you draw a blanket to your father’s chest, you tell him goodnight, you pretend he says it back. on your way to your room, you pass by his liquor cabinet. you pause. you pretend you didn’t. take. a. shot.

no! this is my parent's whole life. i'm not going anywhere!

so he did what any drowning man did. “get in the fucking car. now.” he pulled his brother down with him.

he’s just welding words together; he’s just playing pretend.

the anger was not quick. it was not blinding or cutting or stopped his heart———the thing in his throat growled forebodingly.

i feel infinite.

they have a moment———a weight lifted for both of them. a blessing for mother and son, and a trauma healed.

“what am i, without you?” “yourself.”

you finally said all those things you’ve kept bottled inside. you’ve finally made him see you.

the kid was moody at best, a hurricane waiting to devour at worst.

as if he knew their mother, as if he was able to grieve someone he never even met———why did this stupid baby get to scream and wail and sob, while he had to cry alone at night under the covers?

they didn’t care then, and they don’t care now.

we are infinite.

he knew better than anyone that a moody teen was just seconds away from total annihilation at any given time. a lot of fucking damage.

i’m sorry you left because of me. i’m sorry i ruined my brothers’ lives. i’m sorry i ruined dad. i’m sorry i still want you to love me.

weep little lion man, you’re not as strong as you were at the start.

it felt like a rejection, and damn, did it sting like one.

i feel connected to him, like we’re two sides of the same coin.

and they had welcomed him, oh, how they had wrapped him in hugs and patted him on the back as if he were a friend, as if he were apart of their secret world.

when will you see me for what i am and give up on me? when will you leave? because this was temporary, it was always temporary.