You Don't Know What It's Like (Kellic)

Chapter 2

"So, you're saying she just invited him in?" Vic spoke calmly from his top bunk. Though I know good and well he's just as upset as I am.

"Yeah! Well- I'm not sure." I ran my hands through my hair, tugging on the ends as I paced the room. "All I know is that he's there."

He sighed and buried his face in his pillow. Vic was the only one here for me when this all happened the first time. His house was my second home. Mama Fuentes took me in as her own, and still does.

I clenched my fists and pressed them to my head, sitting on the bottom bunk. The whole situation aggravates me. I dealt with this up until I was fourteen. After that, he was off whore hopping with god knows who. I wouldn't doubt he contracted something.

Honestly, he deserves it if he has. He was never much of a father. My life, along with my mother's, was one hundred percent better with him gone.

The bed dipped beside me. I knew who it was, but I still flinched when his arms wrapped around me. His hugs always make everything seem okay. My world could be crashing down around me and I'd remain standing as long as Vic is right beside me. He's my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without him.

"You can stay with me until this whole thing blows over." He said, once he had retreated to the opposite side of the bed.

"Vic, you know I can't do that." I'm sure he had enough of me back in the day. Especially when it got real bad.

He stood up and put his hands on his hips like one of those preppy cheerleaders. "Kellin Quinn, this is the whole reason I still have bunk beds." His voice sounded like that of a mother scolding her child. "You're staying, and that's final." He insisted with a bit of sassiness.

"You could pass for Gerard Way's twin." I muttered under my breath.

Vic stopped in his track towards the kitchen. Slowly, dramatically, he turned towards me. His mouth was open in mock disbelief.

"Excuse me?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

I backed up on the mattress. "I love you." I said, though it sounded more of a question.

He dived onto the bed as I retreated under the spongebob covers. I've come to fear Vic's alternate sassy personality.

The sheets were ripped from my face to reveal an angry looking Mexican. I smiled in apology, before rolling us over and onto the floor. I, thankfully, landed with Vic beneath me.

Before he could react after the initial shock, I had bolted down the stairs. Don't fuck with a pissed Hispanic.

"Sorry, not sorry!" I shouted.

He came down the stairs shortly after, laughing more to himself. It's not often that he laughs, and when he does, I cherish it. Call me gay, but it's beautiful.

I rummaged around in his fridge for a soda of some sort. Down in the bottom drawer I saw some Cokes. I grabbed two, tossing one to Vic that had situated himself at the island in the middle of the kitchen. I took a seat directly in front of him.

"So what are you gonna do about this whole thing?" The topic arises.

I sipped from my Coke slowly, not really knowing the answer. What am I supposed to do? I'm seventeen- not legal yet.

"Well, I hoped to live with you until I'm legal." I joked. "But honestly, I don't know."

"I wish I could help." He muttered.

I sighed and set my can down. "Vic, you've helped me over these years so much. More than I'll ever be able to thank you for."

God knows he'd switch places with me in an instant. I'd never let him though. I'd murder someone before they ever lay hands on him. Gabe says I'm too protective. Oh fucking well.

He smiled half-heartedly. "I just-" He stopped, breathing in sharply and exhaling slowly. "It's getting late. I'm going up stairs. You coming?" He questioned, standing from the chair.

I nodded and tossed the half empty can away.

"Hey! Recycle." Vic said, pointing at me accusingly.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Okay, you fucking tree hugger."

For as long as I could remember, he's always been this way: recycling; worrying about deforestation; pollution. It's a good trait to have. One I lack.

"Who do you think provides the oxygen you waste?" He laughed.

"Asshole." I said, taking the stairs two at a time.

We settled on the bottom bunk, one that had become mine over the years. Vic always got the top because I'm afraid of heights.

The both of us rested on our backs, listening to the music flowing from his laptop. Breaking Benjamin, to be exact. It has become his addiction over the few weeks. Not that I care. They're pretty good.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to wash over me. I hate sleeping though. Dreams aren't the most pleasant.

Home by Three Days Grace came on after we had went through all of Breaking Benjamin, and I found myself engulfed in the lyrics. One particular lyric got me though: This house is not a home.

My house isn't hardly a home. My family- the thought of one. Is this what you call a family?