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His father returned home late into the night, far past his usual time. Mike was startled awake when he heard the slam of the front door, he turned his head, eyes watery and unfocused, to his alarm clock. 2:27AM. He sighed and laid his head back onto his pillow. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, his father would leave him alone.
Heavy footsteps rattled through the house, Mike shuddered physically as they grew closer. He flipped to lay on his side, facing away from his door. It was like something out of a movie, a teary-eyed kid hiding under his sheets as the monster inched towards the bed. Except his father was all bark and no bite. To Mike at least.
Unfortunately his mother was the one who always took the hand. Oftentimes Mike would see her making breakfast in the mornings but kept her head down. She would send Mike off to school with a smile and a fearful look.
Mike’s door creaked open, he could see the yellow light on the wall he was facing. Just barely, he suppressed a gasp and bit his lip instead. His father stepped inside, Mike could feel his hand ghosting over his arm.
“Where have you been?” The hand was gone.
His father’s breathing was ragged and angry, he stomped away from Mike’s frozen figure to his poor mother. The door wasn’t even bothered to be closed by his father, he was welcome to hear every word that man had to say.
“Where have I been? I’ve been out making us money, but you waste it all on that damn, worthless child!” Words were slurred and his father definitely had to take a breath, but his point got across. Very clearly.
“Wasting? That child is our son, Patrick! He is not worthless, Mike is my pride and joy, since you’ve never bothered with keeping us happy. Like what a family is supposed to be,” his mother drawled out, her voice was hoarse and she’d been crying.
He listened as his father scoffed. As if he had a shred of a clue who Mike even was as a person. “We are a family. And you will do as I say, as the man of the house.”
“You are no man,” his mother spat out in a whisper. “You don’t make us any money, you bet it all on stupid baseball games, football games, anything!”
Mike stared at the wall, watching the shadows with wide eyes. He watched as his father raised his hand, as he brought it down to his mother’s cheek. The rage inside of him was boiling, but he couldn’t move.
It went on for minutes, the back and forth argument before his father went to hit her. They moved throughout the house, but then stopped in the living room. Mike sat up in his bed and kept his gaze on his blanket-covered feet. Eventually it was just screaming and yelling, a normal occurrence at least four times a week. Sometimes he and his mother would get lucky enough that his father passed out on his armchair for the night.
He could hear his mother sobbing, gasping and no doubt on the floor shaking. Mike didn’t want to listen to it, he did almost every night. He wanted to leave.
His bed squeaked as he sat up and swung his feet over the side. It would be a good few hours before his parents would realize he was gone, Mike decided. They’ll finish their fight and go to bed, assuming that their son had been asleep the whole time. As if he would have slept through them yelling right outside of his room.
Mike stripped off his pajama pants and put on a pair of jeans, he didn’t bother with changing his shirt, though he did throw on a sweater. It was raining lightly. Luckily, this wasn’t his first time leaving in the dead of the night: he keeps an old, ratty pair of Converse hidden away in a corner. He fishes the shoes out from where they were stashed under clothes and aged boxes of toys his mother bought for him. It was difficult since he had to keep his door open.
With his shoes tied, Mike shoved two pillows under his covers and opened his window. The thing was able to be shut from the outside, and he never kept it locked for the reason of him sneaking out. He lived in a trailer park, so the drop down wasn’t bad with it being one story.
His beaten, blue Converse squelched against the wet gravel, and Mike left as quietly as he could. The ghosted road was glowing with the dim streetlights on the damp concrete. Mike took his time, the area was sketchy enough that nobody particularly cared about some kid out past midnight. In a way that they’re not in danger.
Mike held his arms tightly around himself, he could see his breath with every exhale. It wasn’t cold but it wasn’t a comfortable temperature. Better things could be getting done, like a full night’s sleep.
The rain had cleared up but that after-taste, of sorts, was still present and it made Mike feel uneasy. He was able to smell the precipitation and could hear it drip from surrounding houses. For a moment, he thought it may have been speaking to him somehow. Telling him, never go back to that house. But he couldn’t listen as much as his heart desired. His mother was still there, and Mike wouldn’t even think about leaving her.
His house was a distant dream, it seemed like. From the second he breathed in the outside air, it was as if he hadn’t been living in such a toxic place. Maybe he was watching a show, rooting for the character he connected with the most. When he sat on his windowsill, on the edge between reality and fantasy, he longed for the chance to be swept away from this life. Perhaps he was leaning towards the American dream of it all too much.
Mike walked to the bench that he claimed as his own, it was wet from the clouds hanging heavy above. He suddenly regretted not bringing anything with him, no books or cards, just himself. Staring at the drenched wood, he sighed deeply and let his shoulders sag. The park fifty feet behind the bench was no doubt soaking too.
With no other choices and no thoughts beyond this bench, Mike sat down and leaned against the armrest. He propped his feet up on the opposite end. It had been bigger when he was younger, or seemed bigger. He’d shot up like a weed on his fourteenth birthday and though he grew accustomed to his height, this was one part of it he hated. Countless nights before had been spent here, and now he was too tall for it.
He leaned his head back to admire the sky, it was pitch and shadowed by the clouds. No stars were visible and the smell of rain was starting to give Mike a headache. A stifled cough that came from his left made Mike turn his head, he was uninterested in where it came from but he was bored. Tiredness had left him when he imagined the sting of a slap.
There were two people sitting in the park, a kids park at that. Mike was faintly able to see smoke rising through the air and the orange glow of a cigarette. He rolled his eyes and looked back to the sky. Smokers. Such a stupid activity that leads to death, a habit that you can’t shake and can ruin relationships. Mike had seen it firsthand.
Despite his opinions on it, he’d unfortunately fallen into his own loop of drug-use. Something he regretted deeply, but couldn’t seem to drop. Perhaps hanging out with the douchey crowd wasn't such a good idea.
Hardly contained giggles were heard from whoever sat over there. Mike crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Two people getting high. They probably snuck out for a night to feel the buzz of life that they’ll chase to the end. Such a teenage thing to do. God, Mike’s such a hypocrite.
He had to hold back a groan when he heard the squeaking of shoes on the wet grass. They were walking over to him, coming to either be annoying or to make fun of him for sleeping on a bench. He wished he brought his favourite book.
Footsteps slowed to a stop once Mike noticed the switch from green blades screaming at rubber soles to gravel crunching beneath their feet. The unmistakable stench of a cancer stick. He ignored their whispers of who would speak first as they awkwardly stood a couple of feet away. Minutes passed and Mike was sure that morning would come before they had an arrangement figured out.
“Can I help you?” Mike asked and lolled his head to stare at them. Two boys who looked to be around his age. They stared at him blankly, the shorter one had a joint perched between two fighters.
“I told ya’ he was awake,” the taller whispered and elbowed his friend in his side.
Mike wasn’t surprised when they walked closer to stand right behind the bench, but he was definitely not pleased about it. Both of them smelled like skunks, like they were bathed in smoke. Not that Mike’s sweater smelled any different, maybe less obvious. He shifted his eyes between them, they looked out of place and roughed up.
“Hello?” he tried again.
The shorter one glanced at his friend and they locked eyes for a few seconds before looking at Mike. “Hi. Why’re you sleeping outside?” Even his breath was revolting.
Straight to the point. Mike shrugged at them, going for an indignity answer. “I think that isn’t any of your business.” The guy scoffed at him. He didn’t have it in him to be offended, even if all he wanted was a little privacy at damn near three in the morning. Mike raised an eyebrow at them, prompting one of them to talk.
“Well Billie here,” the taller one clapped his hand down onto his friend’s shoulder, “thought that we should at least introduce ourselves to a pretty thing like you.” He winked at Mike, which made him roll his eyes.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” Billie asked with a beaming grin, he leaned his arms onto the back of the bench. The taller took a drag from the cigarette and was kind enough to blow away from Mike.
“Why, either you two have a lot of confidence or you’re both high out of your minds,” Mike chuckled and avoided answering the question. Talking to people who didn’t have a clue who he was gave Mike a refreshing feeling he’d never experienced in his life.
“Yeah, we haven’t been out for a long time. Tre here only escaped his aunt’s grasp around an hour ago. Not much nicotine in our systems yet.” Billie smiled at Tre, who bumped their shoulders together.
Their brother-like dynamic made Mike fight back a genuine grin, something he hadn’t done in awhile. “Tre and Billie, where have I ever heard your names? They sound so familiar.” They didn’t. Mike had never met or heard of anyone with those names. He just wanted to see if they had any embarrassing stories that were popular amongst the small town.
Both boys flushed and looked at each other sheepishly. “We’re not exactly… the teachers' favourite students, we’ll say.” Short and sweet, Mike didn’t mind that.
He hummed and nodded. Maybe they’ll leave.
Apparently not. Billie continued, “What about you? I’d never forget such a beautiful face like yours.” The flirting was flattering, but it wasn’t as if Mike hadn’t heard just about everything at sixteen years old. He’d always been uncomfortable with how he looked after the first few stares he got from adults. People who were much older than him.
“I suppose I’m in their good graces. Isn’t that hard to be likable, I guess,” Mike mumbled. These guys seemed only interested in his blonde hair and blue eyes.
“Of course, when you win the genetic lottery, I’d think that nobody can hate you. I sure as hell don’t,” Billie said and smiled at him while Tre agreed. He offered his cigarette to Mike but he refused.
“Nah. I don’t wanna get high as a kite before I head home,” Mike waved his hand off at them. For some reason, he elaborated. “My old man has a nasty addiction and I’m really trying to not become the same person he has. I’ll smoke every so often, but not enough to crave it every two damn seconds.”
Tre and Billie didn’t respond for a few seconds. And when they did, Mike was surprised that they didn’t pry on the subject.
“Least I get out of this is to not have an eyesore to talk to,” Billie tilted his head to Tre, who shoved Billie’s arm harshly which ended in them both on the gravel.
Mike sat up hurriedly and looked over the bench to see if they were alright. Both of them were laughing but covered in tiny rocks and specs of mud. The armrest not being pushed into his back anymore had Mike let out an unknown sigh of relief. He stood up and stretched his legs.
“Christ, he’s tall and gorgeous,” Tre managed out as he rose from the ground. There were wet marks up their jeans and no doubt that their asses were drenched if they turned around.
Billie looked Mike up and down in a way that he’d seen countless times before. “You never told us your name, I’ll call ya’ Blondie.”
“Blondie?” Tre cackled. “Giving him such an obvious name has got to be the laziest thing I’ve ever seen you do… besides y’know.” Billie and Tre shared a look. Mike couldn’t decipher it but he assumed it was an age old inside joke.
The moon shone through the dark clouds onto the three boys. Mike was happy, for once. He was thrilled to be with people that didn’t drain him after two minutes of speaking. Talking to people his own age that seemed to get along like a fire in a barn. At that, two boys that respected his boundaries. Their intentions didn’t make him uncomfortable, whatever they were.
Mike knew that he was attractive, he knew damn well that it was most certainly the main reason people hung out with him at school. The only thing that kept him from getting bullied. Tre and Billie made him feel alive; they took away the headache the rain gave him.
For a moment, he forgot why he even came here.