Scott McCall's POV
-Five Years Old, Eleven Years Ago-
My eyes open quickly. I look around my room, looking at my Star Wars action figures. The longer I stare at them the more it looks like they're moving. And that scares the poop out of me.
I lift my spongebob blanket up and off of me. I crawl out of my bed and slip my feet into my superman slippers that match my pajamas. Quietly, I tiptoe out of my room. Mommy always told me to be quiet if I got up in the middle of the night. She loves her sleep.
When I reach the hallway I start to hear voices. I here a loud, mean voice and a soft, sad voice. I realize it's Mommy and Daddy. I quietly dart down the stairs and stand in the doorway of the living-room.
"I'm sick and tired of this Rafe!" Mommy yells, pointing a finger at Daddy, "When are you going to stop drinking like this?"
Daddy scoffs and rolls his tired looking eyes. "I only had a few beers." He crosses his arms over his chest.
"You're piss drunk!" Mommy sighs, rubbing her eyes with her hand.
"Get over it," He huffs and starts to walk away, towards my direction. Only then does he notice me and soon, so does Mommy. I stare up at my dad who's looking down at me. My mom rushes over and crouches down to my eye-level.
"Scott, what are you doing up so late?" She calmly asks, placing her hands on either side of my face. I shrug.
"Loud noise woke me up," I tell her. She glances at Daddy and then sighs.
"Go back upstairs. I'll be right there to tuck you in," She smiles but even I know it's forced and fake. But I nod, and turn on my heel.
I start to go up the stairs but I stop once I hear my mom talking again. She speaks softly but yet, she sounds mad.
"I want you out of my house," Mommy demands, "And don't come back until you get your priorities straight!"
"Mel, I'm sorry," I hear Daddy plead, "Don't kick me out. I'll stop drinking! Completely! Please, just don't do this."
My mom laughs, "This has got to be the fifth time you've said that in the past year. Get out Rafael. I'm serious this time, don't come back until you're sober and you plan on staying that way."
"Where will I go?" He asks, "I have no family down here in California! I refuse to be homeless and live on the streets!"
"I'll give you some money for a few nights at a motel. But after that money is gone, it's your decision on what to do next," Mommy says.
I don't hear any more talking so I walk to my room. I stand on my tippy-toes to reach the light switch. After a few tries of trying to get it, I succeed and I flick it on. I shimmy out of my slippers and place them neatly next to my dresser. I don't want to trip on them and fall in the morning. That would seriously cause a boo-boo and the girls in my class make fun of those.
I sit down on my bed and look up at my glow-in-the-dark star covered ceiling. Daddy had put them all over the ceiling, making it light up when the lights are off. This way I can see my way in the middle of the night if I need to go to the bathroom. I don't use night lights because come on, that's pretty babyish. I'm five, practically a grown man! Men don't use night lights, especially the ones with Scooby-Doo and Squidward on them.
The door slams downstairs and my mom comes into my room, shutting the door behind her. I look at her red eyes and I frown. I rarely see my mom like this. So when I do, I panic.
"Mommy, why are you crying?" I ask, reaching out and placing my hands against her cheeks. I examine her face, poking at her chubby cheeks. I get a small laugh from her in return, making me smile. I don't like seeing my mom sad.
"Daddy's going to be gone for a while," She sighs and a tear rolls down the side of her face. I wipe it away quickly. I hate tears. Tears mean pain. Except for the good kind. Good tears are happy tears. But I'm not a stupid five year old. I know these are the bad kind of tears.
"How long is a while?" I question. I scrunch my eyebrows up.
She rests one hand against my cheek while the other one plays with my hair. I feel her hand messing my hairdo up. Mommy looks so sad and it makes me sad. And I hate being sad. Being sad reminds me of the time I fell off my bike and scraped my leg on the sidewalk. I shudder at the memory.
"I don't know, Honey," Mommy sighs. I frown a little. How did she not know? Mommy knows everything!
She rests her forehead against mine for a while. We sit here in silence. I close my eyes when I see her doing it. After a few minutes, Mommy pulls away. She presses her feather light, soft lips against my forehead.
"He just needs some time away," She tells me. When I look into her brown eyes, I see 'tired' written all over her features.
"Time away from me?" I ask. I swear I've been good lately! I made my bed this morning, picked up my lego pieces. Oh snot-bubbles! Did I leave one out? Did he step on one of my legos? Oh no. This is all my fault—
"No! No, gosh no, Sweetie. He loves you. Don't ever doubt that," She reassures me. "Daddy will be home soon, I promise." She kisses me on the cheek and I nod. I sigh in relief. Daddy didn't step on my legos.
I crawl under my covers and my mom tucks me in. She kisses me one last time. Mommy stands up from her crouching position and shuts the light off, the stars on the ceiling already glowing.
"Goodnight Scotty," She says.
"Night Mommy," I chirp. She slowly and quietly closes the door. The rest of the night is quiet. It was kind of unsettling.
Daddy never came back home.
——
Writers Note:
This Prologue is my absolute favorite. Little baby Scott though 💗
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