The Rejects Club

Chapter 32 - Labored Living

Life is at its best when everything has fallen out of place, and you decide that you're going to fight to get them right, not when everything is going your way and everyone is praising you. - Thisuri Wanniarachchi

Wednesday 12th March

The bathroom light kept flickering, making Mitch feel like he was having a seizure as he tried to pluck the unwanted hairs from his eyebrows. He was pulling them out a bit more aggressively than usual, like he was trying to punish himself for his behaviour the other day.

"Why am I such a fuck up?" he spoke angrily to the boy in the mirror.

The way he had spoken in front of Kirstie and Scott about the youngest's "minor" issue was disgraceful and still haunted him. He had always prided himself on being a non-judgemental, regardless of religion, skin colour, gender, any sex kinks someone might have, he always tried to treat everybody fairly and equally. And then he had basically accused Scott of getting involved with the The Strikers and pissed off Kirstie in the process.

"Idiot," he hissed at his reflection. "You only went and alienated your two best friend's.

After Avi and Kirstie had guided his young friend out, Mitch had gone outside and pitifully failed to calm down, returning only to lock himself into the storage cupboard and basically kicking the place to shit, ignoring Kevin's pleas and Mr L's shouts, finally emerging unharmed but with half the shelves dislodged behind him. Somehow, Kevin's secret sweet place had still not been uncovered in his mayhem.

"I mean what gives me the right to judge them?" He demanded to the skinny kid who was still looking miserably back at him. "I'm not exactly one to talk."

He liked to pretend he had been getting better, that he had been sorting his life out; but the truth was nothing could ever be good until his mom tried to sort her own life too. He knew she was depressed, he knew she'd lost the love of her life unfairly, he'd been with her the whole time, but that didn't mean she should stop living while she waited for his dad to come back. He just wished he knew how to help her the way Lottie was helping him.

He shook his head and sighed. "I'm just some crazy kid talking to himself in the mirror." His reflection still offered no words of advice and he turned away from it in disgust. Fat lot of help you are.

Enough wallowing in self-pity, he decided, walking back to his room and throwing a plain back t-shirt over his head. He had to go and make sure his mom was ready for their annual trip to Aunt Emma's for dinner. Mitch couldn't wait much longer. He really needed a break right now.

Heading down to the kitchen he was immediately met with the sight of his mom, and it was not a pleasant one. She was sitting in their kitchen, a bottle of whiskey in her hand, swaying precariously. A lot of the alcohol was on the countertop or on the floor, but a good deal of it must have ended up inside the woman, considering the state she was in.

He clenched his fists. "Mom," he uttered lowly, "what do you think you're doing?"

The woman grinned, holding up the bottle to show him at least half was gone. "I'm celebrating," she said, her words slurring. "Celebrating the three year anniversary of us surviving since your father left," she clarified while Mitch angrily snatched the whiskey off her and started to clear up the mess.

"Since he was taken," the boy corrected her firmly. "How much of this have you drunk?"

"I'm just starting Mitchy, why don't you join me darling," she grabbed at her son, attempting to pull him into a hug.

He instantly pushed away from her fumbling hands and alcohol intoxicated breath. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice straining.

"Oh fuck off!" The woman had a sudden change in heart and also began pushing him away, clumsily pawing at his chest.