Heaven's Melody
AFTER
His house smelled like cookies when he got there.
It wasn’t much of a surprise, his mind had already assosiated the scent of sugar, chocolate and beated eggs with the bright purple walls of his home. His mom used to own a bake shop, once upon a time, and although that dream had ended long ago she didn’t end her baking career with it.
“Hello?” he said. “Anyone home?”
It was a question he already knew the answer to; he could hear noise in the other room, the clattering of a pan or two, followed by the soft mumble of a curse word. It sounded like his sister had decided to join his mother in the kitchen. Wonderful.
With a sad smile, Logan retracted the thought. He’d become too sarcastic since… the accident. Too sarcastic and pessimistic. Maybe she’d gotten better…
Of course he knew that wasn’t possible. She was the world’s worst cook yesterday and today was probably no different.
Again, he cursed the direction his thoughts had taken.
“Hello?” He stepped into the kitchen.
“Oh hi sweetie.”
Looking around for the owner of the voice, Logan only saw the brown ponytail of his mother’s hair peeking up from behind the counter. There was a beat, and then she popped up, her face half-covered in flour, that straight pity look still etched into every single one of her features. Her smile wasn’t full, as per usual, but tilted half up- like she was comforting him, empathizing with him. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, asking questions he had no answers to. And her eyes were the worst. All knowing. He didn’t even have to say one word.
It’d been nice, for a day at least. And then it’d gotten annoying, all the pity-faces and sympathetic glances they’d give him when they thought he wasn’t watching. The way everyone seemed to be walking around on eggshells. He was just done with it- he wanted life to go back to normal.
Trivial and dull, but normal. He’d do anything for normal.
“Hey mom.”
His sister jumped up next, her mother’s twin and gave him a look similar to that of the lady next to her.
“’Sup Logs.”
He smiled, but it was faker than it’d been in days. They pretended they didn’t notice. He was doing well today- that was the plan.
“We’re baking cookies, chocolate mint- you’re favorite,” his sister continued, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Ur- well- I use the term we pretty loosely- mom was doing most of the cooking, and I was watching her and looking pretty.”
She struck a pose, and in turn he laughed. That was fake too.
“I think by next week, though, I’ll be able to crack an egg without getting the entire shell in there with it. Say what you will, but I am actually learning something.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to speak, anyways.
The three of them stared at each other for a minute, a long one, Logan looking back and forth between his mother, his sister and the floor. He wanted to cry again, but that was all he had done the week prior and now he needed to be strong. He was a man and that’s what they did.
“Well I think-”
“How was the Montgomery’s?” His mom interrupted him, “Did you see Lara?”
He wasn’t really sure how she knew that’s where he ended up. Perhaps he was more predictable than he’d originally thought. But, ultimately, he didn’t mind because she was his mother and it was her job to know these things. He didn’t care how she found out.
“Ummmm… no. No- she wasn’t there,” he said. “Or she was- I dunno really, Mrs. Montgomery didn’t let me see her.”
His mom sighed, rather loudly and clacked her nails against the granite. She’d never taken to that woman, even when Mel was alive, but now she didn’t even bother to try and hide her feelings.
“You would think…” she trailed off, looking rather frustrated and irked. “Maybe I should go and talk to her. I mean, you and Lara are still, well, you and Lara, right?”
Logan nodded.
“Well then she has no right. She should let Lara see you if that’s what she wants-“ His mom paused, huffing, arms crossed, body stiff. “But maybe, well, Lara could be self-exiling herself from you and everybody, but if that’s the case than she is being a neglectful mother and I do still need to talk to her. It isn’t okay to just sleep ones life away, and that’s what Lara’s doing. Or being forced to do- either way-”
His mother stopped mid-rant, noticing that her son had just burst into heart-wrenching sobs. She froze.
“Oh, Logan.”
He waved his left hand as an apology, and used his right to balance himself on the counter. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, by himself, and was now paralyzed forever. He didn’t know when or even how things would go back to normal- now that this horrible feeling kept creeping back into the pits of his gut and staying there for hours at a time.
But he didn’t care how. He just needed it to happen as soon as possible.
“Logs,” his sister whined, sneaking up to him and giving him a hug he couldn’t respond to. She was a year older, and a foot shorter. She’d gotten her mother’s height, while he had gotten his fathers’.
“Logs, please don’t cry. We love you and Lara does too. Of course she’d want to see you- mom was just rambling.”
“Steph’s right, hon,” his mom added, the tone in her voice worried. She wasn’t in his line of sight, but he’d bet anything that she was biting her nails. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“But it is possible,” Logan murmured, probably incoherently to the other occupants of the room. “She could hate me now.”
In reality, he knew there was no possible way he could’ve prevented Mel’s death. No one could’ve- except for that damn bastard- and blaming himself would get him no where. But that’s all he could do. That’s all anyone was doing- Lara blamed herself, so did her mom, he blamed himself, heck probably some random guy in North Dakota would blame himself too.
Because, in some sadistic, messed up and twisted way it helped.
The oven dinged, the signal that his favorite- mint and chocolate cookies were ready. Suddenly, he didn’t have an appetite.
*
He’d gotten drunk the first night. His mom was there with him, sitting to his left, knee against knee and feeding him the all the alcohol he craved. She didn’t say anything about it the next day; neither did he, and within the week she had gotten rid of any alcoholic drink in the house.
His grandfather had been an addict.
After shoving down a cookie and then pretending that he was extremely tired, Logan threw it up and climbed out the window. Technically, he didn’t have a curfew and therefore didn’t have to sneak out, but he couldn’t walk out the front door without questions.
And questions sucked.
Nursing his third beer of the night, Logan realized how much he had changed. It was fucking crazy, life wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to be the same from 16 to 17- only change after college. But now…
Logan used to be a happy drunk, he was always the one jumping around, singing loudly and just making a complete fool out of himself. He could be a horny one too, probably due to the fact he never had one sip of any alcoholic beverage unless Lara was there. And Lara was definitely a horny drunk.
Now he was just a depressed one. A boring one.
“Logan,” Steven said, his own hand wrapped around an ice-cold Jack Daniels. “I think you’re taking this too hard, man.”
Steven always drifted back and forth between the two. Sometimes he would discuss the meaning of life, and how it was really a black hole of horror and that we all were living in some sociopaths nightmare, and then he’d go and do a joking but sort of serious strip-tease on the table.
Steven was… well, Steven. Just like he was Logan and Lara was Lara and Mel was dead. Mel was dead because of that bastard who murdered her.
That bastard- who was probably now sitting comfortably on his lumpy, puke-green couch with his wife and watching reruns of some not funny show while not feeling guilty at all.
“I need to make him feel it, man,” Logan said, sort of to Steven but more to himself.
“Make who feel what?” Steven plopped his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Look, dude, I told you. You are taking this too hard.”
Logan ignored him, standing up. “He’s the fucking sociopath- the bastard. I’m going to make him feel something, even if it’s just pain.”
“Logan, dude, calm down.”
“Shut up, Steven.” He would’ve punched him if he had any aim whatsoever.
He wobbled to the door, one hand against a wall the entire way to steady himself. He snatched his keys from the hook before dropping them and puking his guts into the trash can to the left.
Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Steven steal the keys and put them back on the hook, waiting patiently for him to be done, so he could help him to sleep. The guest bed was always open.
Logan could say all he wanted about Steven, but the dude was a good friend. If he murdered someone- he’d feel guilty.
Any normal human being would.
It wasn’t much of a surprise, his mind had already assosiated the scent of sugar, chocolate and beated eggs with the bright purple walls of his home. His mom used to own a bake shop, once upon a time, and although that dream had ended long ago she didn’t end her baking career with it.
“Hello?” he said. “Anyone home?”
It was a question he already knew the answer to; he could hear noise in the other room, the clattering of a pan or two, followed by the soft mumble of a curse word. It sounded like his sister had decided to join his mother in the kitchen. Wonderful.
With a sad smile, Logan retracted the thought. He’d become too sarcastic since… the accident. Too sarcastic and pessimistic. Maybe she’d gotten better…
Of course he knew that wasn’t possible. She was the world’s worst cook yesterday and today was probably no different.
Again, he cursed the direction his thoughts had taken.
“Hello?” He stepped into the kitchen.
“Oh hi sweetie.”
Looking around for the owner of the voice, Logan only saw the brown ponytail of his mother’s hair peeking up from behind the counter. There was a beat, and then she popped up, her face half-covered in flour, that straight pity look still etched into every single one of her features. Her smile wasn’t full, as per usual, but tilted half up- like she was comforting him, empathizing with him. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, asking questions he had no answers to. And her eyes were the worst. All knowing. He didn’t even have to say one word.
It’d been nice, for a day at least. And then it’d gotten annoying, all the pity-faces and sympathetic glances they’d give him when they thought he wasn’t watching. The way everyone seemed to be walking around on eggshells. He was just done with it- he wanted life to go back to normal.
Trivial and dull, but normal. He’d do anything for normal.
“Hey mom.”
His sister jumped up next, her mother’s twin and gave him a look similar to that of the lady next to her.
“’Sup Logs.”
He smiled, but it was faker than it’d been in days. They pretended they didn’t notice. He was doing well today- that was the plan.
“We’re baking cookies, chocolate mint- you’re favorite,” his sister continued, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Ur- well- I use the term we pretty loosely- mom was doing most of the cooking, and I was watching her and looking pretty.”
She struck a pose, and in turn he laughed. That was fake too.
“I think by next week, though, I’ll be able to crack an egg without getting the entire shell in there with it. Say what you will, but I am actually learning something.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to speak, anyways.
The three of them stared at each other for a minute, a long one, Logan looking back and forth between his mother, his sister and the floor. He wanted to cry again, but that was all he had done the week prior and now he needed to be strong. He was a man and that’s what they did.
“Well I think-”
“How was the Montgomery’s?” His mom interrupted him, “Did you see Lara?”
He wasn’t really sure how she knew that’s where he ended up. Perhaps he was more predictable than he’d originally thought. But, ultimately, he didn’t mind because she was his mother and it was her job to know these things. He didn’t care how she found out.
“Ummmm… no. No- she wasn’t there,” he said. “Or she was- I dunno really, Mrs. Montgomery didn’t let me see her.”
His mom sighed, rather loudly and clacked her nails against the granite. She’d never taken to that woman, even when Mel was alive, but now she didn’t even bother to try and hide her feelings.
“You would think…” she trailed off, looking rather frustrated and irked. “Maybe I should go and talk to her. I mean, you and Lara are still, well, you and Lara, right?”
Logan nodded.
“Well then she has no right. She should let Lara see you if that’s what she wants-“ His mom paused, huffing, arms crossed, body stiff. “But maybe, well, Lara could be self-exiling herself from you and everybody, but if that’s the case than she is being a neglectful mother and I do still need to talk to her. It isn’t okay to just sleep ones life away, and that’s what Lara’s doing. Or being forced to do- either way-”
His mother stopped mid-rant, noticing that her son had just burst into heart-wrenching sobs. She froze.
“Oh, Logan.”
He waved his left hand as an apology, and used his right to balance himself on the counter. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, by himself, and was now paralyzed forever. He didn’t know when or even how things would go back to normal- now that this horrible feeling kept creeping back into the pits of his gut and staying there for hours at a time.
But he didn’t care how. He just needed it to happen as soon as possible.
“Logs,” his sister whined, sneaking up to him and giving him a hug he couldn’t respond to. She was a year older, and a foot shorter. She’d gotten her mother’s height, while he had gotten his fathers’.
“Logs, please don’t cry. We love you and Lara does too. Of course she’d want to see you- mom was just rambling.”
“Steph’s right, hon,” his mom added, the tone in her voice worried. She wasn’t in his line of sight, but he’d bet anything that she was biting her nails. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“But it is possible,” Logan murmured, probably incoherently to the other occupants of the room. “She could hate me now.”
In reality, he knew there was no possible way he could’ve prevented Mel’s death. No one could’ve- except for that damn bastard- and blaming himself would get him no where. But that’s all he could do. That’s all anyone was doing- Lara blamed herself, so did her mom, he blamed himself, heck probably some random guy in North Dakota would blame himself too.
Because, in some sadistic, messed up and twisted way it helped.
The oven dinged, the signal that his favorite- mint and chocolate cookies were ready. Suddenly, he didn’t have an appetite.
*
He’d gotten drunk the first night. His mom was there with him, sitting to his left, knee against knee and feeding him the all the alcohol he craved. She didn’t say anything about it the next day; neither did he, and within the week she had gotten rid of any alcoholic drink in the house.
His grandfather had been an addict.
After shoving down a cookie and then pretending that he was extremely tired, Logan threw it up and climbed out the window. Technically, he didn’t have a curfew and therefore didn’t have to sneak out, but he couldn’t walk out the front door without questions.
And questions sucked.
Nursing his third beer of the night, Logan realized how much he had changed. It was fucking crazy, life wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to be the same from 16 to 17- only change after college. But now…
Logan used to be a happy drunk, he was always the one jumping around, singing loudly and just making a complete fool out of himself. He could be a horny one too, probably due to the fact he never had one sip of any alcoholic beverage unless Lara was there. And Lara was definitely a horny drunk.
Now he was just a depressed one. A boring one.
“Logan,” Steven said, his own hand wrapped around an ice-cold Jack Daniels. “I think you’re taking this too hard, man.”
Steven always drifted back and forth between the two. Sometimes he would discuss the meaning of life, and how it was really a black hole of horror and that we all were living in some sociopaths nightmare, and then he’d go and do a joking but sort of serious strip-tease on the table.
Steven was… well, Steven. Just like he was Logan and Lara was Lara and Mel was dead. Mel was dead because of that bastard who murdered her.
That bastard- who was probably now sitting comfortably on his lumpy, puke-green couch with his wife and watching reruns of some not funny show while not feeling guilty at all.
“I need to make him feel it, man,” Logan said, sort of to Steven but more to himself.
“Make who feel what?” Steven plopped his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Look, dude, I told you. You are taking this too hard.”
Logan ignored him, standing up. “He’s the fucking sociopath- the bastard. I’m going to make him feel something, even if it’s just pain.”
“Logan, dude, calm down.”
“Shut up, Steven.” He would’ve punched him if he had any aim whatsoever.
He wobbled to the door, one hand against a wall the entire way to steady himself. He snatched his keys from the hook before dropping them and puking his guts into the trash can to the left.
Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Steven steal the keys and put them back on the hook, waiting patiently for him to be done, so he could help him to sleep. The guest bed was always open.
Logan could say all he wanted about Steven, but the dude was a good friend. If he murdered someone- he’d feel guilty.
Any normal human being would.