem all that uncomfortable.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed that, slightly more on the drama side of things, but I wanted to flesh the situation out a little before starting to make changes.
I may not be able to update either story in the next few days as I have a lot of spooky horses to move across town, but I will update as soon as I can, provided I don't die!