the boy with the white eyes [muke af]

je suis malade

je suis malade

Wailing filled Michael's and Luke's ears, "what the fuck is that?" The older boy groaned, taking a hand off of Luke, and onto the top of his head.

"Your child," the blonde responded, moving around until he found Mike once more.

It's been only a few days since they've arrived back in New York. The April sun was starting to peak out from around the dreary grey skies.

Michael cuddled closer into his pillow, not wanting to deal with Clémence. When the small girl and the young boy first moved in to a three hundred square foot apartment, Michael would break down a lot. He could not handle being a father.

As the time went on, he learned to be the figure she needed in her life, but he still broke down quite often.

He was getting better, he swore, he was.

But days like this, mornings when she won't stop screaming and crying for no reason, he can't handle it. Michael can't find an excuse to get out of bed. He doesn't want to be a father, even if that's hard for him to admit.

"You know, I'd help you, if I cou-"

"I'm going," Michael sighed, "I'm going." He made his way out of bed, cracking his back and neck. His cold hands grabbed the cold door handle as his shining green eyes tried to focus into consciousness.

Clémence was already standing in her doorway, waiting for him to arrive. Her face was blotchy, her hair a mess. "I'm scared," she sobbed.

"Jesus Christ, Clémence, for the last time, there's nothing to be scared of. There are no monsters in your room, there is absolutely nothing to fear." He picked up his daughter, "you can't wake up screaming every time I don't let you sleep in bed with Luke and I."

She sniffled, shoving her face into Michael's bare shoulder, "there are so many shadows in my room, Daddy, it's scary. Really scary."

He did their normal routine for this terrible Friday morning, taking her, placing her on the crowded counter, and starting breakfast. "But, you need to get over it, sweet cheeks."

"But I can't!" Clémence yelled out, slamming her small fists into the counter.

"Calm down before you wake up Luke," Michael whispered, handing her an empty bowl. He started dumping cereal into the bowl as sobs fell from the small girl's mouth. He poured the special soy milk on top, reaching through cabinets to find one clean spoon. "Eat," he demanded, "we leave in one hour."

Michael left the girl on the counter, knowing she wouldn't have the nerve to jump down. His bare feet squeaked against the floor as he made his way into his bedroom.
Luke was snoring softly once more, like always. Michael envied the way the blonde could simply fall back asleep on Friday mornings like these.

Mike threw on a shirt, sliding a black pair of jeans over his sore legs.

Clémence rocked her feet against the counter, her head resting on one hand. The light blue plastic bowl leaned loosely on her legs, her other hand stirring the soggy cereal around in the bowl.

In a quick moment, the bowl slipped off her legs, and clashed to the floor, milk creating puddle under the island, under the fridge, in the cracks of the hardwood.

Luke and Michael both jumped at the sound, the older boy quickly tightened his jaw, recognizing the sound.

"Was that-"

"God dammit, Clémence!" Michael yelled, marching out of his room and into the cold kitchen.

"I didn't mean to!" The small girl yelled, still cowering on the cold counter top.