In Saving the Imperfect

2. We broke it nonetheless

Layne froze for a moment and stared his father into the eyes. "You do know I'm not twenty-five, tho, right?"

Doyle laughed it off, just like he always would. Just like all of his son's words that didn't make any sense to him. Something in that made Layne's blood boil. Yet, he kept up a formal voice.

"You did remember my birthday a few weeks back, right?" he asked. "You just didn't call me because I'm not worth your attention... Right?"

"Oh don't mention it."

"Wow." Layne rolled his eyes and stood. "You don't even know your son's birthday."

"That's far from the point. See, you're nearing thirty and all you've done is lost another job in construction."

"So, what are you saying? That construction job is so meaningless someone couldn't even manage to lose it? Right?" Layne clutched his shaking fists. "Of course, if you don't have a fancy desk-job in a conditioned office where you can drink coffee and don't break a sweat, then you don't even have a real job."

"Can't you see? You're not that stupid, Layne. You should have been able to reach higher."

"And now everyone doing physical labour is stupid?"

"You're twisting my words." Doyle stood to be on his son's eye-level – although, just like his older one, he was on the taller side of the family.

"Of course, that's all I've ever done, am I right?"

Layne turned around on his heels and stormed out of the room and into what was once his own bedroom. Doyle yelled something behind him but he did not care enough to hear it. Closing the door behind him, Layne breathed out deeply and looked around.

During his childhood and teenage years, that room was Layne's own personal kingdom – the only place in the entire world he could lock himself in whenever shit got too crazy to handle. Which would happen.

Back then, though, it used to be filled with books, his collections of statuettes, caricatures and large maps decorated the walls. Layne wondered if all that stuff was still hidden behind all of the cardboard boxes, as the room was now used for storage.

Layne squeezed himself through the stacks of things nobody even needed anymore to reach what used to be his bed. Removing all of the trash revealed an old, bumpy mattress. A few of the springs were sticking out but that didn't bother him before. While he rummaged through the boxes searching for some spare beddings and perhaps old clothing of his or Levi's, the main door opened, followed by the sound of high heels smacking at the hardwood floor.

The man sighed and sat on the mattress, watching the door. His parents were talking in the kitchen. Layne couldn't hear the conversation but the disappointed voices gave out all the information needed. Soon enough, his mother knocked at the door – even mockingly gently, as he thought to himself.

"Come in," he called after the door was already open.

Kendra's head peeked through. Her hair was now dyed unnaturally bright yellow, impossible to tell whether that was just a colouring failure or her attempt to look young and cool while the wrinkles on her forehead kept on getting deeper from frowning. She stretched out the thin, deep red lips into an almost natural looking smile and flung her arms wide open.

Her son did not move.

"Layne, are you alright?" The woman's arms dropped down to her sides.

He forced out a smile. "Yeah, as always. What's with the hair?"

Kendra twisted the end of one strand of hair in her fingers. "Just tell me what happened."

"So I got into a bad fight with one of the ass-kissers and he made sure I'd be fired. Then they kicked me out of the flat provided by the company. You know, just as always."