Our Hometown's in the Dark

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Finally, I gathered the nerve to walk up and open the door.

Home sweet nightmare.

Now, I'm sorry if you got the impression my parents were abusive alcoholics or cult leaders (depends on your outlook on Catholics), but they would never hit me. No, violence towards children was wrong.

See, my mom used to be a pretty hardcore drug addict. My birth dad was her dealer, and agreed to trade... *cough cough* for drugs.

When he finally got busted and sent to jail, my mom figured out she was pregnant with the biggest mistake of her life- me.

Now, I'm lucky I was born at all, let alone I'm still alive. But I grew up in my Aunts house, who agreed to let my mom live there only because she didn't want her nephew dying.

When I turned nine, my mom met Wendell.

He was a wealthy business man who also happened to be a devout Catholic. My Aunt met him at church, and for some reason, he wanted to help my mom.

He was rich enough to put her through rehab, and once she was good and Catholic, he married her.

You would never guess any of that nowadays. They act like they met in church when they were both innocent little cherubs and I was magically brought down by some stork.

My appearance kind of ruins it, though. I have dark brown hair and blue-grey eyes, like I'm assuming my father did. I look nothing like mom or Wendell, and although they try to hide it, I know they hate it.

Anyways, as you may have guessed, I am not a good Catholic boy. Heck, I'm not a good Christian boy!

So my stepfather takes it as his duty to save himself from embarrassment- I mean, save me from eternal damnation.

Well, at least he's trying?

I walked into to the kitchen, looking for a snack. And, of course, there was my mother, cooking.

"Hello sweetheart, how did your day go?" She greeting, smiling. I forced a grin in return.

"Good, where's Wendell?"

"Just got back from work, kiddo!" He announced from the living room. I glanced over to see him in sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper.

Sometimes I feel like these two stepped out of an old fashioned novel about gender roles in relationships. The husband treats the wife like a queen, the wife treats him like her world.

Except this time, both have jobs!

"How was your science test, honey?" My mother asked.

"Good, I have some math homework I have to work on...?" I tried to escape the conversation hurriedly.

"If you need any help, ask me, Lon." She smiled as I sprinted up the stairs.

Entering my room was like taking the first steps into a warm shower after a cold day. Wendell had tried multiple times to decorate my room a bit more 'sensibly', which in his world, meant taking down the posters of past vigilantes and maybe writing some bible verses on the walls.

Well, not only did that not work, but I also managed to paint my walls dark blue. My mom disapproved of our fighting back and forth, but didn't stop me.

Maybe it was her coming around to my case, maybe it was her being an unassertive coward. Either way, I was fine with my room decorating skills.

I tossed my bag on the ground and collapsed on the bed, wanting to get some sleep before going out tonight.

After sleeping for as long as I did all night and this morning, I wasn't tired enough to even take a nap, so I did the unthinkable.

Math homework.

I know, I told my mom that I was going to do it, but homework is only used for excuses and last minute work in the mornings.

I only got good grades because of the outrageous amounts of extra credit offered, and a lot of tests were easy as long as you payed attention in class.

Time flew, and I was anxious to get out again. Not even being kidnapped could deter my love of the danger and allure of the streets at night.

And metal wings aren't really that comfortable when you have to keep them under a jacket all day, but that was just a sub note.

As dinnertime approached, I went ahead and dressed up in my Icarus get up under my regular clothes, including my twin knives.

Right before I sheathed them by my side, I took one admiring look at them. I usually didn't have to use them, as the combination of ice powers and wings were usually intimidating enough to scare off trouble.

But going out on the streets without a weapon was pure stupidity, and I wouldn't take any other companions over these two.

Well, maybe Kace.

Inanimate companions. I wouldn't take any other inanimate companions.

So it was with pride that I sheathed them at my side before pulling on my regular clothes.

I walked downstairs, and was met with the smell of pasta sauce and garlic bread. Despite my dislike of family gatherings, I was hungry enough to grab a plate and sit down from a meal.

"It's been so long since you've sat down with us." My mom noticed as I took a seat at the table. "Tell us what's been going on. Any friends? Girlfriends?"

I choked a bit at 'girlfriend', but I hid it fairly well.

"No mom, I'm trying to focus on school." I answered as I hurriedly shoved food in my mouth. There's a reason I don't have long conversations with my family. They always end up the same.

"Well, there's plenty of time for school!" Wendell objected. "I have a friend who's son is your age. Maybe you two should meet up. You'd need friends like that."

"You mean a good influence?" I snorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't do anything that needs influencing."

"You need friends." He sighed. "Maybe if you stayed after church to talk to some of the other kids-"

"Or not." I muttered.

"We let you do anything you want, and all we ask is this one thing." Wendell tried to reason.

"Bullshit!" I retorted. My mother gasped.

"Watch your mouth!"

"He should watch his when he's telling me such obvious lies!" I snapped. "I have to come home immediately after school, stay home every night, I'm not aloud to go out unless you are friends with the person's good Christian parent, and everything I do has to comply with some scripture!"

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" Wendell shouted.

"I was talking to you!" I clarified. "Maybe if you cared about anything other than how you look to others you'd notice that."

"Don't talk to your father like that!" My mother, usually mild mannered and polite, snapped. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves so I didn't say anything I would regret.

"He isn't my father." I finally spoke. "You can't change that no matter what, he isn't my father and you made a mistake. I am your mistake. But that doesn't mean you can treat me like it."

With that, I stood up and took my plate to the sink. It was deadly silent as I washed them off and put them in the dishwasher.

No one said a word as I walked up the stairs and into my room, where I promptly collapsed on my bed.

Like I said, these conversations always turn out the same.

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