Michael's sigh is barely a flutter of air in his otherwise silent room. He stares long and hard at the empty space between the thin, blue lines of his paper. His pencil is held readily for any sort of inspiration that might hit him. Unfortunately, he comes up with nothing.
"Fuck this," he mumbles, swiftly closing his notebook. He tosses it onto the floor by his bed without a second thought.
Frustration knots in his stomach; he always finds something to write about, some way to express how he's feeling. Apparently, words just aren't his strong suit today.
His eyes avert to his open window. Outside, a few stray beams of sunlight skimmer over the tops of the trees, their bright green leaves glinting up at him. That's the thing about Michael's room, he is stuck on the uppermost level of the house so that his stepmother doesn't have to see him if she doesn't want to. This gives him a surreal view of the area, though. A couple of trees and bushes litter the lawn, with flowers peaking up here and there, while the real tree line is just a little ways off. It's quiet here and he prefers it like this.
A bird, small and alone, lands on a branch not far from the window. Resting for only a short moment, it spreads it's wings and takes off again.
The amount of jealously Michael feels towards this bird is quite ridiculous.
Suddenly, he feels his hands reaching for his notebook. His pencil takes on a mind of its own as it skirts across the paper. Sometimes it still boggles his mind how freely the words seem to come.
He's in bliss, going off on a tangent about this string of jealousy, weaving a poem from the threads.
He's almost to the bottom of the page when a sharp knocking tears him from his thoughts. He tries desperately to cling to the idea, but it quickly fades due to the continuous knocking.
"What do you want?" He calls. His annoyance is clear in the question.
The doorknob turns and in peeks a boy with a grin too big for his face. Ashton.
"Mother wants to see you downstairs," he says simply.
Michael glances back at his work with a longing before replying, "why?"
Ashton's eyes glint mysteriously and his dimples grow deeper. "Don't question me; she wants to see you right away."
Michael, knowing from too much experience, doesn't argue with the older boy. He closes his notebook with gentle fingers, almost afraid he'll shatter his carefully crafted poem, and follows Ashton down the steep steps.
He doesn't get any time to prepare himself once they get to the living room entrance. Michael's shoved through the doorway with only a whispered "good luck" from Ashton. He doesn't even receive a moment to fully panic.
His stepmom is seated in the rocking chair in the corner with dark makeup on and cigarette between her fingertips, looking like the human representation of evil. Her eyes flick up and down across the nervous boy who can't quite seem to move from doorway.
"Take a seat," she says slowly. Her voice is menacing and Michael can picture a witch in her place for some reason.
He does as told, sinking into the chair farthest away and across from the woman. Disapproval of his seating choice flashes through her eyes for a split second. He pretends he doesn't see it.
"Michael," she begins, "I'm going out of town for the weekend. A couple of my girls are going to Vegas and they begged me to come with. While I'm gone, Ashton is in charge, am I clear?"
His eyes flash over to Ashton, who's standing with his arms crossed and an extremely smug expression.
"But.."
"No buts," she snaps. "I will be home Sunday night. No leaving the house unless you have Ashton's permission and be sure to get all your chores done. I expect to return to the house in better condition than it's in now."
An impending sense of dread is looming over Michael. All he can do at this point is nod.
His stepmom smiles at him, her lips stretched too tight over her lips.
"I'm leaving tomorrow morning and I'll be needing your help carrying my luggage out to the car. Now go away." She dismisses the two boys with a shoo of her hand.
Michael jumps to his feet and scurries past Ashton. He hopes to make it back up to his room for a few more solitary moments, but his stepbrother has other plans.
Ashton snatches Michael's collar, whipping him around into the wall. The two are hidden from sight as Ashton closes in on the cowering boy. Despite his shorter height, he still has the advantage.
"Did you hear that? I'm going to be in charge," Ashton sneers. He tightens his grip on the collar until Michael's on the verge of shaking with fear.
A sudden laughter bubbles up from Ashton as he releases Michael to run back up the stairs.
Michael slams his door behind him. His head is spinning and all he can think about is what he's about to be put through. He crashes into his bed, burying his face into his pillow- a miserable attempt at blocking out his worries.
He wants out; he needs out. Ever since his father died, leaving him with his stepmom and her son, his life has literally been hell. He didn't even have a chance to grieve for his father before he was flung into what can only be described as servitude. He needs out now.
His mind wanders back to the bird who's already long gone, and Michael's never wanted to sprout wings so badly.
A/N: This is going to be a slash fic so if you're not comfortable with that you probably shouldn't be reading this. I'll also warn you that I'm terrible at updating regularly. So I'll apologize for that ahead of time. And last but not least, I hate to sound thirsty but if you're reading this please please vote and leave feedback. It would mean the world to me and help a lot with knowing whether I should continue or not. I'm kind of writing this just for fun right now so we'll see how this goes. I hope you like it (:
