It's complicated

Chapter 4 - Lucky ♣

It's Saturday.

I have been binge-watching The Walking Dead for the past 4 hours. It's getting quite tiresome, and I've been chillin' in my pajamas the whole time. With a bowl of popcorn in my arms that is now half empty. My eyes close, and I give myself a big sigh.

"Why me?" I yell out into my empty house. Letting my head fall back and relax against the couch as episode 6 season 2 of TWD kept rolling. By now I didn't pay much attention. I asked Boyle yesterday if he was occupied today, and unfortunately..

He was having a date over for a movie night.

Fuck.

As I let out a frustrated sigh, I heard the door being unlocked. Meaning my father had come back home from work. I sit up straight in the couch and kept watching the movie on the television, trying to not pay too much attention to him. Whenever he returns home from work, he expect nothing but loneliness. He hates when people, even family, talks to him after work. So I stared at the television, as I heard how he put his jacket on a chair by the kitchen table in the kitchen. Then he yawned, and his footsteps entered the living room.

SIlence filled the air as I focused on the television, when suddenly..

"What'cha watching?"

My eyes widens, and I become unsure if he's just testing me or actually want me to say something. I fiddle with some popcorn in the bowl, and start to be quite nervous. I decided to stay quiet, and he eventually just walked away and entered his room. I exhaled in relief, and glanced towards their sleeping room.

Ever since mother .. died.

He's been different.

I feel bad for him, knowing how hard it is to deal with the truth of it all. I decided to turn the television off and grabbed the bowl of popcorn. I walked past their room, and into the kitchen where I placed the bowl down. I stared into the bowl for a while, thinking to what just happened.

Maybe father wants to connect with me again?

Maybe he wanted me to show signs of affection?

But I was raised to not speak to him after work. Whenever I did that back then, I got beaten up. It wasn't serious beatings, only slaps or three punches to the face or stomach. It hurt like a bitch, and I refuse to risk it happening again. I enter my room, and close the door after me.

I sigh, closing my eyes as I stand in the middle of the room.

Of course, I miss mom. She used to be the one who kept him in control. Apparently, he's always been a daredevil, and has always liked danger. However, together with mom - he was a funny, brave individual who protected me to all cost. There was a moment when I was around 5 years old. I was being surrounded by slightly older kids who were laughing at my colorful clothing I used to wear. I used to adore pink back then, and it caused them to call me 'gay', 'fag', 'girly' etc. And of course, that hurt me so much to the point that I cried. When father, who were simply some meters away from me - spotted this, he acted immediately. Scaring the kids away by yelling things like "go away you fucking bullies!". Waving his arms up and down which made them scream and run away.

I remember how much respect I felt for my father that day. Today, there's nothing left.

There's nothing else left but a mere shell, empty of what used to be real.

I laid down on my bed and put my entertwined hands ontop of my stomach, and stared at the ceiling. I did this, not thinking a word until I felt my eyes slowly close.