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The strong scent of smoke intoxicated Ricky's room. Beer stained the rug and mattress he sat on, the spill left untouched for years.
It was an environment no one should call their room, a sight no one should be in for too long. But Ricky had long grown used to it, used to how the bitter taste in the back of his throat felt. All thanks to his supposed father, whose habits had slowly rubbed off on him.
The cigarette trembled in between his fingers as his breathing slowly steadied. The smoke curled lazily, becoming one with the dull and thick air.
For a while, he sat still.
He stared at his arms where they rested uselessly atop his knees. He watched the faint pale marks that were left years ago. He could still feel the sharp sting pulsing in quiet waves.
A few of the circles stood out from the rest however, they were dark and hardened, more recent than the ones from his childhood. The reason they remained was the same as the others: a reminder of what he had taken away.
Light blue eyes that once put the bright sky to shame now lay clouded and dull. He would never see how her smile managed to reach her eyes when they played together again. He would never see her eyes mature as she grew up.
Green eyes that held a loving gaze he longed for ever since they became lifeless. A warmth that every child needed from both parents, but he couldn't even think of a time Steven looked at him so fondly. He missed her dearly, he missed how she gave him light in the cold and empty place he called home.
He took the only sense of love away from himself, and that burn was his punishment. But the person that left it was different. Unlike the old burns, it was from the reflection he saw after picking up beer bottles after another.
But who could tell the difference anyways? They were both monsters.
Ricky had accepted he was no different from his father years ago. He accepted that it didn't matter who left the burns, he deserved them after all.
There was one small detail however, every time he received the burning sensation from his father, he would always hesitate.
It was confusing, he accepted that it was his fault, accepted how he deserved this. But every time he was told to show his pale wrist, he couldn't help but cower in fear. Which only angered Steven even more.
But when he would receive the same pain from himself, it felt, satisfying.
The pain was almost pleasurable, the cigarette no longer made him scared, but let an unexplainable rush flow through his tainted and filthy veins. It spread throughout his blood, the same crimson his family shared. Whether it be in Steven's body or Ricky's hands in the car that dreadful day.
He held eye contact with the burn marks as the newly lit cigarette moved towards his wrist instead of his lips.
Soon his thoughts became just as clouded as the smoke filled area.
What would one more burn do? It wouldn't really kill him, sure it'd be annoying, but only for a short while. The amount of pain that burn would give him would never come close to the amount of pain Ruth and mom endured. He was the reason they suffered that pain, he deserves to feel even just a fraction of —
A sharp inhale killed the once silent room.
A painful sting followed the glowing tip. He pressed it deeper into his skin, the burning comforted him. The sensation spread across his arm. His body jerked back from how much the slow burning pain hurt him.
Ricky lifted up the cigarette, the heat still remained in the area. A dark circle was left where the cigar touched. He could still feel the prickling pain.
The cigarette was then crushed out beside his mattress.
He sat hunched back, hair blocking the dim light that now spilled in through his window. The room's toxic scent grew stronger, as if Ricky's sense of smell elevated significantly.
He wasn't planning on standing up, aware of the wave of pain his temple would receive. The only movements he made nowadays were sitting and lying down, and even that made his head face hell.
But suddenly, a voice called out to him.
Steven wasn't around much, so it couldn't be him. Besides the warmth and softness in it was something he knew Steven couldn't carry no matter how hard he tried.
The voice soothed the aching pain deep in his bones just so slightly. He felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He needed to follow it.
Ricky slowly stood up, his legs shaking immediately after not standing up for such a long time. He could feel his heart pounding and his lungs burning just from the simple action, how did it get this bad?
He almost passed out, darkness creeping into the corners of his vision until he heard the voice once more. He jerked his head up, ignoring how much pain it brought. He couldn't identify the voice at first despite the familiarity, but now, he didn't doubt his recognition for even a second.
"Mom..? "
A grip was left on the dirty wall as he tried to pull himself up. Each step made his head pound. He followed the kind voice into the dark kitchen.
For a second, he saw the kitchen his childhood house had. The same kitchen where he would help his mom cook. The same kitchen filled with memories that was taken away from him as he moved house after house.
He slipped his jacket off, the cold air stung at his skin immediately. It didn't hurt of course, but it was enough to remind him that he was still here, still alive.
As warm light shone on the dirty counter. He could hear the quiet hum of the sink alongside his mother's quiet and patient tone.
He could practically see her hands, gentle and careful. She always moved slowly, like she was afraid of making him suffer even more.
The memory was so clear, it almost felt real.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
"Does it still hurt?"
Ricky slowly nodded as he held out his hand for Natasha to inspect. The burn wasn't that bad, a small mistake made when Ricky insisted to help make dinner.
She was hesitant on letting Ricky on the stove, but she needed to teach him these things. And who couldn't say no to him? She smiled softly as she remembered how Ricky lightened up when she said yes. He barely noticed the movement of her lips, yet somehow he could feel the warmth that came with it from miles away.
Natasha sat across from her son, a comforting silence surrounded them. She felt bad for how much pain her beloved was, but this was a learning opportunity she couldn't waste.
"How much? " she asked, holding his wrist with one arm and turning the faucet on with the other.
"A little," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
She reached out her own hand under the running water, making sure it's the right temperature. The faucet was slowly adjusted to make the water flow less harshly.
"One day, " she said softly as her gaze averted from the sink onto her sweet boy. She noticed how tensed he was or how he stilled at every outside noise so she softened her grip. All she wanted to do in the moment was to take care of her son as much as she could.
Ricky stared at her, his eyes relaxing a bit. He felt the safest here, safe with her. Every day he wished life could be like this, he wished life could feel this warm.
"You'll have to do this by yourself, " she paused as her smile faltered slightly.
Her hands were pulled away from the running water as she accepted the temperature and flow of the water.
"So I'll teach you." Natasha continued.
She took Ricky's wrist and guided it to the water. He winced at the contact with the liquid and nearly pulled his arm away, but Natasha held him to make sure he would stay. After a while of the sound of water to skin filling the warm room, the pain started to wash away.
"Keep it under warm or cool running water, no ice," she muttered, talking slowly so she would make sure Ricky understood.
"It hurts."
"It'll hurt more if you don't do this."
Water splashed across the reddened patch of skin, Ricky couldn't help but suck air through his teeth. After a few moments, the pain started to wash away slightly.
"See?" she said softly. "You need to give it time."
Ricky stared at the wrist being held up by his mom.
"How much time?" he asked quietly.
"Ten to twenty minutes."
"Twenty?" his eyes widened as he repeated her words.
A laugh escaped from her lips at his reaction.
"Yes, twenty." she smiled as she turned the faucet off. "Burns are quite stubborn."
They sat in the kitchen still for a while. A scene this peaceful was something that could be crushed easily by the sound of the front door opening, so they savored it.
Natasha slowly sat up, patting and giving Ricky's hair a gentle ruffle.
"Stay here."
Ricky didn't respond, but followed his mothers orders obediently. He watched as she left the room, her absence suddenly made the room feel dull.
He sat patiently, fidgeting with his fingers slightly as he awaited for his moms next steps. Sooner rather than later, she appeared by the door way, holding a first aid kit.
The window was quickly opened to allow the sun to spill in. It was slowly beginning to set and fall asleep under the moon just like humans did, but she needed the light to see things properly.
She sat before Ricky, opening the first aid kit with grace. Ricky watched intently, maybe too intently as Natasha grew a bit nervous. She did say she would teach him, so he listened and watched every single movement she did.
Before she got any supplies out of the kit, she grabbed a clean cloth and patted the burn dry. She tended to the wound patiently and gently, making sure she wouldn't make him hurt more.
She grabbed some burn gel from the first aid kit, showing it closer to Ricky's face so he could remember what to use.
"Burns come in all different forms, " she said while applying the gel on the patch of skin that was burned by the stove a while ago.
"This one isn't as bad, you don't need any bandages. " she followed her previous statement.
"If the skin is broken or blistered, apply a non stick dressing." she said as she finished applying the treatment.
Ricky took note of everything she said, making sure he would remember it years from now.
As Natasha was about to continue cooking dinner, they heard footsteps approaching them.
His relaxed posture immediately became stiff again. Any moment now, Steven could walk in and complain how dinner wasn't ready yet. Ricky was sure it would've been finished if he hadn't hurt himself, so much for wanting to protect his dear mom.
Ricky's eyes scanned the area, suddenly becoming hyper aware of every single noise and movement. He took note of how the sun had already set and how the clock showed it was 5:12 PM. Steven usually got home by 5:30, but he could've easily left early.
After a minute or two of sitting on guard, he heard footsteps heading towards him.
His gaze swiftly turned towards the ground under him, but as the steps grew closer and louder, he relaxed once more.
Natasha turned away from the stove to look at the door way, waiting there was not Steven, but her lovely daughter Ruth.
"How was your nap, dear?" she asked before continuing to prepare their meal.
"I slept well!" she exclaimed in reply as Ricky calmed down.
"I wanted to tell you my dream, but I forgot it on the way here." A small giggle left Natasha's lips as Ruth pouted.
"But I have something else to show you!" she said as she grabbed something from behind her. Ricky couldn't see it properly, was it paper?
Ruth then held out a drawing of her, Ricky, and Natasha. They were all standing outside happily playing some sort of game. She nearly crumbled the paper in her excitement.
Ricky walked towards his little sister, he smiled warmly at the sight of her drawing. From the corner of his eye, he could spot Natasha admiring the drawing in Ruth's hand.
"It looks beautiful." Ricky complimented her, patting her head and ruffling her hair just like Natasha did to him.
The house was filled with laughter as they continued to talk. Soon Ricky forgot about how painful the burn was. He watched Ruth and Natasha and how blinding and soft their smiles were. He wanted to be in this moment forever, be with them forever.
But of course, you can't have everything you want.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
Natasha's voice started to fade quickly.
Then Ruth's laughter.
Then the warmth of the moment.
All was left was a dull kitchen and the scent of stale smoke and beer.
Ricky snapped back into reality, looking around until his wrist caught his eye.
He didn't even realize it himself, but his wrist had already been bandaged.
Usually, he wouldn't treat his wounds properly. Either spraying water on it for a minute or two, or completely ignore the burn.
But now he was standing there alone after he realized the memory was over. After realizing his life wasn't like that anymore.
He chased after the warmth that day held, and now he was like this. The bandage felt foreign on his arm.
Maybe in another universe, he wouldn't have to. Maybe in another life, he could live with that warmth. He hoped for that life to come to him as he stood, just like that young boy in the kitchen with his mom and sister.
He knew he didn't deserve it, yet he still hoped.