Born and Broken Every Single Time.

I sat for a moment, just staring at the text before me. I didn’t want to reply. I wanted to let her stew in her worries or thoughts. I wanted her to wonder if I was going to reply, to sit and wait by her phone. I wanted her to feel, even if just for a moment, a small fraction of the pain I felt every time I came home to find the house empty. All those times I knew she was out drinking, waiting to see if she would have changed if only for one night.

She never did.

I decided to take Mikey’s slumber as an opportunity to get ready. I pulled out the first garments that I grabbed, the first pair of boxers, jeans and shirt. Strangely enough, much to my amusement, it looked like an outfit I wore practically every day, proving to me the little variety I had in my wardrobe. I sat back down on my mattress, feeling it adjust under my weight and just sighed.

"Mikey," I groaned, frowning as he snuggled himself into his covers further. I got no reply, unless his grunt could be classed as one.

Without a second thought I stood up, grabbing my phone and the first hoodie I could find. I edged the bedroom door open in an attempt not to wake anyone and grumbled profanities under my breath with every creak from its hinges. As I closed the door behind me, I turned around quietly and practically tiptoed to the top of the stairs, swinging round as I heard a door open.

"Where are you going?" Gerard groaned, blinking rapidly as he’d obviously just woke up.

"Uh, nowhere," I lied, mentally kicking myself for such a stupid answer.

"At this time in the morning?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow and displaying his scepticism.

"Yeah…" I began. "I-I’m going home."

"Home?" he frowned, seeming to scan his eyes over me. My face contorted in confusion before assuming he thought I meant moving back and was searching for my bag.

"My mum said sorry," I mumbled, feeling like an infant under his scrutinising gaze. I knew what he thought of my mother and knew he couldn’t just shrug this off; he wouldn’t just shrug this off. "I just want to talk."

"Are you insane?" he replied, quietening his voice as he continued. "She said sorry, doesn’t mean you have to go running."

"Go back to bed," I sighed, frowning slightly to myself as I descended the stairs. The thoughts of my previous suffocation in regards to him flooded through my mind, taking over any empathy I was having for his interference. "This has nothing to do with you."

I glanced up and watched him open his mouth to reply but simply closing it in a minor state of confusion. He muttered a dismissive ’whatever’ before returning to his room without a glance back. I stood for a moment, just trying to shake the guilt from my mind as I carefully scurried downstairs and left the house.

As I walked along the streets, the morning’s air shook a certain alertness into me, it’s crispness shocking me at first but I soon adjusted. I glanced at the houses as I passed, noting most of them in darkness bar the occasional room illuminated and a silhouette scurrying about. I didn’t let my mind wander too much as I strolled, just focussing on the distraction that was the neighbourhoods I casually walked through.

I walked briskly, trying to warm myself up in the cool morning’s air and seeking to sort this out as soon as possible. The longer it took to get there, the more time I would worry over it. I had to do this.

I scampered down my driveway and pulled my key out sharply. I walked straight into my house and was hit with the stench of alcohol. I felt sick. Not only was the scent horrid for me at this time in the morning, but just for a little while I believed she had changed, actually changed. I closed the door quietly behind me, walking with a certain trepidation about me. I turned and walked into the living room to find my mother sitting in her chair, wrapped up tight in her dressing gown and clasping a glass of clear liquid. I froze.

She glanced up at me, her eyes bloodshot and tried to force a smile. I stood where I was, just staring.

"What’s in that glass?" I began harshly, indicating dramatically to the object she clung to.

"Water," she replied in barely a whisper.

"Bullshit," I snapped. "Why does this house stink of alcohol then?"

"Th-that was last night," she muttered. "I-I had too much-"

"Surprise there, huh?" I interrupted.

"I had too much to drink," she continued, ignoring my interjection. "I thought I heard you in your room, but I was just imagining it. I-I thought it was like the time you were here with Mikey’s brother… I remembered when I looked at you…"

"Don’t do this," I pressed, not wanting to hear the anguish in my mother’s voice. As much as I longed to hate her, as much as I hated her, she was my mum after all and I couldn’t totally dismiss her.

"I felt so small when he spoke to me like that," she continued quietly. Suddenly, I snapped.

"You felt small?" I shouted. I didn’t care that it was early in the morning; I wasn’t going to let this lie. "He told you the truth! What about all the times you said shit to me? Stuff that wasn’t even true but you knew fucking hurt me? You felt small? Get a grip!"

"T-that’s why I’m sorry," she mumbled, casting a teary eyed gaze my way. Seeing her hurt calmed me slightly. I sat on the sofa beside me, keeping my distance from her but waiting for her to continue. "I can’t do this Frank, b-but I can try…"

"You’ve ’tried’ so many times," I sighed as I looked at her. "It won’t be different this time bar the fact there’s no one here to stop you."

"No," she pressed. "Frank, please, just come home."

"Come home?" I laughed, taking her by surprise. "You’re lucky I came to see you now. I’m not staying under this roof with you unless you sort yourself out."

"I promise you I’ll try," she continued.

"No," I replied sternly. "I don’t want to hear from you until you sort yourself out, I don’t need empty promises from you."

"Frank…"

"No," I interrupted again. "I’m out of here."

"Stay, please?" she pressed, putting her water on the table beside her.

"I can’t…" I muttered, standing up to leave. She forced herself up from the chair. I could see how tired she was. The bags under her eyes aged her sevenfold; it was horrible to see. She walked over, attempting to hug me only to find me hold her back.

"Sort yourself out," I replied sternly before turning and leaving the room. I didn’t look back, knowing that if I did I’d cave in. I returned to the streets, just searching for somewhere to go and clear my mind.