The Life Game

Reunion Part 1

       AN: Maeve is Mitski-coded. Will I be expanding on that? No. no I will not.

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There was a specific set of skills that came with living with a psychopath.

Distancing yourself from emotions was an important lesson that Father pounded into Maeve's head (maybe too literally sometimes). But he couldn't deny it came in handy.

It was too easy to call tears into his eyes and plaster on a pitiful expression as he begged the social worker not to inform his new (temporary) guardians of the situation. And while Maeve was good at persuasion, he wasn't good enough to convince people to break the law for him (not without more time at least). Besides, he was a seventeen-year old that had just escaped an abusive household- not the definition of a well-sounded mind.

Luckily, there was something soul-damaging about working with abused kids that made her more susceptible to pleading and watery eyes (he would have thought it would be the opposite, but good for him he guesses). Besides, Maeve turned eighteen in five months, so no reason to stress them out if he was going to leave in less than half a year anyway.

So Maeve was shipped across the world to where his- technically- guardians lived. He tried not to think about them so much because of the emotional baggage that came with the memories.

See, they made Maeve happy- really the happiest he had ever been. That's why it hurt so much when they left. But nothing new there, everyone left eventually. (Father never left- never really ever would leave with the voice he implanted in Maeve's head.)

So, he loved them and resented them. Lots of feelings. He didn't like it.

They were actually a part of the twisted power play Father used to get Maeve compliant. Dear old (rich) dad would send the others a check every month with an amount that ensured comfort until the next one came. Of course, that was dependent on Maeve's continued cooperation.

There were other things too. Like when Maeve was told to not say a word the entire month of November, and he got to speak to his brothers over phone on Christmas. Of course there were other consequences (he would take the belt, push Maeve down, make him bleed)- but Father liked psychological torture the best.

Maeve understood why the other children that Father adopted left. The youngest, Amari, got sick- he still couldn't pronounce the complicated illness (he always had a hard time with longer words). Thus, they moved towards a research center dedicated to the cure, and left Maeve behind in the process. Father didn't really give them a choice in the matter (but was there ever really one between Maeve and the youngest they loved more; Maeve liked Amari more than himself anyway).

As soon as Maeve turns eighteen, his Father will give all his wealth to him. Maeve plans to support his brothers financially from afar, run off into the woods, separate from civilization, and live a short and uneventful life.

Blah, blah, blah. Basically: lots of feelings, lots of separation issues, lots of nights crying himself to sleep associated with the boys he was on his way to live with.

The taxi ride from the airport to the middle of nowhere took only one hour. Maeve was practically hyperventilating fifty percent of the ride and deathly calm the rest of it. The driver didn't really give a crap and spent the time playing awful country music about girls, trucks, and beer.

The thoughts speeding through Maeve's head (Will they recognize me? Will they love me? Did they ever love me? Why is the bottom of my shoe sticky? Why didn't they call? Am I really so forgettable?-)stopped when the car pulled up outside a stone fence.

After assuring the driver that he really did want to be dropped off in the middle of the woods, Maeve paid his fare and got his small bags from the trunk. Even the small load was a bit of a struggle to manage. He wasn't ever allowed to exercise at home, and every time he gained weight, Father would starve him. He wasn't exactly the picture of a good-looking individual. But who was he trying to impress?

Listening to the gravel crunch under the retreating wheels, Maeve took the time to look at the house.

Father never let him facetime the others which gave him only an imagination of what their living situation was. He imagined a big mansion in the city- of course- because it was what he had lived in and what he knew. What stood before him was decidedly the opposite of what he had in mind.

The two story, run-down, charming cabin with wide windows and a wrap around porch was the picture of comfort and oddly- home. There was no other way to describe it but homely. He could see the appeal.

The light from the sky had slowly gone out throughout his ride, and he stood in the twilight and frosty winter air.

His thoughts spiraled as he imagined their surprise at his visit (he hadn't actually called ahead- must have slipped his mind), and what if he had the wrong address? What if they didn't have room for him to stay? What if they didn't recognize him?

Well, Maeve was a man of action and very few words, so he marched to the front door with faked bravado instead of wallowing in the spiral of negative thoughts.

He gave the door a few quick but hard knocks. There were voices inside, then steps, then a figure in front of the door. Maeve had to stop his body from turning around and running all the way back home (he knew he could with the amount of adrenaline running through his body).

He wasn't worried about seeing their faces; he was worried about them seeing his. What if he was ugly? What if they didn't match the innocent boy they knew to the Maeve that was standing there now? Surely, there was none of that boy still in his face- he had died a long time ago.

Before he knew it, the handle was turning and god, Maeve felt like dying.