A/N.: A big thanks to my beta ParisAmy and for all your nice reviews =) I hope now its easier for you to read and to know from whom's POV the story is told. If not let me know! I hope it's obvious enough for what the capital letters stand for;)

5. Alcohol & Anger – Would you leave if I asked you to?

K.

I sit on the couch in front of him. The atmosphere is strained. Nobody dares to say a word. He won't make the start, because he's much too angry and upset by all that has happened. I'm sure if I'd never seen the letter, I would have never gotten the opportunity to talk to him again. The question is: what to say to him? After all that happened a simple apology seems to be out of place. A simple apology could never fix what got damaged between us.

R.

I don't know what to do. I want to run, but I'm really afraid of Trey by now. I don't want to mess it up. Right now he's the only person I have left. I can't risk losing him too, but I can't talk to her. There's nothing to say. This here isn't her business anymore. It's mine. I don't want her to show up here and play the role of the Good Samaritan, if in fact she isn't. I don't need that. I can cope with all of this on my own.

K.

"Strange situation, after all that has happened." I make the start. He isn't the person who starts a conversation so it's on me to get it going. How shall I make him coming back with me and been taken care of by me – us? I've underestimated the degree of hurt that I've – we've caused. He had always been vulnerable, but we have never taken account of it. If I had, it'd never gotten that far. He's awfully skittish around me, a wrong word or a wrong movement could destroy all purpose for which I came here.

R.

What shall I answer her: yes, you're right? I can't. I'd like to hide under my blanket right now, but I'm too old for that kind of behaviour. I have to brace myself and just try to think of something else. I can't. Since she appeared on the doorstep my head is full of all these memories and I have the feeling as if these memories are even more hurtful than the real event had been.

I've found her passed out on the couch – once again. It happened quite regular lately and when it happened either Sandy or I carried her to bed. This time it was my turn. I took her limp and numb body, and carefully carried her upstairs. How long this went on for? Already for months. Even Seth had started to notice, and if Seth starts to notice things like that you can imagine what it means. I lay her in her bed and tucked her in. Then I went downstairs and threw away the empty bottle. Watching her losing herself and everything that meant something to her was hard. Sandy started to burry himself deeper and deeper in his work. He was barely at home – barely there for Seth, who struggled coping with the fact that is family wasn't as perfect as it used to be and the first cracks began to crack open even deeper.

I sat down at the kitchen table and started doing some homework. I had trouble concentrating on it, because I was always listening to what was going on upstairs. I knew soon Kirsten was in the need of someone to hold back her hair, while she was heaving over the toilet bowl. It would be me – as it always was lately. If I could bear it didn't matter at that point of time. The only thing that was important was not to let whole Newport get wind of what went on in Casa de Cohen. I managed to solve the first math problem – which was already a huge success as I started to fail one test after another then - when I heard the door upstairs slam shut. I hurried upstairs. She was a mess, but I held back her hair and started rubbing her back while her body was contracting violently under the retching. I didn't say anything. I already knew then that she didn't want to hear anything – especially not from me. When she was finished I handed her a face cloth, but she pushed my arm away.

"Kirsten please, it'll make you feel a little more comfortable." I tried to persuade her, knowing deep down that it wouldn't work.

"I don't need it." She said and then left the bathroom and then the bedroom. Her dress was a mess. The vomit was spread all over her cloths.

"Kirsten, maybe you'd better get changed or do you want someone seeing you like that?" I asked her critically.

"Why? What's wrong with me and my dress? Am I not good enough for you anymore, now after you've taken our money, our cloths, our education and food? Don't you think I know what kind of game you're involved in? But don't worry. I'm not going to allow you intruding our family any further." I ignored all those tiny, but painful strikes that this sentence caused inside of me, as I usually ignored it when she got one of her outbursts.

"I didn't say that. I only think that-"

"I want to see my son, is anything wrong with that?" Despite her appearance? Yes. For example the fact that she was completely drunk and that Seth can't deal with his drunken Mom.

"He's not there." I lied. I knew very well that Seth had buried himself in his room, trying to avoid all the chaos and drama that went on at his home and got absorbed in the world of his comic heroes. I would do everything to protect him from that. I couldn't. There was nothing I could do about this situation.

She didn't care about what I said and stormed into her son's room. Seth was scared to his tracks when his Mom burst into his room. I saw it in his face and his eyes and his whole body language, which had turned defensive. He had never been defensive towards one of his parents before. The fact that he was now, was only one more sign that things were worse than worse and that we were desperately in the need of a solution.

"Hey Seth, how's my son doing? I have the feeling as if we don't see each other a lot lately, not speaking about talking to each other." Her sweet and soft voice was false. We both knew that she could suffer from her rage blackouts any second. I saw him – his eyes – begging for my help. I had to intervene in this.

"Uh…yeah…I'm quite busy with school lately." He said. He knew how to play this game. He had learned fast. He had to, because otherwise I'm sure he would've been broken under this situation. Well, I'm sure that this phase has left its scare and cracks.

"Why? You're a smart boy…you don't need to study that much." His Mom sat down on his bed.

"Actually, I have to, because I attend all the advanced curses this year and they give us a lot of work." He answered. If his Mom had been sober only for a few minutes she would've known about this, but she hadn't been sober for months and I've been at my wits' ends, not sure whether I was able to handle the situation any longer than that. I had the feeling as if I would break under this situation, but I couldn't allow it to happen. Seth needed me and I couldn't let him down. It was as if we grew even closer to each other under these circumstances – as if we really became brothers.

"You're my son. You're smart you don't need to learn." His Mom said and I smelled where this was leading to – it was nothing good.

"Kirsten, I think Seth really needs some peace for doing all his homework." I tried to persuade her.

"Don't you dare telling me what my son needs. You've been the one only getting him into trouble. Stop talking about things you don't know anything about." She hissed and positioned herself in front of me. Her smell was disgusting.

"Why don't you go down and have a coffee and then you can come back again, how about that?" I asked her. I could've carried her out of this room, but this would've been too humiliating even for these circumstances. Fact: Kirsten wasn't herself and an alcoholic, but that didn't give me the right to take the last bits of dignity she had left.

I didn't saw her raising her hand, but I felt the slap sharp on my skin. It didn't hit me off guard, because I always was prepared for this reaction since months. She uses to slap me when she lacked of arguments or when she just had reached a degree of being drunk that made her flying into rage too easily.

"Don't you dare talk to me like you used to your fucking alcoholic Mom, got it?" She hissed and then stormed out of the room. She didn't know – and still doesn't know – how I used to talk to my Mom. She knew that something wasn't right with her, but she wasn't ready to admit it. I caught Seth's apologetic glance. I only shrugged my shoulders. I couldn't let him know how hard this situation was for me. He needed me - his father wasn't there, his Mom neither. I had the feeling as if I owed it to him. At least it had been his initiative that I had at least one good year I would never forget, because it'll always be the best year in my life. I went back downstairs. Indeed, Kirsten stood in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee in her hand, but I could smell that it was more than just a simple coffee. I put my stuff together. I didn't want to be in the same room with her anymore, not when I myself was on the verge to damage something out of frustration.

"You know, I'll tell Sandy about how you behave towards me. I don't think he'll like it." She said and I pretended as if I didn't hear her. Sandy was the other problem I – we, Seth and I – were faced with.

I was faced with it quite soon. Sandy had managed to come home from work earlier than ten in the evening. He didn't even bother knocking at the pool house door first.

"What the hell went on today?" He asked me.

"Kirsten got drunk once again, I brought her to bed, she puked her guts out and then started to bother Seth with her drunkenness." I explained to him. I had stopped being polite in handling these issues. This was a serious problem, but nobody seemed to want to face it and I was reluctant to play the game of ignorance.

"And that's enough reason for you to humiliate her?"

"I didn't humiliate her. She did so herself. If I'd done so, I probably would've carried her out of Seth's room." I answered, hoping he'd understand what humiliation in reality meant.

"Stop talking like that to me. I have enough trouble in my job. I don't have time to take care of this kind of teenage attitude." He yelled at me. He used to yell at me when he came home from work. Everybody needed to let off of steam. Every time it was me, something I didn't realise back then, but when I left it all behind.

"Sandy, Kirsten has a serious problem and I'm not going to sit down and watch how this is ruining everything." I stayed calm. Again I tried to explain to him what alcoholism meant. It's the problem if people never really have lived through this kind of phase before: it seems to be surreal to them. They always think this would never happen to them, but eventually it did and then they have no idea how to cope with it.

"You're still talking about my wife and I'm not going to allow you to compare her with your mother." I had to brace myself for not rolling my eyes. I was fed up with these kinds of statements. It was always the same old shit.

"I'm not comparing, but I'm worried. Hell Sandy, you can't close your eyes and pretend as if nothing goes on. Don't you even realise how this affects Seth? He's hurting under this situation. He can't handle his Mom being like this. He needs you and your support right now, but you're never there and you never face the truth." I never thought that I was able to control my temper that hard, but I was. Otherwise I would've yelled back into Sandy's face. Control is something valuable in such situations. Unfortunately this sentence had been the second slap of the day. Yes, Sandy used to have server anger and aggression issues and I was always glad that Seth never had been around – despite the one time, the last time.

"You have two options: either you stop behaving like that, or you can pack your bags and leave. I didn't bring you here, so that you can insult us. Got it?" I should've packed my bags. But what would've happened to Seth? Again I turned out to be the punching bag for the rest of the family, and again I'd been too loyal to be able to leave them behind.

K.

"Ryan, are you still with me?" I ask him. I talked to him what seems like hours, but he doesn't show any kind of response, not to mention a reaction.

"Would you leave if I'd asked you to please?"