2-24-21 | 3490 words
U guys should follow me because
I'm sexy 😇
-Wilbur-
Its nobodys fault but your own you're too fucking arrogant to raise your kids properly, this isn't my problem and I refuse to let it be his.
I arrived home just as the argument was simmering down from its climax. By then, Dave and Tommy were already gone. And the house was just a very sad looking Dad and I.
I don't know many details of the fight - but I do know it was violent. All I know is it was probably Tommy-centric as whenever on the rare occasions dad and Dave would fight my brother is usually too frightened to get anyone else involved.
Typically, bickering between Dave and Dad are the same. Dave gets angry at Dad for something rather, which is totally out of character for my usually ass kissing brother, and then Dad gives him the cold shoulder till the guilt all builds up and Dave breaks down and apologizes, in which my father comforts him gently. Its just a cycle of this, I don't know if Dave just hasn't noticed the repetitive-ness of this situation or just chooses to accept thats how things are. (Dave likes routine anyway.)
I take a sip from the milk carton, eyeing my distraught father. Hes sitting at the counter, staring off worriedly in the distance.
Hes a little startled by my voice "So,"
"So." He clears his throat.
My father got striked in the nose - I take this from the crimson blood which dripped - or rather gushed - down his upper lip. The blood had splattered the kitchen counter, it was a bitch to clean. It looked like a murder scene, a very, very mild murder scene.
I eye the still-stained counter a moment longer "What'd Dave say?"
"Hes right, Wilbur." His voice is microscopic.
My lips make an 'o' shape but I say nothing, I know little of what he means and think its better not to ask. I look around for something to continue a casual conversation with.
I hold up the carton a bit "Want some milk."
He chuckles breathily "No thank you."
"To each their own." I shrug.
Its dark in the house, the only thing allowing me to properly see is the natural light from the window fluttering inside. The glass casts light onto the speckled granite, the silhouette of my father is outlined in the otherwise pretty shadow of shine.
My father looks old, I notice. A distant fatigue clouding his unfocused gaze. I guess I can sort of see why, Dave is undoubtably my fathers favourite child. I mean, theres alot of things to like about the guy; Hes obedient and easy to work with. An impressionable teenager whoms beliefs are easily reshapen. What would a man like Phil not love about that?
He looks surprised when he notices I'm staring at him "Hey, Wil." His tone is lighthearted, yet my impression of my father has already crumbled to the point where no sort of love could be distinguished in his mew.
I open the fridge and place the carton in its respective spot "Hello." I watch him with curious eyes as he goes to fish something out of his pocket.
