Two Boys Learning

5. Broken Bottles

"Jessica! I'm home!"

There was no answer, and Will's voice echoes around his house, coming back to him faintly. He sighed, tossing his backpack into the corner and heading into the kitchen.

He was greeted with a mess of broken glass. Will knew exactly what they were, and his stomach dropped. He'd never thought that Jessica would go so low as to get drunk over him. 

Then he saw his mother slumped on the table.

His eyes widened and he raced forward. "Mom?" he asked, his heart pounding as he grabbed her shoulder. "Mom, are you okay?"

Jessica jolted upright with a snort, her eyes flying open. She saw Will and grinned.

"Oh, hey, Will... Oh." She gasped and held a hand to her head, then laughed. "How was school?"

"Fine," he said, swallowing hard to fight back tears that had no business being there. This was supposed to be different. I thought you left Dad because he was a drunk. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DIFFERENT. "Let's get you to your bed."

"Thank you, Will," Jessica sighed. "You're always so...gentlemanly..."

Will's lips tightened. She must be really drunk if those were her thoughts. He grabbed her wrist and slung his arm around his shoulders, helping her to her feet. Together, they hobbled into the master bedroom, which was cleaner than the kitchen. Gently, Will helped Jessica get into her bed. She yawned, collapsing onto her pillows.

"Thanks, Will..."

"You don't mean that," Will muttered, turning to go. His mother caught his wrist.

"No...for calling me Mom. You...I can't remember the last time you did that." A sudden burst of sobriety cleared the fog from her eyes. "I love you."

"Love you too, Je--Mom," Will said after a moment of hesitation, then pulled his wrist from her grip and leaving to go clean up the mess of broken bottles in the kitchen. He closed the door quietly behind him, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes, sliding down the wall until he sat on the floor, his legs pulled up to his chest. He braced his forehead on his knees and squeezed his eyes tight, but the tears wouldn't stop.

No.

Shoving the desperation and hopelessness back, Will forced himself to lift his head and swipe furiously at his face.

Crying is for wimps, and wimps have no use in this world.

Swallowing his tears, he pushed himself up into a standing position, then straightened and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a broom and starting to sweep the mess of glass into a pile. He knew exactly where to step, where to place the broom. He'd done this thousands of times before, just not in this house.

This was supposed to be different. Better. The therapist said there would be no more broken bottles or bloody hands, no more shouting or threats...

Will swallowed hard, stopping for a moment before yanking out his earbuds and drowning himself in Twenty-one Pilots.

"I know where you stand, silent in the trees..."

Suddenly, he thought of a bright smile and sorta-dark brown hair, bright blue eyes and a matter-of-fact voice. He paused the sweeping again and leaned on the broom.

"Why won't you speak? Where I happen to be silent in the trees, standing cowardly..."

Will shook his head, as if trying to snap himself out of a strange trance. "Stop it," he said aloud, slamming the broom into the ground with enough force to splinter a shard of glass.