Death-Wish Kids


Mitchell was standing in my kitchen when I walked through front door of my house with Micah in my arms. Instinctively, my arms tightened around the baby as the thought of letting Mitchell take him crept into my mind and threatened my sanity.

When I walked through the swinging kitchen door, my dad stood at the stove like usual and Noah sat in his chair like every other day, but the boy leaning against the kitchen island in a long sleeved gray and black sweater and a pair of faded gray jeans was a new and slightly unwanted addition to the life I'd started here.

When I walked in, all attention turned to Micah and I. My dad greeted me cheerfully and a smile automatically made its way onto Mitchell's lips. "Cy," he greeted, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stood up, "It's really good to see you again. Florida just hasn't been the same without you."

I nodded slowly as I walked towards him. "How have you been?" I questioned, dodging the remark about Florida, "I heard that Marcy and Tommy plan on getting married after graduation."

Mitchell nodded, still smiling. "Yeah, they went on the trip to Paris this summer and Tommy proposed at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower. Marcy said he was too scared to take her all the way to the top."

"Mm," I hummed, shifting my son in my arms, "Sounds like fun."

"It was," he agreed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "Its too bad that you couldn't come."

"Like anyone would've wanted me there," I retorted, rolling my eyes at his words. I shifted Micah and nodded towards the living room. "Do you want to go catch up? I've got a bunch of movies in my room."

My dad, who had been trying to mind his own business until then, looked up and shook his head. "There's a DVD player in the living room, you two can hang out there. Noah and I will stay out of your way."

"Dad, please," I muttered, "We've already got a baby, how much worse can it get?"

My dad gave me a look over the island. I rolled my eyes but followed his silent command anyways.

"Fine," I grumbled, "We'll be in the living room." I turned on my heal and headed back through the swinging door. Mitchell followed me wordlessly into the open living room and towards the stairs so I could grab a couple of movies.

When we walked into my room, his eyes scanned over the simple decor and I saw the little smile on his lips before it disappeared. "This doesn't look anything like your old room," he stated, sitting down on the edge of my bed, "I still maintain that it doesn't really fit you."

"How would you know?" I asked bitterly. I crouched down in front of my shelf of movies and roughly pulled a couple from it. Micah reached out from my arms and tried to grab one of the cases too.

Mitchell chuckled from behind me. "Don't act like I don't know you," he replied, "I'm pretty sure I know you more than anyone else."

I handed one of the movies to Micah and stood up. I turned around to face MItchell with obviously distain. "I highly doubt that."

He stood up from my bed and gingerly touched Micah's curling hair. "Are you saying that you've had sex with someone else since me? Or was it during? Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I should get a paternity test..?" he trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

The second Micah's hair fell from his finger tips I turned the boy away from him. "You're an ass," I growled, glaring daggers at him, "You don't know me and if it were up to me, you wouldn't know your son either." I headed towards the door, wishing that he would disappear before he had the chance to follow me back downstairs.

"I'm assuming that's why you didn't give him my last name," he speculated, following me down the stairs. "You didn't think I'd stick around, did you?"

"No," I muttered, "I gave him my last name to piss off your parents."

Mitchell stumbled on the last step and I smiled in satisfaction. "You succeeded," he said quietly as I set Micah in his playpen.

"Good," I replied, heading towards the TV with the movies in my hands. Mitchell moved over the edge of Micah's playpen and reached down to ruffle the little boy's hair. Micah flopped over on his tummy as he tried to reach one of his toys. "Help him," I demanded, watching as Mitchell just watched, "Don't just stand there and make him struggle for it."

"It teaches him to depend on himself," Mitchell replied, although he reached for the stuffed animal anyways. "That's what my parents taught me."

I scoffed loudly. "Yeah, you definitely rely on yourself," I muttered sarcastically, "And your hundred thousand dollar trust fund." I stood up and grabbed the remote off of the TV table before I dropped down onto the couch.

Mitchell walked over and sat next to me. "He's alright in there by himself?" he questioned, pointing a finger at our son.

"He's going to fall asleep," I stated, glancing towards the kitchen, "My dad will send Noah out with a bottle in a few minutes so that he can check up on us."

Mitchell didn't reply as I skipped the commercials and hit play on the main menu. Sitting next to him had me thinking again about the past and the people in it. My thoughts strayed to my mom and for a second, I wondered how she was. Since I'd left, we'd hardly spoken. It seemed that without me, she was enjoying life with her boyfriend more than ever before.

Within a half an hour Micah was asleep with his toys and a half-empty bottle while Mitchell and I watched a mediocre movie on the screen. In the kitchen, Noah helped our dad make dinner for all of us and I prayed that Ryder had other plans for the night.

But much to my disappointment my older sister came walking through the front door just as Dad called us into the kitchen for dinner. She stumbled through the front when I pulled a barely awake Micah from his pen.

Ryder grinned and pointed at Mitchell. "I see that the baby-daddy is back in town," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest, "Still a junior, Mitch?"

Mitchell matched her posture. "Actually, as surprising at it sounds, I made it to senior year, Ryder."

"You're right," she quipped, dropping her backpack at the door, "That is surprising."

With Micah in my arms I headed into the kitchen, ignoring their constant bickering. It seemed that the two of them would never get over themselves. Even though my dad believed that Ryder fighting Mitchell was her way of sticking up for me, I knew that it was purely for their own selfish reasons.

Alone, they were hard to deal with, but together, they were a set of raging tornados. The six of us gathered around the kitchen table awkwardly. My dad had set the plates so that Micah would be between Mitchell and I, but I quickly rearranged, keeping Micah on my right and Mitchell on my left. Ryder and Noah sat across from me while my dad sat at the head of the table, nearest to Noah and Micah.

"How was school, kids?" Dad questioned as he passed a bowl to Noah. His eyes looked around the table and tried to meet mine. I glanced down at my empty plate.

Ryder shrugged and sighed loudly. "It's school, Dad," she grumbled, "Is it supposed to be anything other than boring?"

"Yes, actually," he replied, plucking another bowl from the center of the table. He turned his attention on me next, deciding that Ryder wasn't really up for stimulating conversation. "Cy, what about you?" he asked, scooping some potatoes onto my plate, "How are your friends?"

I smiled softly and filled Micah's plate with his food. "They're good," I replied, pleased that he'd even asked about them. "Actually, I was wondering if they could come over tomorrow. Mitchell will have Micah and so I figured that they could show me some more movies that I've missed out on."

Dad's eyes scanned over me and then I followed his eyes to Mitchell, who was keeping his eyes steady on his plate as he held in his snotty comments for the sake of my dad.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Dad commented, shaking his head as he shoved a bite of food into Micah's mouth, "This weekend is supposed to be about the three of you. Not you and your new friends."

Ryder watched intently as I readied myself for a battle. Noah, on the other hand, paid no attention. Instead he focused all his attention on the large plate in front of him. I could almost see him formulating a plan in his head, trying to figure out how he could possibly fit all that food into his little self. My green eyes moved back up to look at my dad.

"This weekend is really about Mitchell and Micah," I corrected, "This is for them to bond and I don't want to get in the way of that. Of course, I can't leave the house, so Mikey and Frank and I decided that it'd be best if they came over here."

At the mention of their names, Mitchell's head snapped up and his eyes met mine with confusion. I ignored the look on his face and continued to try and change my dad's mind. It wasn't until Noah piped up that dad gave in.

"I want to meet your friends!" Noah shouted at me across the table, "Do you think they like Star Wars? I bet they do and I bet they'll like my room, too!"

"Shut up, Noah, they're not your friends," Ryder replied, rolling her eyes at our younger brother. "Plus," she added, "If you're going to make friends with any of Cyren's bad decisions, you're better off with this one." She jerked her thumb at Mitchell who only smiled sarcastically in reply.

Dad sent her another one of his warning looks. She only smirked and sat back in her chair. Once she was quiet, Dad turned his attention to my question once again. "Do you really think it's a bright idea, Cyren?" he questioned before taking a bite of his food, "Don't you think that Micah needs time to bond with both of his parents together? So he can start thinking of you both as a unit?"

I shrugged. "I don't really see why it matters, Dad. It's not like he's going to grow up with both of us. Mitchell is in Florida and we're here. He's going to realize this when he gets older," I stated, crossing my arms over my chest, "We're not a unit. I think that's pretty obvious."

Mitchell glanced down to his plate, not meeting my father's eyes as the man sighed and waved his hand in the air. "Fine, Cyren, your friends can come over tomorrow."

It was obvious that nobody was real thrilled about the idea of having them over, especially not Mitchell, but I finished my dinner with a smile on my face, knowing that I wouldn't be stuck in a house with just Mitchell tomorrow.

I helped my dad clear the table after we finished. Mitchell sat next to Micah and tried to feed him a few more bites, with no luck.

"Do you want to help me give him a bath?" I offered as I dropped the dish towel on the counter and headed over to the two of them, "Then you can put him to bed."

Mitchell looked up at me through his curling hair. "You'll help?" he questioned softly, his eyes glancing towards my dad as he finished up.

"Sure," I replied. I unbuckled Micah from his high-chair and lifted him into my arms, mess and all. The baby cooed softly to himself as we headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. "Grab the little towel with the hood," I instructed Mitchell, pointing at the closet in the bathroom.

He got Micah's towel as I started the bath and inserted Micah's seat. Mitchell sat on the lid of the toilet as I undressed our son and set him in the warm water. Micah fussed as he was submerged.

"Is he okay?" Mitchell questioned, frowning at Micah's tears.

"He'll get over it." I nodded, wetting down the baby's thick hair.

Within a few minutes Micah was splashing in the water, sending it flying towards Mitchell's jeans. I covered his eyes as I rinsed the tear-free shampoo out of his hair. He fussed loudly when he couldn't see and smacked his fists against the water.

I pulled him out of the water and handed him to Mitchell, who was holding his towel open. Mitchell awkwardly cradled him in his arms.

"Follow me," I instructed as I pulled the door open. Noah sat outside on the floor. When I saw him, his eyes widened and he quickly climbed to his feet. "Hurry up!" he shouted, pushing past me, "I've really got to pee!"

He pushed past Mitchell and slammed the door behind him.

I helped Mitchell put Micah to sleep after I dressed him a little onesy to sleep in. Mitchell stood carefully at the edge of his crib and tried to lower him down to the mattress. From where I stood at the end Micah's crib, I could see the determination Mitchell had in his eyes as he tried to figure out how to get Micah into his crib since the railing was too high to reach the mattress.

"You're not doing it right," I mumbled, motioning for him to just put him down so that we both could go do something else. The longer that Micah was in Mitchell's arms, the more he started to tear up, until he was full on sobbing.

Mitchell turned his glare on me. "I know that," he stated, although he didn't sound completely sure of himself. "I'm just taking my time."

"And wasting mine and Micah's," I retorted, "Just put him down so he can get to sleep and we get on with our night."

Mitchell leaned in to lay him down, and then stopped as Micah started to roll out of his arms. Mitchell sighed and held the baby out towards me. "You do it," he demanded, "He obviously likes you better."

"Fine," I replied. I walked over and stood right next to him. I took Micah from him and held him the correct way. With the way he was holding Micah, it was almost impossible to get him into the bed without dropping him a couple inches.

I stepped back and gave Mitchell a look as Micah laid down and stopped crying.

"Good job," he replied bitterly.

"Lets go," I demanded, handing Micah his bottled, "Night, Micah."

Mitchell and I walked out of the room quietly. I flipped off the lights and closed the door almost all the way. The two of us hopped down the stairs to where my dad sat on the couch in the living room.

"What're you two watching?" I questioned as I dropped down on the couch next to Noah. I turned my attention to whatever movie they were watching on the TV.

"Dad's letting me watch Freddy Vs. Jason," Noah explained, his eyes wide as a Freddy appeared on the screen, nails and all.

I wrapped my arm around Noah's shoulder and he automatically leaned into my side. To my dad, it was obvious that I was in the living room to avoid being alone with Mitchell, but to Noah, I was keeping him safe while letting him be brave.

After the movie ended, Dad ushered Noah to bed.

Noah stood up with huge eyes. "What?" he asked, obviously scared, "I'm not tired, Dad. Can't I stay up a little while longer and play with Cyren?"

Dad pushed himself up from the couch and shook his head. "No, come on, I'll walk you," he offered, wrapping an arm over Noah's shoulder. "I promise you that none of that was real."

"Way to go, Dad," I replied as the two of them walked away, "Way to freak him out with a guy who can kill you in your sleep and then send him to bed!"

Dad glared at me over his shoulder. "You're not being helpful, Cyren," he stated, helping Noah up the stairs.

I crossed my arms over my chest and shrugged my shoulders. "Don't you remember, I'm not the helpful daughter!" I laughed as the two of them disappeared onto the second floor. Mitchell looked at me from the other couch and didn't look away when I met his gaze. "What?" I asked, keeping my posture the same.

He glanced away and shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing," he muttered, shaking his head, "You just seem happier here than you were in Florida."

"I wonder why," I replied sarcastically, not in the mood for his sentimental comments.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his curly strands of hair. "Are you going to hate me forever, Cyren? It's been a year in a half since all of this and you still can't stand to look at me."

"I have a good reason to hate you," I stated, unable to hide the disdain in my voice, "So don't you dare ask me not to, Mitchell."

I watched his roll his eyes at me before his gaze settled back on me. "You know, it takes two to make a baby, Cyren. This isn't all my fault."

"It's not about Micah!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands out in front of me, "How I feel about you has nothing to do with my son. It has to do with you and what your goddamn parents said the time you took me to meet them, Mitchell!"

He was quiet, his eyes slightly wide as he remembered the words that I wasn't supposed to hear. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, unable to think of a suitable explanation for the terrible things his parents had said and the terrible way he failed to stick up for me.

"That's what I thought," I muttered. I pushed off of the couch and climbed the stairs, listening to the silence that hung in the air as he let me go, once again not sticking up for me as he took his parents' side.
♠ ♠ ♠
Comment! :)