Sunsets Over Suicideville (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Four: Nothing, Let Go

      It was nearly three in the morning when everything finally dropped from an 8 to a 3.5 on the scale of stressful situations. Sally was asleep in her room, and the guy was passed out upstairs. After everything sharp or possibly deadly was removed from the guest room, that is. Apparently, Mom had to stitch up some of the deep cuts and ended up wrapping his forearms in white gauze. He'd lost consciousness in the middle of the ordeal, and hopefully would stay in that state until my parents and I figured everything out.

      "And you're sure he didn't say anything about pills?" Ma asked me for the third time, wanting to make sure there was no chance of an overdose. The three of us were seated at the kitchen table and nursing cups of coffee. I gave a small nod of my head.

      "He did mention something about pill-taking, but he didn't exactly elaborate on it. He just said that he took them to kill the sadness or something, but I doubt he took any at the time. He was just intoxicated and in a really bad state of mind."

      Ma sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose like she usually did when her work caused her trouble. "We didn't even catch his name before he passed out," she muttered, shaking her head. "Frank, why didn't you ask for his name?"

      "I couldn't think straight," I said in annoyance. "I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. I calmed him down enough to get him here, doesn't that count for something?"

      "He's right, Gwen," Mom said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and holding me tightly against her side. "He did the best he could, and he witnessed something traumatic. Give him some slack, okay?"

      "I'm just saying, Stephanie. If we at least knew his name, we could try and contact his parents about this."

      "Well, we don't, so you'll just have to wait until morning! Now stop pestering him," she snapped, blue eyes threatening. Ma hesitated for several seconds, sucking in her cheeks, before she slowly let out her breath and rose from her seat.

      "I'm going to bed, and tomorrow morning I'm going to sit the boy down and talk to him," she declared after finishing off the rest of her coffee. Then she left the kitchen. Mom and I silently listened to her footsteps as she headed upstairs, into her room and shut the door.

      "Why is she mad at me?" I asked, feeling pangs of hurt at my Ma's behavior. I didn't understand what I'd done wrong. Okay, maybe I used matter over mind, and spoke to the guy with my heart more than my brain, but I thought I would've made her proud by bringing him home alive, at least. I didn't get his name, but I got him to put the damn gun down, and that's more important, right?

      Mom shook her head. "She isn't mad at you, Frankie, she was just worried about you. You know how she can be. And when she heard about the horrors you had to witness, it just got to her. You're our baby--her baby, especially. She doesn't want you to be exposed to things like that. You already have trouble sleeping as it is, and experiencing things like that can take tolls on people."

      I guess I understood her point. Ma and Mom handled things differently, and Ma, the one who actually birthed me, was just under a lot of stress. She needed to be alone, to be able to properly separate her psychiatric side from her motherly side before she could sit down and talk to me like Mom was doing.

      "Speaking of exposing things like that," she said, her once worried expression now a look of annoyance, "I don't want you listening to that trashy music in front of your sister."

      I stared at her in confusion. "Trashy music, what do you--" I started, but she reached over and picked my phone up from the counter. I felt my cheeks heat up. "Oh. That was an honest mistake, I swear. Sally wanted to listen to a song by them, the song I sing to her, you know, and it was on auto-play so it switched songs . . . " I trailed off as the guilt from earlier began seeping back into place. "Is she okay?" I asked, not exactly making eye contact with her due to my shamefulness.