Work Text:
He did it again, didn’t he?
The boy sniffles.
Stop crying. It’s not what you should be doing.
A small whine escapes his lips.
Just clean up. That’s all you’re good for.
He takes in a deep breath and stands up. Small hands reach out and grasp the broom.
Remember what I taught you? You’re not allowed to cry. You’re not allowed to have bad days. Other people can have bad days because they have friends to complain to. And they listen to their friends’ complaints in return.
You don’t have any friends.
As quietly as he can, the boy exits the small, dark closet.
Put on a smile. Even when you cry. Be a good boy. Or else they’ll throw you out.
He begins cleaning their mess.
You are the backup plan. This is your job. You have no right to complain.
His smile is a mask. It’s foolproof. No one can see how broken he is. After all, he’s not allowed to be broken.
What do you have to cry about?
There’s a pain in his chest, but he doesn’t complain.
It’s nothing. You’re fine.
There’s a pain in his head. He wants to figure out why.
Because you’re thinking too much. No one cares about you, so stop caring about yourself. Stop being so selfish.
He is nothing. He knows this. He doesn’t deserve to live.
But you do anyway. And your punishment for this life--the food you eat, the air you breathe, the space you take--is to serve them.
A single tear breaks through and travels down his freckled face. To himself and the thoughts that have stayed with him for longer than he can remember, he whispers,
“I hope Dad goes away again soon.”