#teenage angst

[cxndiedvi0lets]

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.

As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.

I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.

“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”

She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)

So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”

“What?!” my mom demanded.

“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”

“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.

“What?! Why?”

“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”

More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.

My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.

The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.

Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.

We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.

A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.

You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.

“Leetle…?” she replied.

“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.

The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.

“The purple signs?” my dad asked.

She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.

And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.

“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.

A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.

I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.

Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.

As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.

While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.

I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.

It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.

When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.

When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.

I nodded.

She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.

“Do you have… boyfriend?”

My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.

She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.

“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”

I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”

I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.

She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”

My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.

Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.

The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”

[witchrealms]

(x)

[respectthepetty]

It's all fun and games until the colors hurt my feelings.

Alexa, play the New Found Glory version of "King of Wishful Thinking"

[coolchickblog]

“Cuz I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby”

Indie sleaze kids🪐⛸️🌟

[multiplicityofmind]

there is something so personal about fabian this season. he comes back from his summer quests, just getting over the shadow of his father's legacy. his mother left her only son, returned from saving the world for the second time, for gilear. and for the first time, he's entirely alone. no waitstaff, no fencing, nothing. it's a big house and he's entirely alone. it's all looking up for him! he's popular, he's dating the girl he has a crush on, everyone loves him! it's his birthday and it's fucking amazing!

then it crashes down. it's his birthday and everyone here is in danger. it's his birthday and everyone close to him is in danger. it's his birthday and one of the last physical remnants of his father's legacy is going to be destroyed. it's his birthday and it's too reminiscent of prom night, thick smoke and his father's blood. its his 18th birthday and he has never felt more young, unprepared.

[eatmeandloveme]

midwest goth

[two-bees-poetry]

my main character is a teenage lesbian

[midwestvivian]

✨I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight?✨

-Modern Baseball

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (7) - eighteen is dangerous

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: lots of teenage angst. descriptions of body insecurity. descriptions of alcohol consumption and reckless behavior (getting in a pool while drunk is very reckless, don't do that please!!) consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) reader is going through it unfortunately, sorry authors note: this is a flashback. reader is eighteen and roman is nineteen. word count: 7300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

eighteen is a dangerous age to be alive. all of your almost adult thoughts and ideas and intentions strewn together by wild, colorful imagination, but, at times, for the sake of another. in front of your mirror, picking at your hair and pinching the elastic of a maybe too tight swim suit. the back cut out to reveal skin and your legs thicker now than they were last summer. frustration brimming harsh in your blood so well it's knotting in your throat. tears pricking your eyes. doom in your bones. because, fucking boys and their oh so amazing pool parties. water every place you step and the torment of maybe getting thrown in for shitty amusement. beer bottles floating everywhere and just-finished-with-high-school-teenagers too lightweight to hold their stomachs. not that you're any better. but at least you know that much about yourself. the pool, party and house courtesy of seth and the kegs of beer to come courtesy of dean no doubt. a friend of a friend of his who wants clout with the club so badly that he swiped his card on kegs for underaged leather bound boys. fucking men. 

and seth's guest bedroom is hot. sweltering so much that it nearly leaves you damp with sweat. your fingers undone with a trembling ache as you pull a pair of shorts over your thighs. overthinking on over drive. because he and his cousins and the rest of the "vip's" have yet to make an appearance. the common people waiting with bated breath for their loud, grimy noise filled entrance. a rumbling, chaotic spectacle filled with air's and aura's of a specific importance and nature that you'll always find too high maintenance to keep up with. but that's why eighteen is such a terrible time, despite maybe your exaggerations about the angst of it. this weird refurbishing of the soul. his mighty self importance aside, romans thoughts and opinions mattering now much more than they used to. your eyes yours still, brown and "shaped so prettily", as your mother likes to say, but not really. going about a constant examination for someone else. shaped against your face perfectly but living outside to look inward too. 

because would he like what you've done with your hair? the earrings you've decided on for the night? the way the swimsuit cuts out at the back? toes painted a different color from your fingernails but oddly cute all the same, because you couldn't be bothered with changing the shade. your tummy not as flat as last year and that scar still embedded in the center of your palm. eyes working for you but at the service of another. him. yes. eighteen is goddamn dangerous. 

that sweet silver necklace he gave you sometime ago. eyes all nervous and his fingers shaky as it clasped the lock of it before you kissed him. a warmth to his skin you never knew existed till that moment. the cool of the metal resting on your skin. dipping low a bit more than usual. the swimsuit made with built in cups. accentuating indeed. because swiping for it at the register of the sports store was easy. naomi at your side smiling bright and excited with a matching style in a different color. the try on process quick and sure with a good natured finality because her eyes were different. lacking that air of intense appraisal. a girls girl for you in the truest sense. her eighteen and your eighteen so similar sometimes. her dealings with jimmy like yours with roman. 

a knock against the bedroom, like a warning, before naomi bursts through. red solo cups in hand and a frustration running lines into her face. long, waist length braids, ponytailed up and away from her face. the bright neon of her swimsuit wet, and her legs dripping some on the carpet. 

you shift quick from the mirror. a creeping heat in your cheeks rising till it settles about your forehead. heart hammering before it plummets to your empty belly. the idea of somebody, anybody, finding you amidst such a vulnerable moment of self brought on scrutiny, absolutely troubling. embarrassing even. a damn scary state of affairs that nearly makes all the doubts and uncertainties breathe harder, heavier. with a better purpose. 

"you went to the pool?"

plopping to lay against the made bed. the fluff of the sheets comfortable despite the heat. maybe even comfortable enough to stay laid up against. a decision that feels more and more appetizing by the second. 

she stands just near the mirror where you'd been, setting down the cups to readjust her hair. a strong presence living along with her reflection. unflinching and sure and at ease. "i took a dip. enough not to get my hair wet", she starts. still corralling the long waist length hair. "i was tryin to wait around for you but somebody decided to abandon me last minute to come up here", giving a pointed look through the mirror. slivers of guilt slipping under your skin. but her fuss of it doesn't last very long, eyes rolling as she dips into an annoyance. "they all down there standin around all brainless n'shit, like they need to be told when to get in the pool. half of them is only here just to say they came anyways...". her steps shuffling over the carpet, cups in hand again. "...followers irk my nerves", she groans. eyes dropping quick over your body. "why are your shorts on?" 

you sit up. a quick, abrupt movement. driven by that suffocating air of hesitation you've fought with since slipping on the swimsuit. 

"should i take them off?"

and maybe naomi doesn't understand the painstaking work of such hesitation, or even if she does, it isn't shown. eyes living with all of the opposite actually. "where is this coming from? it was fine when we bought it, it's fine now", her body plopping beside yours. eyes shining with a scrutiny towards you for the first time tonight, and maybe the first time ever. but oddly enough, it doesn't burn the skin, and neither does it make your esteem shrivel. a sigh leaving her. hardened eyes, protective and familiar in their way, like you could have maybe felt them once before in another lifetime. something similar to how a sister looks to her less stronger one. "if you're worried about what he thinks, then forget his ass. he should be lucky you even lettin him breathe your air". 

and your nerves don't fall away all that quickly, but the air is less thick now. breathable. your eyes interested now in the cups she's bought. both filled with something pink, but the smell of it like that faithful burn of tequila. 

"you're right". 

she smiles."have i ever been wrong?"

your eyes rolling playfully. "no"

"exactly". shoving a cup in your hand before bursting up excited. "so sip on this and lets go mingle". 

and maybe you're like your mom about these things but "mingling" is for the fucking birds. an unexcitable process of small talk that does your head in. because no one actually cares about anything real, or different, or new, they just want to make good on first time impressions. all the real things, these scary little bits of air and unspoken moments between the words. something something, if we make the daughter of the vice president of the most infamous, illustrious, biker club in all of florida laugh and smile and twiddle her fucking thumbs, then we've made it to the inner inner ring, of the inner circle. which is a lie and a half. sweaty shoulders rubbing up at yours and the dampness nearly folding over your stomach with disgust as you follow naomi through to a less busy area of the backyard. the heat steeping in and weighing over everywhere. the crowd as idle as she said it was. hesitation in their bones as they wait for some fearless leader to make the first move of jumping in, so they of course then, can follow. 

you sip at your cup, and then nearly guzzle it the rest of the way. a cold, fruity bite to your tongue that helps ease the angst. 

your eyes peering over to the sliding door that connects the backyard and the inside of the house. like a mere gazing over would summon the not so true bane of your existence. a nineteen year old boy with a penchant for unscrewing your nerves loose. your words tongue tied when they aren't soothed into an easy quiet submission by the sweetness of his mouth. groaning little kisses that leave you frenzied and a little dazed and scared. because he has that way about him unfortunately. a lax sort of domineer. flirtatious eyes and quick little phrases that make your skin crawl something horrendous but excellent just the same. you literally despise him. mouth seeking your cup again. already at the end of your drink and feeling the hard rush in of it in your blood. warmth in your belly and a dizzying effect that loosens your anxieties. the type of buzz that asks for more. 

a small little table exists near a group of shrubs. a cloth bag nestled in a particularly thick way of leaves. your hand sticking down and into the bag to pull out a bottle of tequila. because seth said "only my buddies get the good shit", everyone else suffering with cheap beer they bought, waiting for dean and his kegs to arrive.  

 and with a harsh splash of water—some rando a little less than recklessly diving into the pool—does the party finally actualize. bodies corralling quickly in that cold wash of blue and the music a little louder. this concoction of whatever on your tongue and your urges less accounted for. 

surely this is what naomi means when she says "mingle". forgetting about yourself a little and just being. a hard task made easier when tequila doesn't give two shits about what it means to be perceived. eighteen not as dangerous when you've got liquid courage to slot a small battery in your back. 

"samir right?", his name calling sweetly on your tongue. the leaving of it gentle as you make to get closer to him. a tall-ish boy—but certainly not taller than roman—with a rich dark caramel complexion. charming hooded eyes and the cutest nose. his beer clutched for dear life in his hand like he'd maybe pay to be anywhere else. 

"uh, yeah". a cautious sort of surprise. like the possibility of speaking to him was slim to none. "how'd you know-"

"i seen you with yah dad before...", memory working amidst the alcohol. your words a little loose. stepping closer to him to get over the loud play of the music. his cologne nice in your nose. the type of scent made for double takes and "where'd you get it from?" questions. a silent wingman working as a possible conversation opener for anxious girls who maybe don't know that being this close makes for a heavier suggestion of familiarity. an intimate proximity like you know him more than just from seeing him around. "...he brings his car around my pops shop for tune ups n stuff. you look like him", and maybe the smile after that comment with the way you stand next to him implies something more than it should or more than you want it to but you don't notice. the fuzz of your brain winning the 'i dont give a fuck about being perceived' war. 

but samir is smiling and his shoulders are maybe not as slacked and bored. squared now with a new sense of purpose and open and facing you, like he's giving you the space to be as close as you'd like. like for some odd reason, if you fell into him, he'd catch you better, not that there'd be any reason for that but yeah...whatever, and the buzz is so obviously shaping your blood to run with a renewed sense of unawareness of present situations. thoughts roaming off to weird deep ends before they slip back close to where they belong. sipping at your cup again before you peer up to find him staring. a quick wandering of his earthy brown eyes, maybe at the silver of your necklace or the cup at your lips or maybe even a little below where your necklace dips in. 

samir's eyes bug. an embarrassment clinging to the shape. like he's just snatched himself out of the daze of staring at you. a throat clear that exposes the uncomfortableness in his own body at being made. "what're you drinkin?" 

"it's just juice and tequila, fruit punch i think...", taking a sip. "...beers not my thing". 

"s'not mine either", he gives. looking at his beer bottle unsatisfied. "kinda just grabbed it, cuz it's the only thing here". 

and maybe he'd have more fun if he were where you are? loose and slightly adrift. carefree amidst a sea of people who care too much. "if i say where the stash is, you won't tell right?"

"not a soul". 

your head juts, a motion for him to follow. his steps in rhythm with yours and that cologne staining his skin still flirting with your nose. like a light goading. this silent attempt to lure you into something unfamiliar. because all you know is the cool silver of this necklace, strong teasing fingers and that dark rumbling engine. the nineteen year old boy—who you don't think to name at the moment, not even in the secrecy of your thoughts—this not so true bane of your existence, is still, to you, a great big world of an almost man. tall and surrounding and new and the whole of what you feel for him still uncovered. so maybe it isn't exactly smart—even if such a rebellion lives in the name of a not so odd, half baked, tequila born, self esteem boost—to live so deeply in this state of coyness. a realization, or rather a confession, that threatens the carelessness binding your bones. 

eighteen a little dangerous still, playing loose and a little faster in your blood. because the liquid courage gives you this two-fold, uncanny, brazen sort of awareness. convictions flowing strong, parentally charged in a way that makes your ego break against it in bursting acts of rebellion. the midnight summer air sticky against the skin and baiting. the warmth like a second rushing in, a muggy air of defiance living beside the heat in your belly and the sweet flavor on your tongue. 

you push through that grouping of shrubs, revealing the hefty bottle. 

"shot?", a question but not really. more like a soft demand, styled with a smile and inviting eyes. 

the pour of it playing over samir's voice. a near drown out. "sure", he gives. the cup in his hand already before his decision can come into any finality. "cheers", the words slipping off to linger in the air like he's trying out the phrasing. like he's trying to please your excitement enough to keep it there on your lips. 

you take the stain of it on your tongue quickly. a clear burn that conquers easily on its way down. your throat humming to give it some ease but poor samir is reducing more by the seconds into a fit of coughs. the dry dirtiness of the tequila new for him. not yet to be overcome by the looseness it'll give his bones. 

you laugh. a fit of giggles living a little less than controllable. mixing a more digestible drink into his cup. something more similar to yours. "you don't drink too much huh?"

"nah", his face scrunching. expression embarrassed. "not really". 

"here", passing the cup back to him again. "try this". 

he sips at your concoction. face less screwed as the sweetness of it tempers the bitterness in his mouth. "s'pretty good", natural dark eyes a little brighter. a spark struck across them even. surely not made from janky pool lights that work no better than the old neighborhood street lamps. a courage to him that seems to settle in after he sips again. a courage that leaps with fresh legs. "you have, really, really beautiful eyes", tumbling out. unable to be stopped. the thought perhaps always there but now given the freedom to breathe. to walk and run.

"oh". dumbstruck. a load of giggling that bursts abrupt. not malicious, no. just the sort of drunken amusement caught from the suddenness of a thing. untamable almost if not for the fall of his face. making you feel awful, like shit. "i-..."

samir blinks. like he's just been un-dazed from a dream. "that was corny, i'm sorry".

"no, no, no, it's fine, i just-", your fingers trembling slightly. reaching across the little table to touch him. hands in his, to give him surety "i just-i didn't expect you to say that. thank you". 

"i'm interruptin something?" 

the question teasing as it leaves. flip flops shuffling before they flap down, smacking against the wet cement surrounding the pool. an obnoxious, creeping, entrance. it makes your blood more solid. hearing that mocking tone he gives. roman and the forever glimmer of mischief, spread about his eyes and his lips. like he's hinting the possibility of a storm. gaze drifting over your hands, the way they leave samir's, the proximity of your bodies and the ease of it. a knot in your belly, corralling in with a load of dirty little feelings. roman tall and broad. suffocatingly so. annoyingly so. like a tower. like a mountain that blocks the sun to cast a shadow. that burst of brazenness spreading fun under your skin, now tugging itself along to shuffle back into the dark nothing of a corner. but why should you have to cringe and recoil in and from your innocent fun? why couldn't you delight yourself in a little attention? was that so horrible? your arms crossing over. disruption, childlike and eager, running alongside the bold streak. 

"no". your smile tight lipped. voice bright. "just poppin samir's tequila cherry". 

samir chokes. coughs dangerously hard. roman's eyes slitting to narrow. his jaw giving a small clench before he returns your expression. a mirthless grin. "how nice. i hope he enjoyed it". 

"i think he did". 

roman's brows lift. your audaciousness funny. "lets ask". attention directing itself toward samir, who seems to be the most uncomfortable. 

"i uh", his hand setting the cup down. nervous, antsy and it irks you whole. "yeah, it was. it-it was fine". 

roman hums. shuffles up more till he's nearly flushed against your back. the fabric of his tank top blowing with the heat of the slim midnight breeze, hitting whats exposed of your skin. a reminder. your fists clenching. fucking asshole. the necklace at your chest still cool. in agreement with him. his presence this annoying, territorial claim. possessive and unwavering. your belly empty, your head swimming and frustration clinging to your nerves so well that it's stupid. because this is stupid. because annoyance shouldn't live like this, shouldn't find even ground with enjoyment so well. blood hot, something dizzy working behind your eyes. a complicated, rush of a feeling that has yet to be totally deciphered. 

"you're one of seth's buddies right?"

"yeah something like that". samir appearing less tall. shrunken in and a half step from paper frail. less willing to indulge his eyes. the interest in them gone and refusing to meet your face. and it sours whatever unnamed sweetness held for him. your curiosities gone. because allowing roman to destabilize him so easily. unbalanced and too shy for proper confidence. where was the fun, competitive edge, in that? a bold streak of something uneasy and conflicting and tricky. not simply rolling over and letting him win. thats what this was supposed to be. a riot for some damn reclamation. "i'm just gonna go", samir says. your eyes rolling as he gathers himself to leave the small safety of the table. 

you peer up at roman. the source of all this bullshit angst housed in your person. his face soft but angular somehow. tender lips existing as the object of your lingering desires. his shoulders wide and his body thick thanks to home cooked meals and too much football. your fists balling till they ache. tequila dulling the pain of your nails but doing nothing for the baseless frustration. this boy... this man... this whatever he is, so pretty and exacting and sure all the damn time. always testing and making attempts and looking. your skin less like skin and more like metal. like the tinny cold make of one of his many football trophies. and now you feel no better, no greater than samir. shrinking in and your throat tight again. dizzy and trembly. a leaf in the breeze. like you're back upstairs in seth's guest room, peering into the mirror. eyes yours, but more useful for him now. 

hate isn't too strong a word is it? your father says it sometimes. like the word is venom born, made to poison. says it and then kisses your mother anyways. kisses and hugs her and churns her indifference into pretty, wispy noise. rich and thick. honey inspired. so if that works. venom and honey. both thick and useful. then maybe they're the same. 

"you're such a dick", you cut at him. eyes rolling hard. making to step around him. but he's so tall and everywhere. a world and a half. 

and he laughs. like everything is so funny. like you're funny. a joke. sweetened tequila on the tongue. bathing your stomach. fuzzily in the brain. he thinks you're a joke. 

"how would you know, you've never seen one". 

you gasp. your shoulder trying it's hardest to check him. a barely registered move that gets you past him and closer to the pool. "ass", you yell. loud enough for people to hear. 

skin sticky. trembling still. exasperated. your feet a harsh descending as you stalk to the opposite edge of the pool. the beginning steps of the shallow end. dean there with a cup of beer in hand. hair long and already damp. 

"trouble in paradise?" 

your eyes cut. a sharp look to warn him. a deep breath as you breach the water with your foot. trying the cool of it. "your friend is a fuckin asshole", you give. 

he chuckles. like maybe he knows that to be a little true. "what'd he do?" and when you don't answer, occupied with settling into the chill of the pool, he turns his attention over to his friend. chuckling still. "what the hell did you do?"

roman flips his hand. a 'whatever' motion, like he couldn't be bothered to even care. 

your blood boils. loose and on fire. "what doesn't he do?!" loud and irritated enough for dean to hear. loud enough for roman. for seth and the twins and everyone else in between. but it doesn't stop the party. just adds to the air. to the drone of the festivities. to splashes of water, and the splatting smack of beach balls. to good feeling breezy wind and the thumping bass of music. to guys trying to flirt with girls and girls trying to quell their boyish half baked charms with coyness and shooing splashes of water. the party in full effect and alive. pulsing and balanced. and maybe you shouldn't be in the pool, all loose-brained and dizzy feeling. but the water feels good and the distance from roman is a welcomed addition. gets his cologne out of your nose and rids you of the sensation of his body along your back. 

but his mischief isn't done. stretches with a fresh awakened need to stress your nerves. the pull up and discard of his tank top a sensational performance. like he's mocking and poking and punishing you with the gasp and squeals of girls who pry at him with sharp hopeful eyes. his body dipping into the pool on the deep end before breaching up with his hair slicked back and dusting his shoulders. curling up as it meets the air all finger provoking like. 

you hate him. 

feet splashing behind you. dean stepping to sink further and further into the icy blue of the pool. a quick, resolute voice of mediation. "aaalright...", he draws out. "...none of this shitty, sulky, energy". his back to you, arms stretched out and waiting, like a human pool noodle. "hop on". 

but the water is safe here at the shallow end. close to the stairs and faraway from eyes and his prying little stare that grows more amused by the minute as you fight and fail to ignore it. "dean, i don't think thats a good—", your body up ended. water splashing as you panic. a fast jostling maneuver that forces you to grapple him as he lifts you onto his back. "dean!!!", thrilled and pissed and dazed behind the eyes still. arms and legs wrapping tight about him as he treads into the deep end. 

and he's all smiley, the little shit. "you don't got much of a choice unfortunately".

"i can't swim". 

"i know", patting the clinging wrap around of your arm. reassurance that barely makes a full registration about the body. "i ain't gonna let you drown sweets".

"sweets?"

"new nickname for you", he hums. satisfied with the ring of it.  

and you snort. set your head atop of his as he treads the water. because dean—and though it's unusual for him to fail at many things—is unfailing at pleasing his penchant for nicknaming people. you in particular. a little list of moniker's reflecting the growth of your relationship. from 'sis', at sixteen, to 'sissy' at seventeen, and then a very offhanded 'babe' for sometime. a jokey little term of affection you accepted, because the humor of it proved stupid and weird and annoying for roman. always silently bristling about it. these wordless little shifts in his expression. a disapproval he felt was maybe too childish to name properly. but dean didn't linger on it too long. a little razz of a name before moving on back to just calling you by your government. but 'sweets' is new. promotes something, maybe, a bit more delicate than the others. more endearing. 

"cute", you approve. "where are we going?"

"where the party is". 

your arms grow tighter. cinched threateningly at his neck. his little laughs and the edge of his weight against yours not doing much to make your irritations any true problem. but you try anyways. "i swear to God, and Jesus freakin Christ ambrose...", your voice biting. words slipping through your teeth. "...if you take me over to him on some kum ba yah bullshit, i will drown you. i will use all of my weight and pin you to the floor of this pool...", his sputters, chuckles flaming your blood. "...i will end you. i don't wanna talk to him". 

"you two go at it like a fuckin married couple, just—"

your name shrieks across the pool. a drawl of a mezzo soprano voice. pretty and clear like freshly cut diamonds. sing song like and attention grabbing. enough for dean to halt his treading and pivot. curiosities a shitty merging with some low level form of dread. tequila swimming in your stomach, this large, prong attached battery. a careless, suspicious, jolt of energy about your blood as you get closer to chauncey hayes and her mini crowd of personality destitute friends. and no, the dread doesn't spring off from some shriveling form of a fear absolute, but rather the regular anxieties of interacting with a girl too boy obsessed to think straight. because chauncey still roams free and ditsy-like in the halls of tenth grade socialization. a shark of a particular caliber. too small to be truly frightening but existing large enough to annoy already poorly wired nerves. tonight is not the night for this. tonight is not the night for chauncey hayes. 

"just the girl i wanted to chat it up with", she smiles. a little looser than tight lipped. like the work of ingratiating herself to you is a goal but not a top priority. sincerity casting bright for some seconds as she drops her eyes. "hi dean".

"ladies", he gives, to her and all her friends. polite and smirky like. their reactions amusing. 

"what's up?", you ask. ready to get it over with. your arms and legs clinging to dean still. less vexed. seeking comfort. 

"so um...", a faux bout of rumination. her eyes a light bright warm brown, glowing to contrast the cool blue of the pool. a summery colored bathing suit fitting her skin and her hair loose and curly. "...you're cool with the twins right?", her eyes flicking to jimmy and jey. reverential, bordering needy and crazed even. naomi atop jimmy in a similar fashion to how you cling to dean. but her body proves less anxious, more affectionate. the boys cornered and laughing gut deep with roman and seth. "like...deep family connects and all that good stuff?" 

"how federal of you", dean mumbles. 

and yes, blame it on the alcohol. spirits saturating your veins. curiosities fortified and blindly misguiding. so much so that your clues as to where this might lead are a bit blurred. a nameless teenaged ruin. oh yes, just blame everything on that fruity, semi-acrid taste steeped into your tongue. "i guess you could say that, yeah". 

"so whats the status on them then? ... like, i know jimmy and naomi are connected at the hip but roman specifically...", a rushing in where words intend to flow. heat and blood. the inner parts of your ears muddied with an ill feeling. a disruptive sensation. fingers alive with these little twitches. belly swimming. nausea maybe. a well, wet with liquor and a deep vexing. because what the actual hell? "...like what's his deal? is he taken?" 

dean laughs. from the base of his gut. abrupt and ill-controlled. amusement full in his cheeks. "oh young and the restless, eat shit, this is magic", he barks. 

"dean. shut. the fuck. up", you cut. tongue sharp like obsidian. shifting along his back. re-hooking your legs and focusing your eyes from that loose daze. for what? better posture maybe? a maneuvering perhaps that gives one of your arms more reach, more freedom. a reason unknown really. but your human pool noodle takes it as a sign to tread a step backwards. like he knows something you don't. "why do you ask?", your eyes slitting. no less curious, but the anxieties are fallen away to leave a spark of something vicious feeling in it's wake. an unchallenged sensation housed in your chest. a beating, a pulse. the pump of it venturing out to the center of your forehead and the tips of your toes. a thorough spreading about till you're filled with the brutality of it. a dangerous feeling. whole and sweet and grimy. 

"i mean...what do you mean why?", chauncey flicking her shitty little eyes over to roman. a dazzling appreciation in them that aches your teeth. "have you seen him?" 

you grin. mirthlessly. "what makes you think i'd know what he likes?" 

"you're always hanging around...", a patronizing go of words. her eyes rolling, the thought of it sticking to her odd and unwanted. like your proximity to him is more of a nuisance than a fulfillment of his own wants. of each others wants. "...i figured you had a little insider information". 

and the way your arms wrap around dean for stability, fingers clutching nails into his pale skin. anger attempting to be tempered but proving formidable and real bitchy. his throat grunting as he feels the violence of it. "ouch...", he pats your arm for reprieve. to draw you back off the ledge. that resolute voice of mediation coming back in full stride. awkward and stuttered. "...ok uh, so i think maybe...maybe in the spirit of pool parties and um...buoyancy? ...yeah that sounds right... that we should do a breathing exercise...y'know just something to chill us out—"

you cut off his rambling. "is this you trying to be funny?", his hands digging into your thighs to keep you up as you press forward. "your town cryin ass is always ten steps ahead on gossip but you don't know him and i are together?...", voice louder than before. erupting till its bouncing off pool waves to ripple out to the deep end. "...have been together?" 

she scoffs. fighting not to shrink. "he doesn't even talk you up, i—"

"ok, ok, wait!", dean calls out. bewildered at chauncey's nonchalance. treading back.

"girl are you fucking dense?", you yell. 

"ah shit", dean mumbles. backing away slowing. bones heavy amidst the water. 

but you keep going. laughing with teeth. a mild mannered hysteria. "do you not like your life?"

"are you threatening me?", chauncey shrieks. trembling but warring against it.   

"you know who i am", you give. amused and loose blooded. 

"ok, i think thats enough magic for tonight", dean mumbles. his thumb rubbing into your knee as he holds and carries you to the stairs resting at the center edge of the pool. 

the metal curve of the stepping rods cold to the touch. your bones tired and heavy. skin wet. an empty, drained, sensation coddling terribly well everywhere. that short bout of hysteria dead. the party goers unsure of when or how to resume. awkwardly existing under the torture of your fire. the buzz once sizzling your blood, growing neutral and ill-suited for this new lane of emotion. a merging onto something quiet and dejected. the thump of the music never returning to it's former glory, even as your feet press forward into the house. tracking in wet, an untouched collection of dry towels hanging near the entrance. your hand snatching one up, making a b-line for the other side of seth's house. his kitchen scarce of teenage bullshit—apart, of course, from your own—and the loud song of too trivial chatter. the large towel wrapping your body, a tender lean against the counter, trembling softly, waiting for the chill to stop. 

a gut wrenching sort of enervation plays dutifully under the skin. on cue and terribly in the pocket. a grimace worthy rhythm. it makes a disgusting, beautiful, cruel tune out of your nerves. bursting and wild, like the roar of an old iron made engine. a rumbling orchestra, dirty in its symphony, those residuals of anger oh so noisy in the body. feeling mighty and familiar. a fire and grime inherited surely. because who are you that it'd pass you by without troubling skin and bones and the thoughts made ready to leave your mouth?  and sure, maybe in her mischief, chauncey deserved to be dug into the ground, her knowing bright eyes filled with wanting to tear you apart for the fun of it, but not with the easy mean speak of your father. she didn't deserve the grime and blast of that tough leathery part of his nature. at least not from you. being a vessel, holding this much in the same way, it hurts too badly to keep in. hurts more letting it go. 

and roman is light footed as he steps into the kitchen. silent but full in presence. shaping the room to his body. but then again, everything looks quite too large for understanding when you've gone under such a quick, awful diminishing.

"sober yet?" 

"almost". 

he huffs through his mouth. a deep, amusing breath. "it's always the lightweights causing all the trouble", leaning up against the island that runs parallel to the counter. his eyes stitching to your skin. sewing in and binding themselves. "you gave the normals a show though, they'll have something to talk about for the rest of the summer". 

your eyes roll, turning away from him. opening the kitchen fridge to grab a bottle of water. opening it to take a sip, before the sarcasm drips. "m'so happy i could give your fans free entertainment, apparently the little strip tease wasn't enough for them". 

"takin my shirt off at a pool party is regular shit. i can't help it if girls like the way i look. i can't control how people react...", his face running hot with irritation. his cheeks dusting a faint red. loose curls joining up in his hands as he ties them into a small knot. " ...at least i wasn't baitin nobody. you get a little buzz and forget i exist apparently". 

but samir was an empty rebellion. not forgetfulness. a coup against the self to rid of the overpower of his influence. an attempt at reclamation—of eyes and thoughts and opinions—at not caring and just being. was it misguided? sure, but not malicious.  

"i can't help it if boys like the way i look". 

"you was eatin it up...", he flares. not loud but deep. accusatory and pissed. "...all giggly n'shit, like you never heard a compliment before". his body shuffling closer to gain advantage in your line of sight. "i give you compliments all the time and you act all meek like you can't take it". 

the plastic of the bottle gives a crinkling groan from the grip in your hand. your tired eyes meeting his. those last bits of looseness giving you the wherewithal to speak. "you wanted me to be a dick about it?" 

"have the same energy or somethin", he grits. "you damn near threatened chauncey". 

"she was makin it seem like i barely existed next to you!"

"because...you maybe don't", he breaks. urgent. his shoulders falling, unweighted now. like the thought has lived and shaped well in his mind for sometime. his face closer and troubled. a confusion born from frustration. "you don't want me next to you, you barely want me to touch you, and you hate when i look at you for too long, but you want everybody and they damn mama knownin we together". 

that nausea. dizziness behind the eyes. "thats not true—"

"are we together?" he asks. 

the air feeling harder to breathe. that bottle no longer clutched in your hand but too cold still and your ears flooding to the tips with heat. pressure welling up in your throat too much it starts to ache. fingers gathering to ball, nothing between them but the bite of your nails into the palms. the phantom of a thing they hold against for dear life. eyes prickling with a stabbing pain. the beginning of salty warmth that burns the skin. 

you chuckle. mirthless and panicked. "thats not a real question. you can't be for real right now". 

"you got somethin real to say to me then?" 

and it's all resting palpable at the tip of your tongue. but it lacks the proper brilliance. makes no quarrel with itself of possibly being undigestible. it lives wholly uncomfortable, eagerly so, with a streak of menace. and this, he wants you to spit out? to let fall and burn and weight over the air. displeasure true in the heart of your chest, melted and flamed and dangerous like the inner core of the earth. 

"why you so pressed to hear about what i got to say all the time? always lookin and diggin for stuff that don't matter". 

"if its you, it matters", he stresses. confusion wearing well in his eyes but his words sure. "if it's not, then whatever. i don't care". 

and this must be what drowning feels like. the flail of feet and arms and a hopeless horror. water sucked into the lungs, salty and raging against the palate. sinking the words with an evil diligence. but the body has a way about it. an uncanny, needy, pestering desire to survive. to live. so the drowning is not quick. and you are not overcome quickly. coughing and screaming, skin hot and cold and pale and wrinkling. blurry eyes and a gasp too large to contain for long enough. fingers pushing water to rush it behind, a play at propelling the weight of your bones beyond the surface. to say something, to be asked to speak truth to a wordless dread, is the painstaking performance of drowning. "...you have things... you have the club... all of your friends are my friends... it's easy, you get up one day and decide i'm not what you want, you can just leave". 

"no". an instant thing, thick fingers cradling your face. his eyes frightened and brown and displeased. "no". resolute. always so damn sure of himself. his hands pulling, a soft embrace and gesture, your eyes unable to leave him. frightful of being seen but too weak to leave the meeting of his. "that's not true. and you boxin me in like that, it's not fair". your fingers tired, clutched and nailing into his arms. his face, a world of a thing. freckled and soft and tanned. cutting sharper at the jaw but gentle still around the eyes. mouth and tongue delicate despite the cool edge of him, his nature. "when i said, way back before ,that i gotchu, it wasn't me gassin yah head up. i was being real". 

but he doesn't stop. doesn't drown under the roll in of a tumultuous wave. 

his thumb sweeping your cheek. to soothe the skin. to persuade it of his care. "i'm never lookin at you to find somethin wrong or to find a reason not to look", his eyes a slow wandering pace. brushing smooth over your features. your lips and cheeks blooming with a sensation only admiration can give. "it's hard not lookin at you". chuckling and his eyes rolling. "and yeah the way he said it was corny as hell, but samir ain't wrong. you never not look good to me". 

you can feel his breaths here. the draw of his mouth as his appreciation leads him closer. a bright sweetness on his tongue that quickens your blood. his nose a short dainty nudge into yours. anticipation filling the well of your body. 

"i like being next to you". tall body slipping up calm. closer. surrounding you against the kitchen counter. "i like touching you". thumb skimming along your lips. "ain't nothin awful about all that huh?" 

you shiver. the curl up of it riding along your spine. "no". 

"exactly". convincing brown eyes and an exacting little grin. "and nothin bad is gonna happen either. i gotchu. you're mine".

his words a sweet working spell. lips a teasing slot along yours, but never making the full embrace of a kiss. your desperation for it pure. dampens the odd, dirty, hard to digest ideas. 

he smiles. amused. "i snacked on a mint before i came in here so... you kinda gotta kiss me now".

you snort. slipping your fingers over his arms. holding tighter. the fresh scent on his tongue a gentle persuasion. 

"it's mandatory huh?" 

"yeah cause you been fallin off a lot actually. missin weekly quotas. thats real bad for business". 

"something's gotta be done i guess". 

he hums. planting tender and simple. tiny little pecks that lure you further into the give of his lips. a hand sweeping low, his arm curling about your waist, palms splayed. his fingers there bending and running dull to feel the supple fabric of your swimsuit beneath the towel. touching and testing his limits. seemingly waiting for you to pry yourself away. you breathe into his mouth, the air funneling out of your lungs. teeth a teasing bite into his lip. smiling and falling into him. his other hand meeting the exploration of the first. an unhurried pace over your body, along the line of your back. pressing in as it trails. a gasp melting on his tongue as it sweeps in, holding the tremble of you. "so pretty", he gives. littering your jaw with the affections of his mouth. your everything, feather feeling, weightless, arrested and held up in the strength of him. his smile curving into where he purses into your neck. the rhythm of your pulse playing into his kiss. 

[penfondeler]

You ain't from these streets cuh 🗣🗣🗣🗣

[randomly-generated-posts-machine]

2 cups of love 500 grams of adhd and a teaspoon of teenage angst and you got yourself a dumpster fire

[cxndiedvi0lets]

When I found out, tiktok found one of the songs I gatekept and only kept it in my youtube playlist because I thought it would prevent it from becoming a trend:

[gumballavocadoharry]

Habitat:

*Mentions of self harm, mental illness, bipolar disorder, abusive family, emotional and mental abuse, violence, angst, depression, abandonment, PTSD....etc.*

"It's been three days now."

"We'll it's not a surprise. They always do this." Beckett, the middle son of the Styles family, looked towards the door. Maybe he wanted his parents to enter through the front door, even though he knew they wouldn't. Like he had said, it wasn't something new. In fact, it was habitual. Beckett looked to his sister, Kinsley, then to his younger brother, Chase. He sat flank over the lazy boy, swaying his feet back and forth in a muzzling beat. Shaking her head, Kinsley just stared blankly out the picture window of the living room. She never stared out at anything really, but it was a habit she grew into whenever her mind led her into deep thought.

But Beckett already knew what she was thinking. Three days ago, they're parents had escaped to a vacation by the ocean for some romantic time alone. No one thought much of it, except that Mom and Dad- Harry and Luna- were actually going to spend some time together alone- something they rarely did these days. The siblings tried to see this as a much needed getaway for their parents, but a nagging shady compulsion kept creeping up in them, like the sudden pangs of morning sickness. Like its same nature, it held this gut wrenching vile inside of it- an expectant slither of uncertainty to swim through them. By then, Beckett's high hopes had faded along with the sibling's honorable expectations of their parents. Chase didn’t like that it did, but he- like the others- remained hopeless to change that. Kinsley called it. "Alright guys, it's been over three hours now, I'm just going to order us a pizza or something- we have to eat."

"Should we call the police?" Beckett and Kinsley looked to Chase. "No…. let's ride it out and see what happens for today. If they don’t' show up by tomorrow afternoon, then we'll call."

Kinsley grabbed the phone and started dialing the number for the pizza place. Her fingers hit the buttons harder than she wanted. Looking around, she hoped that her brothers wouldn't see this little outburst, but instead feel more focused on the blunt situation. "Toppings?" Beckett looked up and blinked a few times. "What?"

"Toppings? What toppings do you guys want?"

"Whose paying?" Kinsley sighed. "I am, Chase,"

"Then I'll take mushroom and green pepper."

"Pepperoni and olives for me."

Kinsley called in the order. When asked for toppings, she stopped mid order for a moment and thought. "I'll take three pizzas- one with pepperoni, green peppers and mushrooms, the second with pepperoni and olives and the last with pepperoni, green olives, mushroom and sausage." Chase and Beckett looked at each other. "Thank you, bye." She turned and looked to the boys. "I figured, who knows how long they'll be gone, we need food for more than just today. So, we all get our own pizzas, make sure you save them."

Grabbing her car keys, Kinsley turned to the door. "I'm going to get us some drinks- they're cheaper when you buy them in store than with the pizza. If he comes before I get back, here's the twenty. It'll be thirty minutes, so I think I'll be home before then." Handing Beckett a twenty dollar bill, Kinsley left the house, got into her mother's car and drove down the street- Chase watching the car speed down to the right.

Beckett watched Chase stare for a moment, before rounding him up from off the couch. "Come on, let's clean up before dinner." Beckett assigned Chase to vacuuming, while loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. Beckett set the table carefully, arranging the plates neatly in the center of the fork, spoon and knife and then set the cups adjacent over the plate a bit. A knock on the door sounded and soon the delivery man was there with their dinner. Beckett paid the man, snagging an extra three dollar tip from his own wallet. "Smells good," Chase called, tying the cord of the vacuum up over the vacuum's cord holder. "Let’s eat-"

"Not before Kinsley gets back. She bought us this meal, we should thank her and wait till she comes home." Chase furrowed his eyebrows a bit. The sound of his stomach growing only seemed to acerbate his irritation of having to wait. A bit uptight at the sight of Beckett not even opening any of the boxes until Kinsley would come through the door. Not even five minutes later, Kinsley shows up. Stuffing her keys into the pocket of her overalls, two plastic bags that sag, brush against her legs.

"Two liters were on sale. Pepsi and Sprite for anyone one who wants it, and orange juice for the other option." Chase ran and wrapped his arms around Kinsley. Beckett stood and watched with a mawkish smile, before joining his arms around Kinsley. The siblings stayed embracing each other; Chase letting a small tear drip onto the fabric of Kinsley's shirt. Faint like the drop of dust bunnies hitting the surface of the ground.

Symbolic without intention- the siblings needed each other more than ever. All they had was each other; leaning more and more on their distinctive abilities to guide themselves to the safety of freedom that they all were looking for- even if it was in different directions.

*******************************************

It was that April. The Styles children were at the table eating their breakfast, when their father entered into the kitchen after sleeping in all day the day before. "Hello Kiddos!" Harry swooped down to press kisses to each of their scalps. "Good morning," pressing a kiss to Luna's cheek while she stood at the stove, frying the last strip of bacon in the pan.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Bacon and eggs. There's also toast on the table too." Luna held her tongue until it became obvious that Harry wouldn't mention it. "How's the job hunt going?" He looked down and fiddled with his finger nail. "I'm still looking." Luna kept her focus rigid on the pan, even though she knew Harry didn't even look at her once to answer. "I hear they're hiring at the brewery. The one on the west end of town,"

Harry swallowed his orange juice. "I'll check it out." Luna let a small sigh escape from her nose. Harry always said that. And he would always follow through. And then he would either get the job and muck it up or be an inappropriate fit because his 'lack of focus,' as they would say sometimes.

Luna didn't so much resent being the sole breadwinner of the household, as much as she resented Harry being home too often. Luna, a cooperate planner for her company, used to work in the comfort of her meek little home office on her laptop. But with Harry home more than the kids, Luna packed up her laptop and stored it away in the long front drawer of her snowy white desk and switched into a narrow little cubby in her office. It wasn't her cup of tea perhaps, but she accustomed herself to it with the other option of babysitting someone who was old enough to fend for themselves.

"Have a good day at school, kids! Love you!" Harry yelled from the car. Beckett was the only child to wave back to Harry, before watching him pull off into the road- the main street in front of the school.

"Maybe he'll get this one and keep it." Beckett caught up with Kinsley and Chase. The three trailed down the same sidewalk that branched into a pathway that led to the front steps of the school. The sky still held a pinkish crimson and the sun was singing down through the branches of trees around the schoolyard. Marking a glow around Beckett's face, Kinsley turned around to make the hazel greenish of his eyes.

"I don't think so. You know Dad- never able to keep a job for more than two or three months. He's been through two jobs already this year." Beckett swallowed and then bit the side of his lip for a bit.

"I know… but Mom said that they're hiring at the brewery, and Dad said he'd check it out." Kinsley looked over to yard of the school. "Dad quit his last job just randomly… he was doing so well and then… well," Kinsley sniffed. "Well, I don't know about Dad, but I do know that once summer break starts, I'm going to look for a job. Maybe it'll help- at least with me, you and Chase. Mom seems set though. It's Dad whose penniless right now."

"Yeah…. I guess." Kinsley swallowed. "With my own job, I can even save for college next year."

This shook Beckett more than he wanted. Kinsley, like most kids her age, were thinking of college. The fresh years of new opportunities, hopes and dreams. But Beckett wouldn't tell Kinsley that he didn't want her to leave him and Chase. But, he wouldn't stop her either. If she decided to leave, then he would let her.

Beckett wrapped an arm around Chase, escorting him to his class only upstairs from most of his own classes. Chase- like on the schoolyard- kept quiet. Silent as a mouse, without so much as a peep from his lips. No one really knew how Chase felt about everything. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Chase seemed to blend in with the crowd. Never standing out, yet never going unnoticed either. Beckett noticed him, even when he wanted to be unseen. Chase- like Beckett- didn't want Kinsley leaving either. But, he didn't hear it the same way Beckett heard it. Chase didn't even hear his father being jobless the same way his siblings heard it.

Not because of bleak innocence or naivety, but because his mind trailed elsewhere. He felt this attachment towards his siblings. They filled or attempted to fill a piece inside of him that had been broken by the bounds and gags of time. The betrayal and the hurt that had seared his heart open, was now stapled together by the hands of his elder siblings presence. Even when Chase wanted to shake Beckett's arm off from his shoulder, he didn't. Even when he didn't want it, he still did. He needed it.

******************************************

Beckett trailed on to his classes, the conversation still fresh in his mind. Maybe Dad would get a good solid job and keep it this time. He hoped. He felt he had to. Beckett knew that he was the only one who shared his stanch optimism. None of his siblings did and neither did his mother. He couldn't blame them. Like Kinsley said: He hadn't been able to keep a job for more than three months at a time and when he would get it, he either would quit them or get fired. It was humiliating. Beckett hated being the son of a man who could barely provide from his family, due to his own lackluster thoughtlessness. While all the other kids could be proud of their fathers, how could Beckett appreciate such a one of his?

The very thought gnawed at him like maggots on rotten flesh. Sweat begin to bead Beckett's head. Then came the stomach knots. Determined to keep his breakfast down, Beckett refused to think of it any longer. He begin to question why he even waved to Harry anyway. He would fail… that was obvious. But, Beckett still couldn't grasp why. Why couldn't his father just hold down even a simple job just for the remainder of the year? It wasn't like that though. Beckett knew it- no matter how he portrayed it to everyone else, he knew Harry would sabotage his chances again. So, Beckett with what he could, strived to keep the cargo carts of the train in their proper tracks. Broken rails or tracks wouldn't halt even just one wheel from the train. As long as it kept chugging along, it would be okay. And that's what Beckett reminded himself of. A plan B was the same as a steady pace. Except, he didn't know what he would do. But, he was satisfied with the hopeful promise he made to himself of reassurance in some way. He didn't what, but he hoped it would be clear soon.

*********************************************

Chase let the door slam a bit behind him. The living room and kitchen lights were off, but the dining room was the light that rang through the downstairs. He didn't see it coming up from around the corner; the living room held a picture window with the window seat that let you catch a quick glimpse of the right corner of the living room if the blinds were somewhat open that evening and the lights were on. As Chase stepped into the dining room, his feet jolted themselves from taking anymore steps forward.

"Hey Champ!" Chase gave a faltering smile to Harry. "Is Mom home yet?" Harry shook his head.

"Nope. But you got me- why don't we do something together? Wanna play a board game or something?" His father's demeanor so cheery and fond, but to Chase, tasting- even just a lick of it- would be a poison. Desirable like a candy apple, but with sinister aftertaste. Chase could only gawk at it and only helplessly imagine that it could be so delicious. 

"Oh, that's okay...I have some homework." Giving a slight smile- an arch more like in his lips- Chase took himself from the doorway of the kitchen and up the stairs into his bedroom. 

Harry sat against the chair, a small furrow crinkling in between his eyebrows. He sat for a moment fiddling with his fingers, before uprooting himself into the kitchen for a drink.

The front door opened again- Beckett appearing through the doorway. Wiping the grass specks from his shoes on the welcome mat, Beckett gave a quick 'hello' to Harry before darting to his bedroom. Harry begin to wonder if a secret was brewing between the two brothers; mannering in the same fashion of bypassing him and hiding in their bedrooms.

Chase felt this thick sense of calm wash over him from Beckett's presense. Tiptoeing from his room, down the hallway to the left, he gave a small knock on Beckett's door. "What?" Chase slowly creeked the door open and made his way to Beckett's bed. "I just wanted to see you," Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Well, here I am." 

"Where were you?"

"After school detention. Kin's there too. I forgot my english assingnment and Kinsley was caught with her friends in the girl's bathroom chatting, which made them late for class." Chase raised his eyebrows quickly. "What's up with you, though?" Chase looked down at floor. He wanted to focus more on tracing each line in between the oak wood panels of Beckett's floor than answer what really sat in his mind. He gave a quick glance up to Beckett, making his brother understand what he didn't want to pull out of his brain. Beckett, raising his eyebrows quickly, turned around to his closet, hooking his jacket onto the hanger.

"Dad...." he whispered. Beckett turned to his bed and sat next to Chase. Wrapping his arm around him, he snuggled him into his side. "It's okay Chase.... it'll be alright, I promise." To Chase, it seemed so sure. Beckett had a way of making everything sound so rosy. But, when it came to his father, it could be anything but that. It wasn't always this way; Harry had his days when fun was just all he thought about.

A fond memory Chase liked to keep was a four year old him with his siblings and Harry as they ran up and down nearly every aisle of the toy store, putting anything they could get their hands on into the basket. Harry bought every last toy from that cart and then ice cream on the way home. Chase never remembered the faint intense conversation his parents had that night, they way Kinsley and Beckett remembered it. Luna never made their toys go back to the store. Instead, she opened a second family account at the bank the following weekend and the event was never spoken of again.

********************************************

Beckett walked down the stairs, meeting Harry's gaze with a fast glance. "Hey Dad," coming closer, Beckett hugged Harry, "sorry, I had something on my mind when I came into the house." Harry gave a smile. "That's okay.... what was on your mind?" Beckett tilted his head from right to left, fastly. "I forgot my English assingment, and so I had detention today." 

"Aw, well... that happens sometimes." The jiggle of keys and then the squeak of the front door opened. Kinsley walked in, hugging her books to her side and her backpack slinging nearly off her shoulder. "Hey Honey!" Kinsley glanced to Harry and smiled. "Hey Dad," Taking in a deep breath, Kinsley shuffled her position- readjusting herself to where the weight of gravity wasn't sinking so much into her spine.

It was like this for a bit: Harry, Kinsely and Beckett sat in the living room, silently watching TV, while Chase was upstairs practicing guitar. Harry slunk in the lazy boy, still trying to figure out the ususal but unversed interaction with his youngest child. Chase and him were two peas in a pod for a time. Chase- the first to run into his father's arms after a long day at school. They'd dance, sing, make cookies together even if Harry burnt them a bit. It everything he ever wanted in a typical father- son relationship. It was perfect, till it wasn't. And no matter how hard Harry tried to reason with himself: puberty, misunderstanding, bad day, bad mood, grew into a more quiet than what Chase already was- it never seemed to fit. It never made sense- as if it ever would. Harry let the sting of cool air burn his eyes- not blinking back the small tears forming in them. Harry learned to mourn a child that he didn't actually lose, but still lost in someway. He didn't know why... but he promised himself, one day, he would understand. And they'll fix it and build it back up again.

************************************

If it wasn't the ten o'clock slam of the front door, then it was the impeding guant look that was spread all across Luna's face. Hanging her keys on the rack by the door, Luna squeezed her neck, stretched it back to where her eyes shot up to the celling, then bent it down, where her eyes were at the floor. Kinsley sat in the lazy boy, flipping through channels- turning it off once her mother entered the room. "Hey,"

"Hey, Mom." Kinsley rubbed her heavy eyes and was on her way upstairs. "How was school?" Kinsley turned to see her mother. Haggered and bleached like she had been sundried in a burning boiling pot. Kinsley bit the corner of her lip. "It was good."

"Anything unusal happen?" Was this her mother's chance of trying to make conversation? At this hour? Kinsley sucked down the urge to roll her eyes; snatching any remaints of her exsasperation to snap at Luna. "I got detention- stayed too long in the girl's room, talking to my friends." Luna nodded slightly. Kinsley didn't even bother to give even a curve of a smile. She just trailed up the stairs leaving Luna to hear the faint slam of her bedroom door.

**************************************

It couldn't have been more than two weeks in. Harry was actually at work, caculating the sales of the latest beer shipments, when it happened. Harry caught this thought in his head; a chug test with all the other factory guys- sitting around slurping down beers themselves- to cheer him on, as he downed four, then five then seven, then ten. A caffine type of adrenaline. A high that didn't seem to come down from Harry, even if he was unaware of how it still lingered through him for several days. Waking up with a hangover type sleepiness; needing an eight hour nap, just for the energy to wake in the morning. By afternoon, feeling like exspresso was injected into he veins, Harry strolls out of the house to wherever he choses to go.

The sheer pink in Luna's face when she recived the call. Making a deal with the boss, Harry wasn't suspended- but forced to telecommute from the moment on. The flushy pink soon turned to blazing red. If it wasn't the slam of the front door after she brought Harry home, it was the folders being slammed over the counter. She didn't speak a word to Harry on the way home, but did expect some type of gratitude notion for saving him from himself. Luna barely breathed a sigh by Harry. It was credible of how much anger she was filled with, yet kept it so contained- the slightest suggestion of it- besides the obvious- didn't even exist. Storming silently into her office, Luna looked- scurtinzed the bulletin board for the little sticky note reminder she had hung only the week before. The little nudging note of hope, that Luna might be able to return to the homey little office she once engaged in. Reading the note over and over again: Tell Pete about telecommuting.... 

Luna violently snatched the note so hard from the little thumbtack it hung on, that a piece of the yellow sticky note still lingered around the little needle. Shoving the paper into the trash, Luna slammed herself down into her chair and buried her head into her palms. She wanted to cry but couldn't. She felt like it.... but no tears squeezed out. Luna believed this was the occassion she could treat herself to a good little cry. She even envisioned how the tears would fall neatly down her cheeks and drip off her chin and onto her black pencil skirt. But..... nothing. No tears, no crying. So, she tried anger. Luna was full of it from head to toe, but couldn't even find the strength to scream or holler even a little bit. Sure, she slammed the door, threw her folders over the kitchen counter and snatched the note from the board and threw it into the trash before throwing herself harshly into her chair. Rare reactions- sparse from the unusual. Luna barely ever made a sound. She knew that what she felt entitled to and what she deserved, where very different from how she actually felt.

In fact, she felt shame. Shamed at the reaction of slamming this and that around, sliently taking her rage out on such useless objects. So, that's why she wanted to cry. But, Luna still felt shame from that too. Even soppy tears would wash away the shame of rage she allowed to be exposed. Heck, Luna didn't even feel that much shame either. In fact, she didn't feel much of anything now. Just nothing- hollow and empty like an open nut. No flavor or sentimental taste. Luna didn't know what to feel, so, she felt nothing. Deep down, she felt something, but it wouldn't matter anyway. Nothing would change. Luna could get angry, she could cry, scream, yell, rip her hair out.... but it would all stay the same. A tear finally threatned to spill- just like Luna wanted.

But, it stopped. Not enough lubricant in her eyes to let that little tear fall all the way down. If that tear fell, no one would hear it. So..... Luna quickly wiped it away, like it never even existed.

*****************************************

Luna knew where this came from. All too well did she understand the luggage she carried around with her for all her life. It underlined something in Luna after she had received the call from the hospital a few years back on a fall night in October. Her mother, Diane, had finally passed away. This wasn't a shock to Luna- she had gotten a call before that very month, that her mother wanted to see her- she was dying already then.

But, Luna chose not to. It wasn't because of a painful image of her guant and frail mother lying helplessy in her hospice bed. But rather because she felt no attachment to this woman. Confused with why her mother even wanted see Luna after all these years was a mystery in itself. Luna couldn't even feel sorry for the reality that her father wasn't even with Diane during her final days like she would've wanted. Luna felt indifferent to this- possibly even a bit smug- that her mother didn't get what she wanted. She had nothing and no one there by her side except the tubes of her IV and monitors.

After everything she put Luna through- her and Luna's father- it was the least she could expect.

****************************************

Luna was a surprise baby. On her father's end she was. For years, her and Luna's father, Simon, tried over and over for a baby. A year went by, then two and three years, then five. January rang in with a somber despair for the couple. The baby they hoped for, now seemed like a faded dream. Diane decided she would visit the clinc one day. Tired of wondering why and never knowing the reasons, finally bubbled to the surface in a determination.

Never able to visit one before- her husband insisting that they could take this on themselves and that there was no need for medicine to interfere in their quest for a family. Finally fed up, Diane waited for Simon to leave for work, before taking the next bus to the clinic. 

All tests were negative. Everything was done: pap smears, pelvic exam, mammogram, heart exam, all the way down to scalp and toes. Diane was perfectly healthy. A near perfect uterus and reproductive system. A jolting thought ran through her like lightning. Diane couldn't let her mind wander in the direction it was striving to go in. She was fertile. The problem.....Simon was not. Explaing the situation to the doctor, he suggested Simon take testosterone. "Maybe it'll boost his little fellas." Diane nervously chuckled along with Doctor, who seemed proud of his little 'lighten the mood' context words. Diane figured a good laugh would be worth more than what Simon was going to offer. He would never go for the idea, no matter how medical accurate it was. He'd probably be mad that Diane even went to specialist in the first place.

On the bus ride home, a small tear escaped Diane's eye, then another- slowly dripping to the rubber floor like a sheltered type of springtime rain. Diane thought of home- she didn't want to be there. To walk into the home where her desire for one of the most exspensive dreams she had, would not be fulfilled. At the grips of her husband's hands, Simon would never share the same judgement for the opportunity the way she did. Letting the bus pass her neighborhood; strolled over the small hill that led a straight shot into the city, Diane found that maybe a drink would ease her. A bloody mary sat neatly in front of her as she took in the chatter of the bar. Not one to drink so openly, Diane didn't think to care anymore. Two bloody marys later and soon, a tall brawny man about her age, sat down next to her. 

Even to this day, Diane didn't understand exactly what it was about that man that enticed her so much. But she went for it anyway. Shoving her diamond ring into the pocket of her dress, Diane and this man came to a hotel and spent the rest of that day together. Diane still liked to reimagine the way his thick fingers ran through her brunette locks. The way he sweetly kissed her body, tracing his lips up and down her belly. His burly body pressed against hers; heaving against each other like clapping hands. Out of breath with her lipstick now smeared, Diane rolled over and sat up. Grabbing her little pink and yellow dress that had been thrown over the floor, and shuffling her little wedge flip flops back on, Diane straightened her hair- combing her fingers through it to neaten it, before kissing the man goodbye and catching a taxi to home.

It was a month in when the pangs of cramps hit Diane. Spotting, but no period. No problem she thought. Maybe just a stomach bug. Next month introduced the morning sickness. Even the smell of eggs seemed to make Diane want to vomit. Simon watched as his wife's face would turn green with everything. Running back and forth to the bathroom- sometimes to throw up, other times to pee. Diane gained her appetite a week later when she craved a hotdog with chocolate syrup drizzled over it. Simon's face begin to turn green this time as he watched Diane eat the whole thing in nearly one bite. Combing her hair that evening while Simon was nuzzled under the covers, it struck Diane like a hot searing slap across the face.

She was pregnant. She knew she was- Diane couldn't possibly mistake the symptoms. But it wasn't so much the pregnancy that shocked her. It was who had gotten her pregnant. Simon still remained infertile, but Diane was now forced to think long and hard to what happened. The man- the burly man from the bar a two months ago. He was the father- she was of it. He was the only other person she slept with. The nine months went by quickly as it seemed to Simon. But to Diane, it was long and drawn out. The guilt and fear eating her alive. Simon would find out; a paternity test would make the truth become squeaky clean and she couldn't avoid it. Diane's baby girl was placed over her chest. She took in the deep aqua eyes she had and the ginger pink lips. Like a beatiful china doll, she was perfect in every way. And Diane couldn't deny the affection she had for her. Luna. The Latin word for a rich night sky with a beaming bright moon. "Hi, Luna, Come here, Luna." Testing it out like how an owner would for their new pet.

As Diane cuddled the baby in the nook of her arms, Simon entered the room. A flat exspression unlike the cooing estatic one he carried from seeing a baby; covered in blood, mucus and whatever else, being pulled from her mommy and placed over Diane's bare chest. 

Diane couldn't meet his eyes. "I named her Luna.... I know how much you loved the name when I brought it to you....."

"Seems fitting 'you' named her..... she's not my child." Diane swallowed. "Um..."

"DIANE!" She cramped up. Holding the baby girl tightly in her arms, Diane felt the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Shaky breaths soon filled her lungs. Finally meeting her husband's angry face, Diane broke. "I-I-I'm so sorry....."

"You're sorry?" "Yes. I-I-I don't know what happened...."

"Really? You don't know what happened?! For God's sake- you ran out with some other guy and Luna is his kid!" Diane couldn't speak. "Is he here?! Where is he?! Do you know him?!" Diane shook her head. "Diane.... you better say he attacked you or I'm leaving!"

"No Simon! Yes, we went together.... It was after my appointment with the gynocologist- I went to one shortly after you went to work- and I was perfectly fine! I could have children- you're the one who can't! He suggested you take testosterone, but I knew you wouldn't. Simon, you didn't want it- you didn't want to do anything! You can't expect kids to just fall from the sky and into your lap! I wanted this!"

"So now it's my fault?!" "I never said that..."

"You didn't have to..." Simon sighed. "Diane?" She looked into his eyes again. "His. Name."

"I don't know... we met at a bar and after a few drinks... we went to a hotel and...." Diane could feel Simon's blazing stare. "we spent the day together. I forgot his name."

Simon snorted. "You don't just forget your lover's name.... dumb slut." "Simon!"

"You are one! God damnit, Diane! What the hell?!" Diane's lips quivered. Listening to Simon take in a deep sigh, she felt like water was filling her lungs. The shame- her face red as a tomato. She did want this.... no matter what price.... Diane wanted it to happen. 

"I'm sorry......."

************************************

Nothing was the same from that day on. Luna's birth- a day supposed to be celebrated with such cheer and glee- was one of a painful hars memory that overshadowed her coming into the world. Simon chose to stay. He didn't want word going around of his daughter- the baby he took home from the hospital- not even being one of his flesh and blood. So, he didn't say a word and only stayed for the latter reason. But Luna still wasn't loved by him. She wasn't about to be loved by anyone.... not even her own mother either.

Simon hated Diane because of her unfaithfulness and Diane hated Luna because in her eyes, her birth ruined her perfect picket fence marriage. The baby she had known to love in the delivery room, was now the vain of her existance. Although, Luna was never smacked around or called out of her name.... she was just ignored. As if she didn't even exist. And somehow, that hurt worse. 

If Luna gained a scraped knee that needed bandaging or a tummy ache that needed soothing, she would get none of that. Her cries- even as a small infant- were ignored. Diane changed Luna when she felt like it or she would feed her when it was easiest for her. Eventually a three week year old Luna got the message. No one was coming for her. 

At five, her teeth were perfect. Pearly white, straight, zero cavities... she had to- who would take her to the dentist? Granted, there were appointments made for her; social services was the last thing her parents wanted to deal with. But, it wasn't too often. Luna craved for Simon's attention. But he brushed her off and did what he wanted. So, Luna would run to Diane. "Luna, I'm busy- go away." So, she went away. Luna would jump off furniture and 'hurt' herself. A wail would crawl from her, but one answered. Luna would get straight A's. But no one noticed- they didn't care. Luna- sixteen, and not one of her proudest moments- pretened that she was pregnant.

"Luna. If you're pregnant, then you have to get a job and figure this out- I'm not in the mood right now." And Diane just walked away. Simon said nothing and just continued watching 'The Price Is Right.' Heartbroken, Luna ran to her bedroom and decided that she would give up. No more tricks or gimmicks.... nothing else. No one would help, no one would care, no would love her. Luna learned to accept that.

Day after day, Luna would see Diane though attempt to fetch Simon's attention and love. "Diane, stop blocking the TV!" or "What do want?" Harsh and unforgiving; symbolic in how rotted their love was by now. Luna wondered why Diane stayed- why couldn't she be the one to leave? Diane- slaving and worshipping the ground her husband walked on- not from love but desperation. She made a mistake and was willing to pay whatever the cost just to be loved again. Diane missed the warmth of her husband's arms and linger of his gentle words. She devoted herself hopelessly to gain them again. A silent promise she made to herself. Luna would be shoved away while Diane would be making Simon's favorite dinner or massaging his feet, but without any cognizance from him. It was the same old patteren in their house: Diane would feed for Simon's affection. He would ignore or berate her. Diane would be reminded of why: the mistake that cost her everything. She would then blame Luna and leave her without her love. Simon hated Luna, because she wasn't his child.

Eighteen year old Luna left her home and ran to the next city over for a fresh start. College became her routine. Luna loved the little dorm room she had just three levels over the library and the science lecture hall. A sunkist peach color, matching the white window panes and door jams. A mellow yellow bedset with sprinkles of pastel pink and blue was something Luna was particularly proud of. The very first thing she had bought with the money she made from working in the college library. It was soft, cottony and kept the same serotonin vibe from the very day she laid eyes on it.

It was her second year; freshman days when Luna's hair had reddish streaks through it, dark cherry red was her favorite lipstick shade for a night out and matching maroon nails for an extra good day after hours when everyone was sat in their dorms or they pulled an all nighter in study hall. But it was second period when she met Harry. A shy young man, chocolate curls that hued in the sunlight or from the blaring beams of the sun through the arched half fan windows in the library or the lunchroom. His dimples reminded her of Hugh Grant- a sugary hospitable gentleness that rang through them with every smile he flashed. Luna- barely even knowing him at the time- felt a safety with Harry.

Harry- charming, gathering every form of attention around him. Some good, some bad. Professors would either give a nice and polite 'hello' to him or they would stick up their noses and shuttle past without even making eye contact. It never bothered Harry... at least not in the way it bothered Luna. Never a people pleaser, she never made trouble either. She would get herself up and drag down the halls to even the most boring classes she had because, they still mattered to her. Harry had Luna's English course and would sometimes tickle her toes with his foot whenever they sat across from each other. Luna- enthralled and flatered by this affection- she didn't understand why he was gnawing for hers so much.

Their lunch period sycned together and then eventually, Harry would at the library everyday. Reading up on his finacial studies, Harry would be there from late afternoon to late evening some days. Luna would blush everytime she made contact with his green eyes and he would dart back with this playful smirk. Luna would give a small polite smile- one she thought to be just plain polite and conducted- but lat on to be more playful than she wanted. But... it was no accident. Luna knew it to be unhealthy to retain the way her breath became shaky and jiddery like she had just ran across the entire room five times. Or the way her heartbeat bounced up and down like a rubber ball. Her face would sting like she had spilt her pants or fell down a flight of stairs in front of a crowd, and her palms would sweat and make the grip she had on the books she was stocking, slippery and sticky. And then a book slipped from her hand as she was standing on her tippy toes to place it on a shelf a few spaces higher than her head.

Squinting her eyes and ducking her head down a bit to make the pound of the book hitting more bearable, it never happened. "Whoops!" A husky voice said. Opening her eyes, Luna locked hers into Harry's. "You alright?" Luna blinked. "Oh yeah, yeah.... thanks. I'm so clumsy." Luna internally slapped her forehead for being so dumb.

Harry chukled. "Happens to me all the time.... stocks and bond books are super thick, so when they hit my head- I'm shocked I don't get knocked out." Luna let herself chuckle. Her eyes sparkled to Harry. Like glint diamonds that gave her these baby doll like stares. The tension had been building for awhile, and Harry just couldn't resist. Neither could Luna, no matter how hard she tried. Harry leaned in like a whisper and then softly put his lips to hers with a passionate lock that lasted for nearly two minutes. Luna let her heart flutter and sync with Harry's in that moment. It felt like kindered spirits took form and shadowed into a musk of themeselves. 

It stroked on their inner passions that they locked inside for each other and collided into a whirlwind of lust and enamored affection for each other. Luna craved and lived for the way Harry would gently stroke her hair as she would drift to sleep in the crooks of his crossed legs. Harry's cheek kisses on rainy cold winter days when all Luna could think about was how empty she thought herself to be. Harry accepted Luna even more than she accepted herself. She would give dove kisses and gentle strokes over his face, but sometimes words became fumbled. They never came out the way Luna wanted them to.... they never came out at all. Luna would try hard to form the words- the emotions behind them to mix into this bubble of admiration for the man she loved, but nothing came out.

Luna understood why. Spending so long, hiding her feelings- her deepest heartaches and sorrows of life. She couldn't remember how it felt to smile out loud or to whimper even behind the barracade of her dorm door. Trapped with seemingly no escape from the chains of her hollow soul, Luna could never grow to love this side of her. But Harry could. Still, Luna felt he deserved better. Harry didn't. Harry kissed the floors she walked on and licked the air she tasted. Luna loved Harry's little quirks; focusing on the little crumbs of the desk- rearranging them into little piles before sweeping them into his palm and shaking it into the trash bin. Days where midnights were Harry's afternoons and he'd stroll Luna into the park for a moonlight picnic or a trip to the store for ice cream because he caught a craving. Harry would be super affectionate- showering Luna in suffocating kisses all over her face and big teddy bear type hugs over her body. It was like an adrenaline rush of love whenever his warmth would wrap around like a fuzzy sweater in the break of cold.

She needed it. She needed Harry. 

It was shortly after college when Luna and Harry tied the knot. Becoming steady in their careers, Luna soon found Harry lagging behind. It was two years and then Harry lost his job. Quit because he decided he wanted to study marine biology instead. Luna- stuffing her bleak hope inside- encouraged her husband to do what made him happy. His studies didn't last and it became apparent- neither did his other jobs. Then Luna fell pregnant. Stifiling down the anger and bitterness, Luna continued working until she no longer could- her belly being too heavy to sit at her desk anymore. It was during her seventh month when Harry came home with a new job. Harry held onto it all the way up until their next child was born.

Two kids, full time. Luna couldn't hold any more loads than what she was already carrying. While Harry got to graze from job to job without a care in the world, Luna was stifled with holding down both the fort from home and her work. She chose to telecoummute after Kinsley was born, not bearing the thought of being seperated from her child for even a second. 

Luna could recall that one Thursday evening when Harry stumbled in the house- drunk and now jobless. As high as the steam was pouring from Luna's head, she bit her tongue and chose the silent treatment. So enraged- silently and carefully perhaps- Luna stormed upstairs and into her and Harry's bedroom where she stuffed all the clothes and items she wanted to carry with her into two suitcases. Shoving them under the bed, Luna was shaken from her thoughts when a small cry was heard from Kinsley's bedroom. Scooping her up into her arms, Luna sat her three year old daughter in her lap and pulled out a 'Clifford The Big Red Dog' book.

It was during that particular story time when Luna was reading Kinsley to sleep. Beckett was sound asleep in his crib and Harry was downstairs drinking while reading some papers from his ex job. The quietness just floated into Luna. It set the mode from frenzy houswife mood to chill bedtime mommy. As Luna closed the book, Kinsley was fast asleep. Her monotone voice was soothing to her little one's eardrums, enough to make her snooze into the soft touch of her mommy's arms. Luna set the book down and just held Kinsley. She held onto her tightly like she was slipping from her grip. Pressing Kinsley's little head to the hollow of her breasts, Luna let the world just swish like waves under their feet. Pulling Kinsley back into her sight- gawking at her with such pride; sweet cherishing hopes of what Luna had pictured with her first child started forming in this very moment. She felt brave- brave enough to lean foward with her lips puckered aiming for Kinsley's forehead......

But she couldn't. Luna didn't know what it was: the rattling memory of not being kissed herself or the uncharted territory of doing this for her own child herself without the natural incline to do so without blinking an eye. It brought shame to Luna- like she was doing something wrong. No one was there to tell her it was right; natural as the feel of fresh blooming spring air aginst the forearm of your arms. A guilt rose through Luna- angered at not being able to plant a simple kiss to her own child's forehead and feeling ashamed to want to do so. Like it wasn't something she earned... or deserved. Pulling Kinsley slowly away from her, Luna set her back into her bed, tucking the covers around her. A tear wanted to spill from her eye, but she shoved it back up into herself, not daring to let even just one tear hit the floor. 

Tiptoeing from Kinsley's room, Luna kicked herself for her weakness. Steading herself against the railing of the stairs, she met eyes with Harry. She would never know- even to this day- how he understood how she felt. Stretching an arm out for her, Luna fell into it and let a few tears drop. Everything he had done before then didn't matter anymore. Only the gentle wisps of his breath were all Luna let herself feel. In his arms, nothing could break in between them. Like a safety net of some sort, held Luna tightly even when she couldn't hold herself. She let herself fall into her husband's arms and never wanted to break out of them.

It was early the next morning, Luna unpacked the suitcases. Looking over to the nightstand with her and Harry's wedding picture, Luna thought about last night. And for this reason, the desire to tear that apart didn't exist anymore. 

************************************

Luna gathered herself from the chair and wiped her face- her hands searching for any residue tears that might've escaped. Dry. Just the way she wanted it. Luna cleared her throat and sheltered herself in the bedroom. Glancing over at the nightstand picture of her and Harry, Luna sighed and rolled over, not leaving the room again until dinner time.

******************************************

"I think it's time to call the police," Beckett appeared through from the kitchen door, shortcutting into the living room. "it's been too long now." 

Chase scratched his head. "You really think so? Shouldn't we give it another day?" Beckett shook his head. "No. Not this time... something could've actually happened to them this time." This worried Chase. A panic shook through his gut. What if something did actually happen to his parents? The guilt of accusing them of being irresposible if the worst were to have happened would be too much for Chase. His view of them- twisted and curved in different places. Already fragile like a fine string of fabric, the break in it would be their obtuse and obscure indifference to worrying their children to brink of insanity. 

"I think we should wait some more." Kinsley interrupted the inspiring tension in the room. "Why? It's-" Beckett checked his watch, "been nearly a week. This is ridiculous!" Kinsley raised her eyebrows in agreement. "I know.... this happens all the time. I hate to say it but-" She sighed. "let's wait just a few more days and then if by next Monday they don't show, we'll call the police. They've been gone longer than this before..... it's not unusual." 

Beckett licked his lips and slowly nodded. "Yeah..."

"I hate this! Why can't they just come home!?" Beckett sympathized with his little brother. "I know Chase.... I wish they'd come home too."

"I'm going to see if that one Chinese place delivers..." Kinsley excused herself upstairs, leaving the boys on the living room couch. Beckett wasn't aware of the frown sprawled across his face. "Beck..." Beckett looked up. "What's going to happen to us?" Chase leaned against his brother's arm. Beckett wrapped his arm around his younger brother and just stared off into space. "We'll be okay..." He finally spoke. The words echoed into Chase's head. He wanted to believe that. And for awhile.... he did. But it wasn't.... it would never be okay as long as he still kept the memory of the day his life turned around inside his brain- replaying over and over like a recording of his nightmare.

Beckett was like Harry. More mature, wiser, understanding, smart.... collected. Never prone to these outbursts, but rather a steady head in the tornado winds of danger. Beckett had nerves of steel.....something he never knew he would appreciate at his age now. Chase quietly went upstairs, Beckett's eyes on him- he could feel them. They bored into the back of his head like beaming headlights. Maybe Beckett felt responsible for watching Chase wander up those stairs by himself.... or maybe he was just as scared as he was.

Chase found himself on his bed, dazed and wondering if he was asleep and that this was all some lucid dream from staying up a little too late. But as the clock ticked by; the only sound in his noise free bedroom, Chase felt something inside him drop. Anger. Throwing and thrashing his pillows all over his room, internally screaming at Luna and Harry for abandoning him the way they did. Then his screams became loud, but muffled into the pillow he slept on every night. He hated his parents for this. Hated how distant his mother could get... hated how crazy his father went. The person he loved more than anyone else in the world, let him down- brutally betrayed him.

It was Harry's fault that he slept with his teddy bear every night; shoving the bear closely to his face to feel safe again. All because he didn't have it. Chase wasn't safe. And Harry took it all away from him. The cozy warm feeling of Harry's arms, now made him dizzy and sick like he'd been on a carousal a thousand times. How his father never changed, but worsened. Sitting back while watching everyone pick up his pieces off the ground. And Chase saw that now. The man he loved; everything about him being made of magic, was now a curse that he learned to live around. He had to learn to adapt if he chose his life. And it was during that one Christmas.... he learned it the hard way. How life can be fun and exciting, could turn into a hellish dizzy daydream that you can't exit from.

*********************************

It was during winter break. The children were all too excited for school to be done for two weeks and for Christmas to be right around the corner. Harry had been given a week off from work, while Luna still had to put in her ovetime to gather up the wish list budget from each of the children. Bored from being stuck in the house; too cold for sledding, to humid for ice skating, Harry took notice. A ride around downtown and then a quick stop for some hot chocolate he thought. Rounding up the kids, hustling their coats and boots on, Harry and the kids gathered into the car- slowly pulling out of the driveway before peering onto the snowflaked covered street, no other car in sight.

The city seemed whimsical. As the car made its way around the city, the snowflakes began to pour down harder. A chilly rain- melting on the windshield as they hit. Harry glanced through the rearview mirror to see three little heads enjoying their day of fun in the snow. And then Harry turned back. Spotting this snowflake, nothing too particular about it, but it gnawed at Harry. Keeping track with it, they passed the Starbucks and zoomed father and father away from their home and deeper into the city.

The adreniline picked up. Harry pressed the gas harder. The car picked up speed from every angle. "Daddy...." Kinsley warned, squeezing her seatbelt tighter. Harry jolted from one corner to the next, keeping steady with this one snowflake that he couldn't lose sight of for a moment. His foot pressed the gas harder and turned another corner, nearly sliding into a stuck out truck. "Daddy!" Beckett yelled. "Daddy! Stop!"

"DADDY! STOP! YOU'RE GOING TOO FAST!" Kinsley screamed. Harry- focused on the snowflake didn't slow the car down... picked up in fact. 

Chase, screaming crying in the backseat. Unable to force his father to slow the car down, the fear begin to become all too real for him. "WE'RE GONNA DIE!" He screamed.

"Dad! Pull the car over! Stop the car! Stop Dad! STOP!" Beckett, gripping his seatbelt and telling Chase to tighten his. Laughter soon became tears and screams. But Harry still kept chasing that snowflake.....right into a lamp post.

As the smoke cleared, so did everyone's voices. The front car totaled, but everyone else was fine. Harry and the kids were rushed to the hospital. Under the pretense of just 'an accident' no charges were filed against Harry and that was that. Luna was called; rushed to the hospital and took everyone home while fishing out money to repair the car as a trade for half the Christmas budget. But presents were the least of the children's concern. Kinsley and Beckett refused to talk to Harry, but it was Chase- still in shock- didn't even acknowledge his father. "He could've killed us..." He said, one night while he was still awake. His father, the man who meant everything to him.......his protecter, nearly killed him. Killed them all, even himself. Reckless, callous, horrid.... were all the words that swirled around Chase's head. 

Even when Kinsley and Beckett listened in on the screeching argument their parents had over the event; Luna verbally threatning to leave him, but instead, made him pay her back the money she had to spend on the damage. Chase sat in his room, holding himself crying soft tears. Reaching for his teddy bear- he last used it at five- Chase now held it close to him, trying hard to remember the fond memories with it, instead of the suffocatingly horrific nightmare he was living in. 

Beckett and Kinsley- already protective of their little brother- became even more sharp eyed over him. Chase didn't mind it. He stayed close to them more so anyway. A silent agreement they all made at Christmas dinner when they exchanged smiles with each other- scorning any sights from their parents. Luna bit her lip, cheeks flushed as she glared angrily at Harry while trying to finish the ham she had on her plate.

Chase would walk past Harry; say 'hello' and then focus on himself. He wouldn't crawl into Harry's arms anymore for storytime, or ask him to kiss his scrapped knee. Chase, didn't even want to be alone with Harry. No more single shopping trips, unless one of his siblings or Luna was there. No cookie baking parties alone, no trips to the park, or to the cafe around the block.... no car rides. Nothing.

Chase would only try to forgive.... but he knew he never will. He could never forget what happened that December. No one could.

***************************************

Although Harry was responsible for his recklessness, he wasn't all to blame. There was something inside him that couldn't help itself. He held no control over his own mind and body most of the time. Becoming a part of normalcy for Harry, but keenly unaware of how abnormal it became for everyone around him. Blissfully ignorant, but well meaning, Harry made more problems than solutions. Harry, before meeting Luna, would never tell her about the many girls he slept with. Giving himself to ones he did or didn't know. Once sober of this, Harry let the weight of guilt and disgust pound onto his shoulders like barbells. And he carried it with every step he took; walking around the city, no matter what he did, the guilt lingered like a bad odar. Until the next high, when all Harry could think about was how everything he touched shimmered or became sparkly and echoed like halos circled around it, invitingly.

Harry, at nineteen, snuck into the backyard of a stranger's home and used their hose to shower himself off, getting him arrested. Or when the police finally caught up to him: shirtless, giddy and swinging on the playground's swingset, oblivious smile spread over his face like he was a kid in an amusment park.

Harry escaped with parole and community service. And from there, his arrest record was clear. But it was one thing that stayed the same no matter what. His evaluation. "I suspect Bipolar One Disorder." The psychiatrist said. And Harry did indeed have the disease. "No I don't! I feel fine!"

"Mr. Styles.... you're very sick. You are Bipolar- you'll need medication and some therapy-"

"NO WAY!" His lawyer tried calm him down. "I'm fine!"

"You wanna end up in prison?!" The detective snapped. "They'll lock you up if you do something like this again- you're lucky the judge took pity on you because he realized you were ill!" 

"Harry, that's a good point, you might not get a deal like this again-"

Harry scoffed. "That doesn't mean I'm ill! I'm fine...." He whispered. The lawyer and the detective exchanged looks. "Harry....."

"Just leave me alone! I'm fine... why won't anyone believe me?" The detective sighed. "You broke into someone's backyard and used their hose to shower.... why should anyone believe that's normal? Do you realize they would've had the right to shoot you? Do you realize it might not go the way it's going now, the next time?"

Harry nodded. He talked with the laywer, who- under Harry's direction- decided to take the medication. Once his court time was up, Harry went off the meds and continued doing whatever. He rejected it until he no longer had to.

It was always this way; Harry going through his everyday with the same little bug trapped in his head- impusling him to want to dive off the highest bridge or soar through the pervaded streets at nightime in a stolen Jaguar. Harry had these impulses and highs and lows for most of his life. 

As a child, Harry learned that imaginary friends were the best kind. The smell of gin and rum sometimes snaking into the furnace and spraying his bedroom with the stench. So, in the winters, when the furnace was on full blast, Harry would let them open all morning and then by evening, cover them up. 

Despite the stench of rum or whiskey on his father's breath, on sober days, he was fun to play with. Mostly Sundays; the game was on and Harry's father, Irving, was calm and quiet. He let Harry on his lap and would tell funny stories of how he came up with the name 'Harry' based off a funny comic he saw in a newspaper once as a little boy. Irving was kind- kissing his son's face randomly and giving big bear hugs just because. Harry liked to feel himself in his father's presence. Warm, fuzzy and cozy with sensual relief from the other side of his home.

Jane. His mother. Always angry, always drunk. Ranting about something Irving did or something he himself did. "You little fuck up!" She would scream. "I should've had that abortion!" 

It was when Harry, ten years old, that Jane ran out of her typical 'happy drinks' and tried to force Harry to get some more. He wouldn't. Tired of dealing with her unstable mood, the thought of Jane's anger might've stemmed from the alcohol she consumed on a regular basis- a school project Harry's class had been studying on. 'Just say no!' campaign for alcohol and drug abuse. Angrily, Jane grabbed one of Harry's favorite toy trucks and destroyed it right in front of him. "There... you won't listen to me, you don't have a truck anymore." Tears fell from Harry's eyes, ignoring his mother screaming at him to stop crying and get her beer.

Irving came home and argued with Jane over the incident. As Harry hid around the staircase, Irving and Jane seemed to be in a challange as to who could scream the loudest. "I hate that kid! And I hate you!" Jane's face, scrunched in this tight scowl, giving her son the stink eye from the living room corner. "You!" She screamed. Charging up the stairs, she grabbed Harry's leg and dragged him down the stairs only halfway until Irving grabbed Jane's arm and smacked her cheek so hard that blood dripped from his hand as well. Stunned, Harry layed paralyazed over the stairs. Jane, shaking and unable to speak, Irving forced her to meet his burning eyes. "It's not his fault.... it's yours." he sneered. Letting her go, Jane fell to the ground. Irving poured his rum over her head. "There's your beer, bitch," throwing the can over her head, "tell me how you like it now."

Irving took Harry from the steps and the two left for dinner at the diner. Harry could only look back at his mother, flank and huddled over the floor, trembling. "Don't look at her," his father instructed. "she got exactly what she deserved." Harry bit his lip. Deep down... maybe Irving was somewhat right. After all the times she made Hary cry and shake himself to sleep from fear, this was a thristy comuppance coming.

The diner rang of newcomers and goers all through the night. Like Harry and Irving were avoiding going home. Harry was full: Two big cheeseburgers, fries, a Coke and a chocolate milkshake and a side of pickles. "You need your veggies, bud." Harry was still shocked, unable to grasp this side of his father. Irving, for as long as Harry knew him, would walk away from a fight. Irving never stood up for Harry so blantenly; buying replacements of everything Jane destroyed from anger was his way of loyality. It frightened Harry. He never seen his mother so frail and delicate in the way he saw her down those steps. 

The way her cheek was bloody, like someone gashed it in. It dripped from her face, perfectly onto her peach dress and then onto the wooden floors. Seeing Jane like that, Harry squinched himself into her image. What of that was him? What if he was the one that was slapped from upsetting Irving? It didn't take long for Harry to see that his father's breath had that rum smell it always did. It sent a sick feeling through his body; a wave of unsurety spiked through his stomach. What if Jane would take revenge on Harry for causing Irving to do this to her. Would she leave? Would she mellow out and become puny in the eyes of her husband? Looking into Irving's eyes, Harry became small in them. No longer the man that could lift the sky, but now someone who could crush it with just the tips of his fingers.

Going home, things were quiet. The house clean, and the blooded spot where Jane layed, was cleaned like it never happened. Jane was sleeping or at least half asleep on the couch when they returned. Harry ran upstairs- not wanting to see anymore interactions between his parents. "Babe...." Irving shook Jane. "Babe...." he shook her again. 

Harry listened as Irving sighed. He called the police and the ambulance, thinking Jane drunk herself unconscience. But it was that Wednesday afternoon, during Harry's math class, when Jane was pronouced dead. Alcohol poisoning. 

It was just Harry and Irving from that moment on. On good days, they were the best of buddies, on bad days, he was just in the way. A hate love they became, making the eggshells Harry was already walking on, become broken glass. Maybe it was his grandfather who he had to thank for all this. Irving would tell him of how his father, would explode sometimes over minor little things and that it made Irving become very quiet and denfensive- ready to pounce whenever his father did.

When the day came to leave Irving, Harry felt this thick wrap of sadness and freedom. Free from the eggshells, sad from the fondness they shared as father and son. Harry gave his father one last kiss on the cheek as a momento for all the times he did, before leaving for college. It was the following year when Irving's cancer finally took over him. A hole was left in Harry, but quickly healed itself with the thought of Harry's future.

Big home, bright sunnyside yard, a family of a loving wife and two or three beatiful children. Those eggshells would never exist in their home; neither the tension or the pain or the lingering fear of the what ifs. And it was just that, that made Harry feel complete again.

But, the bug- the little glitch in his brain. It had blossomed in ten year old Harry that day. He wasn't even aware but it did. His ubrupt talking in class, or the way he would run through the snow in his boxers or swimmer trunks sometimes, it was all just fun. Childlike behavior as everyone would see it. Cause, he was just a child.

At twelve, Harry took his sled and climbed to the tallest hill from the city dump, stood on top of the sled and flew through the junk, dodging it like he was a professional. Nothing too serious, thought Irving. "Harry, use your brain, son." he would say. Some days, Harry would sleep all through it. Apathetic and gloomy over nothing. Then the insomnia where the kitchen counters had to be cleaned before his head even nicked the pillow, or some nights, Harry would crave cookies. So, he'd sneak out, run to the convenience store and grab a bunch. When caught, Harry was just.....indifferent. Not cruel or grimly..... just discontent. Was this some form of puberty hormones his father supsected. But, it was never looked into that much, because Harry kept it tame until he reached his late teens, early adulthood. By then, no one was more responsible for Harry, than himself.

And slowly, but surely, that euphoric dream of his happy family, slowly burned out like the last flame of a washed away campfire.

*******************************************

Kinsley sat in her bedroom, twirling her razor in between her fingers. She stared into the blades- three straight sharp lines shiny against the light of her bedroom. Alone and tranquil, she slowly scoots herself from off the bed, turns off the light and locks her door. Taking a seat on the floor; feeling the carpet underneath her socks. Kinsley thinks of her parents, especially her mother. 

Never having time for her, empty.... just empty, no emotion, monotone was her only tone and even the hint of seasoning in her personality was always used up on Harry. It stabbed through Kinsley- more than she wanted. Even the thought of leaving for college wouldn't be enough to steer her from the echoing pain she felt from being alone. Hopelessly needing to play mother to her two brothers. Kinsley, never having to worry about poverty or homelessness, still felt some sense of responsibilty for Beckett and Chase. Like she needed all the answers at all times, because, who else would answer? Stuck in this hamster wheel of putting on a brave face; saving face and faking happy, all while her mother worked herself to death, her father playing with one job and then the next, and then Beckett, who even through the cheap little calm facade, was trembling like a little girl in the face of an evil clown. And lastly, Chase.... shell shocked from that December. Kinsley couldn't even imagine the betrayal he felt most of all.

Suddenly the piercing swipe of the razor elated her. A sense of euphoria fanned her like a fresh whip of cool summer air. So, she made two more swipes. The blood trickled down her arm, almost like a tear. Kinsley liked to believe that she gave her body the permission to cry. The blood trickled and dripped onto the floor, faint without a sound. Kinsley didn't cry anymore. Her arm was a better canidate than her wrist. Boney and rigid, Kinsley found it more nerving wearing sweaters or jackets in warm weather. Beckett, always questioning it and scanning Kinsley up and down- curious to what she was hiding. But it wasn't so much the attention of others she was attracting, but the little slip up that became too much.

A few Augusts ago, Kinsley had been coming back from the mall. A plesant coversation with the clerk; telling her where the best outfits were and what lipsticks looked good with her skin. Kinsley flattered by these compliments, became more comfortable- relaxed with the clerk. "I'll tell you, when I was your age, my mama never took me seriously when I told her I wanted to be a dancer. Working here- I get money to afford the school- but she just blew me off... she always did. I guess she never took young people seriously."

"Really?"

"Yeah... she had this- I guess.... she never respected youngins that much- you know.... always believing they were exaggerating things nad overly dramatic, that type." Kinsley felt this sick light feeling in her gut. A lukewarm patch of unlovable started to splotch inside of her. She didn't know what it was that sparked that feeling. But a tightness begin to belt around her. Stumbling home, Kinsley let those words swim around her head. She pushed and pulled them far away, but they just wouldn't crawl out of her brain the way she wanted them to. Her heart pounded harder and harder and her vision became blurry. Stomach, light and then like a switch, a fluttery nothing to lose feeling cloaked over her. Going over the little hill to her home, Kinsley stopped for a moment to stare at the front door. A brown cheastnut with a golden door ringer right in the center.

A big white home, black shudders and a red brick pathway towards the front door, narrowing in between the lawn. Luna's car was gone; she always parked it outside of the garage. The neighborhood, quiet and serene. Like no one was watching. Beckett and Chase were with Harry at the grocery store, Luna was at work.... it was just Kinsley. Unlocking the front door, Kinsley came inside and locked the door behind her. The living room- untraced and clean, the way Kinsley needed it to be. 

Going up the stairs, Kinsley undressed and started the tub. Pouring in all her lavender and amber scented bubble soap, the water filled up to only a few inches to the top. Enough to soak her, but not enough to spill over onto the floor. Stepping into the bathtub, Kinsley let the bubbles encase her. Taking in the sweet scent of the bath, she reached for her razor on the shelf just arm's length on the wall of the shower. Squinting her eyes shut, Kinsley made one jagged swipe through her wrist, and then another. The bath becam red. Blood, trickling from her arm and splotching the water and bubbled a dillouted red. The rush wasn't enough, though the gashes were big. Big enough to be noticed. But Kinsley didn't want to be noticed. She didn't want anyone to see the big slashes across her wrists. Blooded and dripping, it didn't give what Kinsley thought it would give. Drenching her hair in the bath water, Kinsley slid down lower and lower into the tub, until she was snorkeling the water into her nostrils.

Slowly, it started to fill her lungs. Kinsley closed her eyes and let the earth around her, slowly fade like mist in thick air. 

Then..... her eyes sprung open. 

Hacking and choking herself back to heed, scanning the bathroom around for any difference since she last had walked in. Kinslsy let her tears fall; her eyes soaking and then drying and then wet again; a dillusional pattern she made for herself of crying and wiping her eyes from either the tears falling down her cheeks or the bath water still dripping from her body. Kinsley, still gasping for shallow breaths, let the scent of lavender and amber fill her nose, while still fishing for air in her lungs. 

The hue dimmed; the sunlight now glowering down a bit, leaving the bathroom with just shadows of what was beaming sun glaze. Kinsley, towled off and treated her wrist the best she could. The gashes were thick though. Smacking lotion over her body, Kinsley took herself to the hospital before anyone could notice. Four stiches later, Kinsley kept her bandaged wrists and antibiotic cure hidded from even the squint of moonlight.

Some nights- evem after that day- Kinsley would remind herself of what brought her to that bathroom and moved that razor to her wrists. The dark cave of a neverending ferris wheel. And maybe it was that. That's what brought her to swallowing the bath water. But.... it wasn't. It was what was on that ferris wheel that drowned Kinsley. The clerk and her disrespectful mother..... Kinsley ....... and her absent mother. Not being important enough for Luna... the only female in the home, besides herself, that she longed to relate to. But... was pushed away- not from cold harshness- but simple nonchalant distance. An empty in Luna that she couldn't fill no matter what she did. And that empty.... leaked onto her children. Leaked onto Kinsley. The herorin dream that leaving for college would fill the space that was there to stay. And no matter what Kinsley did.... it would never leave. Even as she sunk into the core of the bathtub.... Kinsley couldn't deny it.

Kinsley, sat with her family the next night at dinner, cautiously freeing her wrist from any rubbing or friction against them. Beckett would glance down occassionally at Kinsley and her odd body language, but still kept quiet. He never knew exactly what his sister did to injure her wrist the way she did, but he always suspected something so twisted, he just couldn't allow his brain to travel that far. So, he never did. 

Instead, he would look Kinsley up and down with each conversation, wondering what laid deep in her eyes. Kinsley wasn't entirely sure what Beckett was looking for, but she understood what he was trying to find. So.... she just hoped he would never find it.

In the present, Kinsley suckled in the minutes, the hours, the seconds her parents were gone. Like crusted dirt from a car being washed away in the splashes of soaking soapy water, shining a pristine gimmer over the coat, Kinsley hated to admit she felt this way. Refreshed, concerned and content with this new sense of lonesome. Just her and her brothers alone in the quiet home- faded of fiascos upon them, solely on the weight of the two people who bring them. But... Kinsley would give it a few days or so. And then.... when she was ready..... she would call the police.

******************************************

Beckett tapped against the wooden panels of his bedroom floor harshly, but not enough to wake the sleeping household. Beckett kept it that way. Staring at the wall in front of his desk, Beckett couldn't seem to keep focus on anything else. Turning off his laptop, Beckett paced his floor. He turned off the lights- liking darkness as soothing comfort constrast to the dizzy bright glow of his bedroom overhead light. Only the small hue of his lamp shined quietly as Beckett couldn't even hold himself still for a second. Like a chicken without a head, a fog settled over in Beckett's brain. Like static to a disconnected television, Beckett couldn't even keep the one thought of Luna and Harry to stay in his mind.

Clentching his hands- knuckles turning white and palms becoming sweaty and greasy, Beckett found his lips opened slightly like a fish. Small breaths would come in and out from his mouth- open and suckling in the grists of air that he felt he couldn't catch. The world was black and spinning and the ground sunk lower and lower beneath him like quicksand. Beckett grabbed onto his computer chair to gain balance. Nothing. He still couldn't hold on. A black force must've captured him into its lure- sucking out the last breaths of life from his body. At least, to Beckett it was.

Screaming for help, but nothing came out. Flashes and echos of demons laughing at his pain, howling at his desperation to hang onto his life, even if it ended tonight. Sputtering and choking on his on flesh, Beckett fell to the floor, still wondering if the thud woke anyone up. Now adrenaline sped through him even more. "Chase shouldn't hear this, Kinsley shouldn't hear this...." All ran through his head like he was saying it out loud, but he couldn't. He wasn't. Heart speaking for him- pounding louder through the room than anything else. Like Beckett could reach in his chest and try to slow it down, his fingers tingly; on and off of numbness like pins and needles were inside them.

Beckett began to become afraid. Afraid of living. Falling completly onto the floor, shaking and trembling like he was violently ill; a blaring fever ringing through his body like he was on death's door. His chest had become weak- he felt- from the lack of breaths. A single full gust of air couldn't even penatrate into his lungs for even a minute. And then.... black.

*******************************************

A light shadow casted itself over Beckett's face. Blinking and adjusting himself to the morning light- eyes darting to the clock that read 8:45. Crawling from the floor and onto his bed, Beckett straightened himself up with a better posture, stretched and went downstairs for an early breakfast. Beckett could recall the dizzy nightmare he had from last night. Only it wasn't the nightmare he wished it was. Making himself a cup of coco, he sat down at the table and threw his head into his hands. "What the hell....." he whispered to himself. 

Creaks of small footsteps sounded, before Chase's presence entered into the dining room. "Beck?" Beckett looked up and then slowly towards Chase. A vapor still was over him, like grainy vintage footage from an old camera. A weak smile eroded from his tired body. "Hey buddy..." Chase invited himself into a seat across from Beckett. "Want some coco?" Chase shook his head.

"What happened last night?" Beckett didn't have to ask. Clearing his throat with a small furrow, Beckett tried hard to formulate an answer. "I had a bad dream that's all..... fell out of bed." Taking another sip from his coco, Chase looked down a bit. "What was your dream about?"

Beckett smiled. "Well.... monsters, I guess. They like to come out at some of the scariest times and pounce on you....." Chase furrowed his eyebrows a little before readjusting them to straight laced and blank. "Yeah...." he said softly.

"I'll make you some cereal...." Beckett got up from the table and went into the kitchen, wanting to disappear from Chase's sight. But Beckett could still feel it. Like a forthwith flu, that springs on you at night, leaving you with the worst sniffles and coughs you could feel the next morning. 

The bowl didn't sit right- according to Beckett- agitating him. Gripping the cereal box harder, he forcibly shook the bag harder and more violatle than he first wanted to. Almost punishing the bowl for not being how he wanted to be. Pouring the milk and slamming the spoon into the bowl, Beckett took a deep breath and served it to Chase with a sweet smile across his face. "There you go..." Soft and gentle, a similar tone to Harry's, making Chase flinch a bit. Beckett pressed a kiss to Chase's cheek before sitting back at his spot at the table, focusing on finishing the last sips of his coco.

A sudden spark of Harry and Luna slapped Beckett. Now remembering that chaotic thought that started the whole haze in the first place; two homewreaking adults, making their own offspring worry over themselves. 

Distracted, Beckett nearly knocked the mug over. Snatching it back and slamming it a bit hard over the table; angered by the thought of his parents, he failed to realize how much is shocked Chase to see his brother respond out of context. Beckett's cheeks flushed. Looking up- barely able to meet Chase's eyes. A polite smile grew from him. "Sorry." He looked down at the mug for awhile before taking it to the sink. Chase focused the rest of breakfast on his cereal. 

Kinsley's popping of her gum interuppted the tension, but shook Chase a bit. "Okay guys," she grabbed a banana, "I gotta to go work- if Mom and Dad call or come home before I do, then give me a call." Pulling out a two twenty's from her purse, Kinsley handed it to Beckett. "Why don't you order the pizzas while I'm gone- repeat of the last order."

Beckett nodded, only glancing into Kinsley's eyes for a second. She took notice, but a work thought flooded her mind. "Bye Chase, bye Beck." She said, darting out the door after grabbing her car keys. The house falls silent. Too silent for Beckett. Keeping his balance steady, Beckett makes his way to the key rack, snatching Luna's keys off the hook. Scanning the living room, Beckett takes a deep breath. The air had become to muggy for him inside the house, and the upstairs would only remind him of the demons he was trying to outrun. Going into the dining room, Beckett finally makes contact with Chase shamelessly. "Before we order lunch and dinner.... wanna go for a drive?"

Chase perked up. "A drive?" Beckett smiled small. "Yeah.... just put your bowl in the dishwasher and we can go..."

Chase threw himself up from the table and ran to the kitchen. Beckett didn't question Chase's excitement. He was more focused on his pounding thought of the unknown. "Let's go!" Beckett ushered Chase out the door and into the car. Putting the key into the ignition, Beckett let the sound of the car's purring take him. Slowly backing out of the driveway, Beckett then turned the corner and stepped on the gas. Turning on the radio, 'Lana Del Ray' blared through the stereo as the pair drove through the city. On a Thursday, the summer sun clamored through the car windows, roads were neat and empty from the everyday people either at home or at work. Beckett took in the green shiny trees from every tree lawn around the surburban neighborhoods. The sweet breeze seeped into the car windows, tickling Beckett's hair- fluttering it like a feather. Chase found himself staring into the rearview mirror, seeing how the sun lit into Beckett's eyes. 

Beckett stayed locked on the road- not darting even for the occassional glances towards the backseat. A wave flew over him. A car could come from nowhere- slam into them. Slam into Chase's side. Beckett stepped on the gas harder. Focused on what stood in front of him, Beckett eventually snapped himself out of his strict view and began scanning around for the unknown. The echos made their way into the car. Scratching the surface of Beckett's head- threatning to drill inside. The same whispers of doubt from last night peered into him. Speeding his heart up faster than the car, pounding his lungs like he was drowing and swimming at the same time. Beckett swore he could already see the neon lights of the police cars wailing around the corner to park at their house, informing them of their parent's tragedy. His palms now stuck to the steering wheel from his mucky sweat.

The haze became thicker. Beckett needed to outrun this. Pressing the gas harder, he shot through the streets, trailing the car up to the bridge. Chase- gripping his seatbelt- began to feel the same pangs he felt that day. December lights that hung from house to house and building to building, all begin to spin in his mind like a wicked loopty loop. The words 'Stop' couldn't form from his mouth the way he needed them too. Unable to scream, stuck in this whirling motion of the uncontrolled. But Beckett felt he was in control.

He could blame this on his cabin fever, waiting paitently for the return of his parents. The bridge stood as the ground beneath them. One side held this view of nothing but water and the other as well. Only water, not even dusty ground or rock... just water. Like the waters Beckett was swimming in- running from the tidal wave full of sharks. The car whipping past like a roller coaster, speeding even higher with every thought that laced into Beckett's brain. Only when the dead end of the bridge was coming too close......

"STOP BECKETT STOP!" 

The car jerked. Halting itself from anymore speed. Catching his breath, Beckett was too afraid to look into the rearview mirror- terrified of what he might see. Chase, pale, ghostly white like his soul escaped his body. Beckett slowly turned the car around and drove back through those same streets he passed. Every other minute looking back and checking the mirror to watch Chase closely; jumping from the car might be something he would do. Besides the staggering shame that painted Beckett's face bright pink, it was the silence of the car- the silence of Chase that sunk in more. Chase.... was he angry? Scared? Confused? Shocked? Traumatized yet again? Beckett knew this. He knew what Chase went through with Harry.... how could he do this to him as his brother? Why would he let this happen again?

Beckett didn't know. All he knew was Chase unbuckling his seat belt and darting from out of the car, up the steps of the garage and into the house without one word. But he didn't need to speak it. Beckett already knew how Chase felt. And for once, while alone in the car, Beckett pressed his forehead against the steering wheel.... and cried.

***************************************************

Beckett ordered the pizzas like Kinsley requested. Chase's pizza halfway full- he had come down, fixed his plate, and then ran back upstairs again to his room. Beckett ate his dinner in silence. Not even the TV could fill the holes the guilt inside of him left. He felt he deserved it. He punished himself. Beckett, even into evening pounded his brain with evil thoughts of how abhorrent he was. How much he let his brother down- the person who looked to him for all the answers, was now going to be one he ran away from.

The jingle of keys could be heard from the kitchen nook. Kinsley walked in, smelling the savory scent of her favorite pizza. "Oooh, you ordered it..." Washing her hands and grabbing a slice, savoring every bite. Picking the sauage from her box, she noticed how tense Beckett was. "What happened? You're acting like someone got murdered or something..." Beckett waved it off. "Oh nothing... it's... just Mom and Dad."

"Did they call?" He shook his head. "No. No surprise there I guess but....."

"But what?"

"What if this is our life now? Mom and Dad don't ever show up.... and it's me, you and Chase...." Kinsley shrugged. "I don't know.... maybe... but..... I hope not. I mean- it's been very nice like this- but they should come home."

"It has been very nice..." Kinsley stiffened. "Yeah...." She looked at Beckett. "It is very nice to not have arguments or annoucements of Dad's unemployment..... I mean... this... is not the ideal type of life I want. At all." 

Beckett raised his eyebrows. "Me neither."

"Has Chase gotten his food yet?" 

"Oh yeah, he ate his upst- he ate it awhile ago." Kinsley furrowed her eyebrows. "He wanted to be alone today.... I think he misses Mom and Dad a bit... he's worried." Kinsley nodded. "Yeah..."

*********************************************

It was ten o'clock. And Beckett tiptoed up the stairs, right hand carrying Chase's favorite dessert: a fudge cake with chocolate syrup and vanilla ice cream. A soft knock on the door, felt like splinters in his knuckles to Beckett. "Chase... it's me... I have your favorite dessert with me... if you want it."

A few minutes later, Chase opened the door. A relief fell through Beckett. "Can I come in?" Chase stepped aside, allowing Beckett into his room. Setting the bowl down, Chase nodded from Beckett to take a seat in his chair. "Chase...." Beckett looked deep into Chase's eyes. Tears begin to well up in his, glossing his eyes. Sucking in his lip, he swallowed. "I am so, so, so, so, so, sorry. I should never have done what I did-"

"What is wrong with you?! You acted at the breakfast table- and then you say 'Hey Chase, wanna go for a ride?' and nearly kill us..... just like Dad." Those words stung Beckett hard. He didn't ever want to repeat that mistake his own father made. "You know..... you know.... how bad that was. You were in that car when I was- yet... you go and take me out and do the same thing? That doesn't make any sense! How could you?! Why would you?!" Tears fell freely from Chase's eyes. "Why?......"

Beckett held it in.... then broke down. "I don't know..... I just didn't want to be here... I.... my nightmare yesterday, was real.... I brokedown- a breakdown- when your mind and body just can't handle anymore. And that's what happened.... but instead of being honest.... I pretended like I was fine and I wasn't.... that's why I wanted to take a drive... I wanted to clear my mind.... but I didn't wanna be alone.... I didn't wanna be alone...." Beckett let himself sob.

"I was afraid of what I might've done, Chase! I was losing my mind- I still don't have it.... but I am truly sorry for hurting you.... the last person I could ever want to hurt is you.... I love you... and Kins, so much...." Beckett couldn't speak. But he didn't need to. Chase slid off the bed and held Beckett in his arms, while he sobbed. "I'm so sorry...." he cried. Chase knew he was. He already knew he would forgive Beckett... it was just a matter of when.... not if he ever came to him.

As Beckett calmed, he wrapped his arms around Chase tighter. Thankful for his brother's forgiveness and thankful for the second chance. The two held each other- far longer than when the ice cream had melted into a puddle inside of the bowl.

***********************************************

It was midnight and as of on cue- the children all gathered in the living room- the jingle of keys rang from outside. The front door flew open and in came Luna and Harry with their bags. "We're home!" Harry cheered. The house- silent as it usually was when they're parents came into view. Harry still kept a smile over his face, waiting possibly for maybe a hug from Beckett or a 'Daddy's home' from Kinsley. But nothing. Chase stared, first at Harry, then to Luna, before brushing past them and locking himself up in bedroom. 

Kinsley pretended as if they didn't even come home; her back turned while typing something into her phone. "Kids?" Luna piped. Beckett, finally fed up from the grandstand, decided to clear everything. "Where were you?"

"Excuse me?" Luna said. "Where were you?" Beckett repeated.

"Two weeks. Two weeks past the day you're supposed to return home, and now you're here, without so much as a call or a text, a letter, a memo- something to tell us that you're okay and that you're coming home on this day or this time! Nothing.... we waited for you..... and you never showed up."

Luna looked down then up. "Well... we're here now..."

"Of course you are.... because two weeks are null.... every bad thing you do is just invalid... like us. Me, Beckett and Chase, spent this entire time taking care of ourselves! And all you can say is: "We're here now." Well I don't care, because I don't want to see you!" Kinsley ran past her parents, upstairs to her room and slammed the door.

Beckett was left alone. Scanning his parents up and down with a staunch frown over his face. "We missed you..." Harry said, softly. Beckett only gave a nod before walking upstairs to his room, making his parents see his slow footsteps- taking each time on each step carefully, just to punish them. Closing the door, but still leaving it open a crack, Beckett laid back in his bed to hear what would happen downstairs.

"Well... that's that... thanks a lot, Harry." Harry frowned. "What did I do?"

"I said 'we should get back early so we could be back home on time', but you insisted we see that stupid marriage coach on board like she could do something about us."

"Well excuse me for trying to help 'us' out. She was a sex therapist, Luna. We needed it-" 

"Shh! I don't want the kids to hear- do you know how embarrassing that would be?" Harry shrugged. "Well... we did need it."

Luna went to the dining room and put her head in her hands. "We screwed up.... big time." A gust of small wind fell over her back and then the touch of Harry's hand over it. But it didn't warm her the way it usually did. Luna knew there was no excuse for their actions. Not calling, not doing anything was beyond irresponsible.... it was cruel. The angry stares and shuns of her children would never be something that would leave her brain. Branded into the walls of her mind- something added to what she would pull out on a rainy day to think about when she needed to feel sad or broken over something. 

"I think we just got carried away." Harry sat next to Luna. "Maybe we can take the kids out to dinner tomorrow to make up for it."

"This is not the first time we've done this..... that probably ran through their minds. Like.... like we didn't even care about them." Harry ran his hands through his hair. Despite his reassurance, he couldn't ignore the feeling that planted itself in him the moment he stepped into the house. Chase didn't even say a word- something he was used to- but neither did Beckett or Kinsley... at first. Like Luna, Harry felt even more so, the depths of his children's pain. The understanding of their anger and hurt was too much for him to rationalize with. So, he bit down any thoughts or imagines of what his children might say or do next to shield, maybe even just some of the pain. Getting up, Harry went into the kitchen to make him and Luna tea.

Luna sat nursing her now pounding headache in her hands, trying not to beat herself up. Even though... she would've not only deserved it.... but needed it as well. The temptation to cry was strong, but she swallowed that down like she did the several margaritas she had with Harry while they traveled from city to city- using their cruise as their transportation. Drunk and feeling frenzy, they kept their phones off- under the advice of their therapist, who didn't even know about their responsiblites that sat at home waiting. Harry wanted Brazil, then Mexico, all while Luna let herslef be dragged along as if it was another honeymoon for them. Like twenty year old bohemians without a care in the world, drinking, dancing, eating and partying their way like a romance movie. But, here they were, home at their doorstep, where it all came back to bit them in the butt.

Setting the tea down in front of Luna, she took a sip and continued keeping her cheek in her palm. "I'm gonna add some more sugar," getting up, Luna went into the kitchen with her tea. Setting the mug down, she grabbed a bottle of gin and poured some into the tea- stirring it with lemon and ginger inside it too. Taking another sip, Luna let a small smile trace her face a bit.

Harry finished his tea, set the cup into the sink and then started slowly trailing up the stairs. His feet took him to Chase's door. One soft knock, then another, then another. "Chase... it's Dad..." The door didn't even flinch. Neither did the floor creak. So Harry knocked again. "Not now Dad..." Chase's voice seemed like an echo. "Chase... Chasie- Daddy... can he come in.... we can talk?" 

Chase opened the door and flew past Harry, running down the stairs and out the door. Too dark to know where he was going, but he didn't care. Anywhere but the home that was short of its name. Running right, Chase could make out the shadows of the trees and the small dots of light on every front porch. Balls of light from street lamps and the gentle clicks of birds or whatever made that sound from where ever, sent this rush through Chase. Like an olympian running to the finish line, Chase liked the feeling of the his own winds running through his hair and brushing into his skin.

It took around the corner the store, then to the park.... then into the city. Streams of lights and evening chuckles and chatters from nightgoers were now all around him. His legs slowed down and his mind stopped. Like a time machine speeding through every decade, stopping at its destination, Chase could only walk alone and take note of what the city looks like after midnight. Digging into his pocket for change, he found a two crumbled up five dollar bills that he couldn't remember what he was saving them for. Walking into the cafe, a sense of hope sprang through Chase like he had finally found somewhere to shelter himself from the unseen of the night. And.... he could've used a drink and a snack by now.

**************************************************

Beckett opened his door and found Harry sitting somberly on Chase's bed. Coming closer, Beckett found only Harry but no Chase. "Where's Chase?" Harry still looking down, didn't respond. "Dad!" Harry shot up. "Where's Chase?"

Harry sniffled. "He....he- he left." 

"What?"

"I wanted to talk to him, and he opened his door for a brief second and ran out..... I heard the front door close so I thin-"

"He ran away?!" Beckett's outburst prompted Kinsley's door to open. "Chase ran away from home?" Beckett turned around, fear all through his face. Kinsely took off downstairs to grab her mother, but found no trace of her. A tight snap pinched her, alarming her to where her mother was suspsected to be. Grabbing her father's car keys, Kinsley dashed out the door. Whoever she came to first- Chase or Luna- they would be found first. Kinsley hoped it would be Chase, but a gut tight instinct promised her it would be Luna she would find before anything else.

"How could you let him leave? Where the hell's Mom?!" 

"Okay, just calm down Beck-"

"No! He's gone Dad! He could be anywhere.... oh God, why wasn't I there? The second time in nearly one day where I failed him again-"

"What happened there?" Maybe it was the slight sterness or aloofness in Harry's tone that Beckett couldn't stand, making the last snag inside of him snap. 

"WHY WOULD YOU CARE? YOU NEVER NOTICE THE OBVIOUS ANYWAY! WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WHAT HAPPENED THERE?' AS IF YOU WEREN'T ALREADY GONE FOR HALF THE MONTH!" 

"Beck-"

"Do you ever wonder why Chase hates you?! Do you even realize how much he's afraid of you- you drive us into the city as kids in the middle of winter and nearly kill us because of God knows whatever it was you were thinking, because sometimes it's like you don't think, Dad! You don't care, so Chase just became a shell of what he was since that day.... we all did. And you did nothing except.... oh yeah.... get a bicycle for yourself that Christmas!"

"Chase hates me?"

"He can't even stand to breathe the same air in THE ROOM AS YOU, DAD!  Don't you get it? You failed us all.... you won't get help and now everyone else needs even more help because you can't admit you're sick! In more ways than one!" Beckett sneered. Gritted teeth and slashing words- maybe for the sake of hurting Harry... but more because they were words that needed to be spoken. Taking in a deep breath, Beckett finally turned to Harry with more swollen eyes. 

Harry sat on the bed, paralyzed, unable to speak, move or think. Getting up, he walks out of Chase's room- ignoring Beckett's apologies- and shelters himself in his room. Laying on the bed, Harry stares up at the celling. For once in his life- brain cleared, unfoggy of some nonsense- it all flashes back into him like an overhead light in a hospital bed. The car screeching, the screams and cries of his children begging him to stop..... then the crash and shatter of the car slamming into the lamp post. Like an urge to vomit that he pushed down, Harry let tears fall from his eyes and spot his pillow. Chase's sweet little face. All he could see was how sweet Chase's face used to look and now how diminished of life it looked now. Eyes empty, face stricken in this derelict state. Something made the connection for Harry- Irving slapping Jane across the face, making her bleed onto the floor. Harry although never wanted to, he always believed that it was his father who pushed his mother to her untimely death.

That little promise Harry kept inside of him to keep the spirit of his father alive, meant nothing now. He knew his family was far from perfect..... and he was partly to blame. He caused the trouble his family suffered. He caused his own son to be afraid of him: like he was of his father. Those eggshells became Chase's to walk on and his father's shame became Harry's to carry. Sitting himself up, a wail came from his throat before a full lucid sob. Crying like a baby into his hands- mouth vibrating and lungs quivering- Harry didn't car who heard his cries.

Beckett could make out the muttered sounds of it.... but left him alone anyway.

**********************************************

Kinsley turned every corner and every side street. But still no Chase. Her worry boomed through the roof of the car. Kinsley then got this jabbing feeling in her stomach. Not knowing what it was, she took a chance and turned the car in the direction it wanted her to go. The Ivory Chalice. One of the bars that lived in the city. Kinsley squinted her eyes enough to see Luna's dark gray Honda parked right outside. Kinsley kept her ping of anger hidden until she was sure her mother was inside chugging down drinks at the counter. Parking, Kinsley walked slowly, stuffing the keys into the pocket of her jeans and taking quiet steps like she was creeping up on someone.

Inside, the intense smell of smoke and booze hit her like a gust of wind. Looking around, even Kinsley realized she couldn't make any excuses for the woman wearing the same black blazer and blue skinny jeans as her mother. Frozen, she didn't know whether or not to approach Luna or just let her get intoxicated to teach her a lesson for her immaturity. Kinsley decided on the latter and walked out without saying so much as one word.

*************************************************

As the bar was closing, Luna stumbled out to the parking lot. The bartender kept her keys and said she could come get them if she found a sober driver or by later that morning when she sobered up. So, Luna was forced to call a taxi to come fetch her. In the backseat, Luna nursed her tired and queasy stomach. Rolling down the window- once at a red light- she threw up out the window and was forced to look at her vomit on the side of the road after the taxi drove off. Sobering up, Luna was now aware of what she had gotten herself into. The driver didn't say a word, but didn't have to. The look on his face was pure disgust and the minute he reached her house, he practically threw Luna out of the backseat.

Luna couldn't even let herself in the house. Sitting on the front porch, she put her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees. Staring off into the night, a tension tightened into Luna's stomach and shoulders. Face blushed and reddened and eyes dark and swollen. Luna kept playing with her lip- tucking it in and out- anything to distract her from tonight. Tears welled in her eyes, but she wiped them away. Luna looked back at the house, and just couldn't bring herself to go back into it. Deciding to tough the evening chill rather than the warm hubble of inside, Luna stayed put on the front porch until the sun rose a little. 

5:34 in the morning. Luna dusted herself off and walked down to the bus stop. The bus came and Luna payed the fee and sat towards the back of the bus, despite it's emptiness. Getting closer to the bar, Luna pulled the string and got off. The parking lot held some cars there. Spotting her own, Luna looked inside and saw how it was exactly the same as when she was forced to leave it. Taking a deep breath, she walked inside the bar.

"Hello." The bartender looked up. "Hey Luna... sober?"

A flush of warmth fell over her, feeling two feet tall like she did the first time her keys were taken. "Yes..."

Luna's keys were fished from the jar full of other keys that were taken from patrons. "Honda right?" 

"Yes..." Luna took her keys, muttered a 'thank you' and left without saying anything else. Unlocking her car door, Luna settled inside, started the car and sped out, without even putting her seatbelt on. Driving out of the city, Luna found Chase wandering around, looking lost. Both from his escape into the unknown surroundings and from the toll the place he escaped from left on him.

Honking her horn, Chase looked and saw her. Rolling her window down, "Chase! Come on, let's go!" Chase ran and stumbled into the backseat. They drove in silence, with Luna still racking her head as to how Chase even got downtown by himself. She didn't question it. Luna decided to take a pass this time to avoid any further explainations as to why she was even there as well.

Returning home, Chase ran inside- dodging his siblings cheers of his return- and locked himself up in his bedroom again.

Luna came into the house shortly after, leaving Kinsley to look down at her feet.... but still stay in the living room. Beckett followed Chase, leaving mother and daughter alone. Luna set her keys on the hook, avoiding eye contact with Kinsley. "I saw you..." 

Luna looked to Kinsley. Her daughter's eyes staring through her. "What?" Kinsley let an eye roll escape. "I saw you.... at The Ivory Chalice. You were at the counter drinking. You were drunk- just wasted and I saw you there- shot glasses all around you."

Luna didn't speak. She knew she couldn't justify this. "Chase was missing. You and Dad were gone for two weeks. And you drink. You come home.... and drink." She squinted her eyes. "You know.... I could've left too. I held down the fort for those two weeks with my paycheck, my job, Beckett ran the home keeping Chase and himself safe, I kept myself safe- we survived Mom! And it felt so good! You and Dad weren't here and although, I am pissed about that, even I can't deny how peaceful it was. Chase said 'let's call the police' I said 'No'.... I wanted to enjoy the fun while it lasted. So, you and Dad partied it up in Mexico.... me and the boys had a big ol' ball down here...."

Almost dillousional, Kinsley snapped. "But then! I went out looking for Chase because I overheard Beckett say he ran away! So I drove around for almost two hours and I couldn't find him.... but I found you. I even went inside and I was disgusted! But unsurprised. I mean- this was my curveball- the longest you haven't been here and instead of apologizing, you get drunk! Are we that unimportant to you? You're so cold.... so turned off- you're not happy with anything- I mean, Dad's a mess, but at least he smiles and tries to be posititve- for whatever that's worth. You don't. And I needed you to be. When Dad crashed the car.... you did nothing, except, pay for the damages and cut our Christmas budget in half. You didn't protect us... you stay here in this house when Dad does nothing to help you or this family! You could've left him and taken us! I you loved us! But you don't. You turn yourself off to everything around you and the little energy you do have..... you give it to Dad. Everything's for him and you leave your children to the wolves? Do you know how selfish that was? What about Chase? What about Beckett? What about me? Where's my mother?"

Kinsley let tears fall and drip onto her shirt. And for the first time... in a long time.... so did Luna. Her face scrunched up and drenched in tears. "I'm...." she couldn't catch her breath. Falling to her knees, Luna sobbed loudly. "I'm so sorry!" And she was. For not kissing Kinsley that night, for not packing her bags and leaving Harry like she promised, for being away for so long and for being unavailable. Just detached from everything, Luna swore she would change.... but she never had the guts to.

Kinsley finally cried and hugged Luna. Luna hugged back. "I'm so sorry..." she whimpered. "I didn't know how.... I wanted to... but I couldn't let go of the pain.... I'm so sorry, baby." Kinsley sat there with her mother's arms around her. Taking in every breath and heart pound of her chest, Kinsley let herself become enticed in it like she used to. Although it would take some time- like Chase- she already knew, she would forgive Luna.

Luna masked herself in the scent of child. A freedom from the past of never having a moment like this, Luna promised to make these moments again. She knew it would take time and healing.... but the love for her children was something that held its own force to pull her into how she wanted to love them. Love them the way they deserved to be loved. And to do that.... Luna promised... to love herself as well.

"I love you, Kins."

"I love you too, Mom."

************************************************

Chase let his door be cracked open a bit. Sitting on his bed, letting the esence of the morning summer sun hit his back. Harry dove out from his room and made slow small steps to Chase's door. Gently opening it, Harry invited himself into the room, silently accepting that Chase wasn't going to look up at him. He sat in front of him. "Chase...." He didn't respond. Harry took time to formulate words into his brain of what he wanted to say. "Beck told me..... uh.... why you hated me... so much." Chase looked up. 

"I.... understand... what happened." Chase just stared at Harry. "Really?" Harry nodded. "Yes,"

Taking in a deep breath, Harry looked into Chase's green eyes. "That car accident back in December.... I am so sorry." Harry bit his lip. "I know I've never said that before... but I mean it."

"Only when Beck tells you it happened, now you understand." Harry shook his head. "No I always remembered it.... you just can't shake something like that."

"No, you can't." Chase's voice was cold. "So, just because you're sorry now it's okay? Like I didn't relive that over and over in my mind all the up to now and-

"Chase,"

"And that it doens't affect me?! Like I should just let it go because it didn't matter to you at the time and nothing else matters except you having fun and doing what you want right?-"

"Chase!"

"And simply because Mom takes care of you and you walk around with this smile on your face like 'it's hunky-go-dory-' that I should.... I should...."

"CHASE!"

"THAT I SHOULD STILL LOVE YOU?" Harry's face dropped. Sitting up, he went to the dresser, turning his back to Chase. Not from anger. To recollect his tears that were spilling out over the floor.

"Oh Chase...." Harry turned around. Falling to the floor in front of Chase, he broke. "I'M SO SORRY! Oh please forgive me, Chasie.... I didn't mean to hurt you.... or anyone." He sniffled. "I...I know... I'm sick. Daddy needs some help..." he grabbed Chase's face. "and I promise, I'm going to get it." Chase let tears fall, staring back into Harry's eyes. 

"I lived the life I wanted to live.... and.... it payed a terrible price. And I'm sorry you had to pay that price. That won't ever happen again... and I promise.... I'm gonna make it better."

Chase fell into Harry's arms. The shine of the sun glowing around them like a heaven's sent light. Beckett, pressed up against the door jam, listening to every word of his father and Chase. He usually found it rude to eavesdrop, but found it appropriate in this case. A bright smile came over Beckett's face. Happy to himself for holding such confidence in himself of his upholding optimisim. Even if it held some cracks in it....

it never wavered.... and Beckett found peace in knowing that.

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