Father
unstable
The dishes were flying towards his head, followed by glasses that were given as a wedding present. He was lucky that knives and forks were in the drawers; otherwise, it would be a problem. Much bigger than it already was.
“Get out of the fucking house,” the voice screamed, and the body shook with anger making the greasy dark strays of hair fall into the dull and glossy eyes. “I don’t want to see you ever again,” she whispered, falling down on her knees.
He tried picking her up, resulting her screaming some more, but this time accompanied by the baby screams from another room. He looked at the direction of the nursery, Winnie the Pooh picture just barely visible from the position he was standing. He knew she had problems, and there was nothing more in the world he wanted to do than to help her. It was just too much pressure. From her father, from her manager (which is her father), from the label, the media.
“Please?” he begged pointing to the room, his heart ripping apart from the sobs and screams.
“No, just, go away,” she said, walking away from him.
Within the seconds, the house was quiet again, and he walked out.
He didn’t wanted to leave, but it was better that way rather than constantly fighting over nothings. One foot in front of the other, he counted the footsteps, not wanting to drive away (the chilly air felt so good to his confused mind). But he had no where to go.
The building was tall and tired, reflecting him in a way. So, when he knocked on the door, he didn’t expected the chipper boy on the other side. He expected his best friend and his son’s godfather, not his high-on-life baby cousin.
“No, Trav went to New York; he had some recording to do.”
Sure, he was invited to join the party, but with a back-tone “please don’t”. It was more of a forced invitation.
“William,” he thought. Oh sweet William was always there, and always willing to give more than a helping hand to friend in trouble. But William was also having troubles with his daughter, little girl not being accustomed to cold Chicago air.
Brendon was also an option, but knowing him, it was probably the worst idea ever. He just left his son with his unstable mother; he didn’t needed another unstable person to deal with.
He missed Patrick, who would wrap his arms around him and console until the end of time and the day after, but in the lights of recent events, he thought that giving Patrick space is what he wanted.
So he turned to one person who was there at the moment. To his Mini-Me, as he would like to call him on occasion.
He met with a pair of tired brown orbs, reflecting his own. Without a word, a young boy with frilly hair ushered him inside, and offered a cup of coffee.
“Ashlee kicked me out again,” he justified himself, but the boy just raised his hand.
“It’s okay, Pete.”
“Thanks Ryan.”
That night he cried himself to sleep, curled in Ryan’s arms.
“Get out of the fucking house,” the voice screamed, and the body shook with anger making the greasy dark strays of hair fall into the dull and glossy eyes. “I don’t want to see you ever again,” she whispered, falling down on her knees.
He tried picking her up, resulting her screaming some more, but this time accompanied by the baby screams from another room. He looked at the direction of the nursery, Winnie the Pooh picture just barely visible from the position he was standing. He knew she had problems, and there was nothing more in the world he wanted to do than to help her. It was just too much pressure. From her father, from her manager (which is her father), from the label, the media.
“Please?” he begged pointing to the room, his heart ripping apart from the sobs and screams.
“No, just, go away,” she said, walking away from him.
Within the seconds, the house was quiet again, and he walked out.
He didn’t wanted to leave, but it was better that way rather than constantly fighting over nothings. One foot in front of the other, he counted the footsteps, not wanting to drive away (the chilly air felt so good to his confused mind). But he had no where to go.
The building was tall and tired, reflecting him in a way. So, when he knocked on the door, he didn’t expected the chipper boy on the other side. He expected his best friend and his son’s godfather, not his high-on-life baby cousin.
“No, Trav went to New York; he had some recording to do.”
Sure, he was invited to join the party, but with a back-tone “please don’t”. It was more of a forced invitation.
“William,” he thought. Oh sweet William was always there, and always willing to give more than a helping hand to friend in trouble. But William was also having troubles with his daughter, little girl not being accustomed to cold Chicago air.
Brendon was also an option, but knowing him, it was probably the worst idea ever. He just left his son with his unstable mother; he didn’t needed another unstable person to deal with.
He missed Patrick, who would wrap his arms around him and console until the end of time and the day after, but in the lights of recent events, he thought that giving Patrick space is what he wanted.
So he turned to one person who was there at the moment. To his Mini-Me, as he would like to call him on occasion.
He met with a pair of tired brown orbs, reflecting his own. Without a word, a young boy with frilly hair ushered him inside, and offered a cup of coffee.
“Ashlee kicked me out again,” he justified himself, but the boy just raised his hand.
“It’s okay, Pete.”
“Thanks Ryan.”
That night he cried himself to sleep, curled in Ryan’s arms.