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ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ
ᗰIᑕᕼᗩᗴᒪ
ꨄ
❥➪ 1982
𝙏𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚...
MICHAEL'S BROTHER FUMBLED WITH THE HEADPHONES WITHIN HIS PALM, slowly making his way down the steps as he held a guilt-ridden face as if he were the one to blame.
Their parents had came back slightly earlier than expected although Mike didn't see it as an issue as they fumbled with the door; he thought he did a smacking job. The house was a mere spotless representation of what it used to be however the priceless faces they adorned on their features said otherwise. Clara was the first to speak up, a lightly floured accent with a hint of the english - majority favouring American. She had a petite, chocolate handbag that perked next to her lower chest while presenting herself with a beautiful black dress that hugged her body; a complimentary jacket via her husband whom wore a face unrecognisable to Michael.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me Michael," her words stung, strong and independent as she forcefully punished her son. Though, Mike didn't really realise what he was being punished for - nobody was in the house and the house itself was entirely spotless - he made sure his brother wouldn't rat him out by threatening to rip up the stupid golden bear father gave him.
Oh fuck.
The inside was spotless, the inside was absolutely speckless, no dirt in sight. The inside was polished and prodded with nearly all of Clara's cleaning equipment yet he forgot the fucking outside. The image he created stunned him, even though a few items in house have been stolen, nothing of value or significance was taken therefore he solidified the fact he could come out of this no mans land, a winner.
Mrs. Afton's sneer was unlike any other, she didn't dare to peer away from the lowlife her son has become, though it was teenagers and their destiny to be rebellious - this was out of hand and had to stop. "The house is a fucking mess, I thought I could leave you here - make you responsible for Evan - make you man of the house for a small few hours.." Her droning went on and on, so Michael didn't bother to listen though it looked as if he was taking in every word. This was so unfair.
She paced through the room, the hallway, kitchen and the living room were all open plan so they definitely had the space to all just stand within the house. Evan stood still, pausing with fear as his mother ruthlessly depicted all that was wrong with Michael, he stood guilty that nothing exited his own small mouth. His father peered around the interior aimlessly, trying to find something out of place.
Michael awaited her stop and began to bring up excuses of his own, "Some kids came by and egged the house, c'mon mother, it's literally not so long ago been halloween - of course kids are going to do that, literally- I had the stuff out to clean it up.." He impulsively improvised, turning to the side to showcase window cleaner and multiple remedies that hopefully looked as though he chose wisely. "Don't believe me? Fine, the house is fucking spotless so excuse me I got shit to clean up."
Michael grasped the objects and danced around his mother, being sure not to push her in anyway - she's still his mother. As he almost reached the door handle - his father roughly grasped his shoulder and in a deep, rasp he growled, "Your mother is talking to you Michael."
"Don't swear at her."
Michael's teeth seethed as he sucked his tone back a notch, "Oh what and you don't, huh?"
Yeah maybe he didn't tone it down a notch.
"You act so fucking mighty," Michael dropped the supplies and slapped away his fierce hand, no longer it taking place at his shoulder. William loomed over Mike, daringly gazing into his son's anger, "Like you're above everyone here, you're never fucking here! You have no shit to talk when you're in your own world jacking off to metal instead of taking care of your own kids!" Michael huffed out, breathless in pure rage as he heard a slight gasp from his mother.
Michael's jaw clenched, his forearms pumped through verdurous veins as they popped through his muscular form.
Their eyes met in silence, his father had no emotion however a slight grin and an almost inaudible kissing of his teeth - Michael banged into the door.
William Afton towered over his son, menacingly with an elbow upturned and a dusted red hue scattered on his knuckles. Michael's hand rushed to his temple, his dad just landed a right hook to his fucking temple.
And he was fucking furious.
Stumbling up, grasping his pumping head - he attempts a shot back only being disheartened as William just takes a step back - turning to his wife and placing a devilish hand into hers - pulling her from the devastating action and sitting her down to calm her.
Michael didn't stop him, he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. The only thing on his mind was rage, revenge, the embarrassment, the vulnerability his father just made him out to be - Evan's eyes shivered in disgust; he never knew his father could do such a thing however once Evan and Mike's orbs met. Mike spat, he spat near Evan and swiftly turned, leaving them in the dust.
As Michael scrapped his way through the hideous mess in his front yard, he took a long walk, fingering the large pain in the ass on his head as well as the notion that just happened.
This is the only time he felt truly alone.
The darkness pooled over him like a wavering blanket - his father was a fucking asshole. Mike never wanted to be like him, to hit his own son in a fit of anger just to focus on his shit wife and his shit family. Michael kicked stones, he kicked stones till he could find other things to kick, why was he feeling so sorry for himself? Yeah his father took a shot on him but at least he isn't homeless or starving, he should apologise or something. Nothing. No motivation to apologise, to make anything right, there was nothing to make right, that wasn't his fault.
His father didn't love them.
They were a house, a cover, a cover to show that he isn't a man who only focuses on the deepest parts of his household, to connect with his family once a month when he feels like it. It was unfair. Life is unfair, he's heard that before but not to an extent of this. The extent of his sister.
He wanted to know what happened.
William knew, he's always known. Michael stumbled over himself, shaking his head only knowing where this'll lead but what if it was true, what if he could have evidence, what if he could see her again.
He needed to tell you.
What really happened, he needed someone, not just someone, he needed her. He wanted her to know, he wanted her to comfort him when his father couldn't control himself, he wanted her when all this was done all he could think about was talking shit about their fucked up dads.
His head pounded but all he could think of is what face you'd make, what time you'd give him, what smile, what action, what would you say?
