Ugly : clifford a.u

Michael

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I have to leave tomorrow?"

Staring up at the ceiling fan as it circled lazily above me from my perch on the linoleum kitchen floor I nodded.

"Don't you miss your Dad?" I questioned.

Maggie, who was lying with me on the floor, the top of her small head lightly nudging my larger one, shrugged, or at least I assumed she did by the way her head moved.

"He misses you." I assured her.

Again, a shrug.

I could understand why Maggie didn't seem to be phased in the slightest as to why her father had dumped her off with us for a two weeks stint while he went on his honeymoon, a certain level of detachment was expected. However I think Maggie wouldn't have minded in the slightest if Mark never came back for her at all.

"You okay Mags? I questioned.

It was a simple enough question and I expected a simple enough answer, however I didn't get one.

"I miss Mommy." She whispered.

Immediately I could feel my throat closing up as my heart twisted in my chest, my stomach churning with the same wave of grief which washed over me like a tsunami whenever my sister was mentioned.

She'd been ten years older then me. A large enough gap that I was young enough to be cute to her and her old enough to be cool to me, but not so large that we were strangers.

She, even more so then my mother, was the one person that beloved I could do anything I set my mind to, and sort of made it her life mission to prove any point I wanted to make.

She taught me how to ride a bike, and how to break out of a kidnappers grasp. She'd color coated my close, cutting the tags into shapes so I could dress myself without look like a clown.

She'd shown me how to cook, taught me what good music is, and been my best friend.

And then she left me.

Well, not me specifically, but sometimes it felt that way.

It had been New Years eve, she'd been driving home from our house with Maggie who was four at the time, when she was hit by a drunk driver.

It wasn't a patch of black ice, it wasn't an understandable accident, it wasn't an old woman who couldn't see over the steering wheel it was some drunk. Some asshole that knew, he wasn't supposed to drive.

It had been ingrained in his head since he was old enough to watch TV and watched random public service announcements on the matter, it had been repeated to him in school, it had probably been said to him as he left whatever party he had attended, but he'd done it anyway, and he killed her.

I remember getting the call. It was four in the morning. I heard the phone ringing, Mom answering it and then crying. I remember sitting in a warm hospital waiting room which reeked of disinfectant, hand soap and grief. I remember finally being able to go see Maggie.

I could tell she was hooked to lots of machines by the various, rhythmic beeps which filled the air, and by the way my Mom and Mark were crying, and the way her little hand was cold and limp in mine.

And then I remember getting the news. It was like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick to the balls all at once. My heart felt as if it were falling down from my chest into my stomach, writing in broken agony.

I'd never had a Dad, well I suppose everyone everywhere at some point had one, but mine had never been around. It was just me and Mom and Emily. And with Mom working a lot, often it was just me and Em.

She was my sister but she was like a second Mom, or the Dad I didn't have. She was my best friend, my world in my senses, or at the very least my guide to the rich, colorful world which was dark to me, but now she's gone.

I don't think I'll ever forget the tone of that doctor's 'I'm sorry' or the sound my Mom made, the involuntary broken sob like gasp of a person at their must vulnerable, at their most broken.

Never would I forget Emily and that made me happy but it also hurt, every day because part of me was dying to forget.

"I miss her too." I whispered.

"I don't want a new Mommy." Maggie whimpered, her voice wavering with the tell tale ball of emotion of someone trying with every fiber of their being not to cry.

My heart aching, I sat up, and turning in Maggie's general direction held my arms out. Breathing heavily she dove into my lap so quickly the two of us nearly fell over however I put my arms out behind me, steadying us.

"I don't like her!" She wailed, clinging tightly to my shirt, her snot and tears wetting the patch of skin between my neck and shoulder, as she moved impossibly closer against me, as if it was somehow being her closer to her Mother.

"Mags." I said softly, my voice quivering.

"I don't like her! She repeated, "I hate her! She's not my Mama!"

Wrapping my arms around her, I rubbed her back gently trying to calm her down as large, salty tears rolled down my face.

"I don't wanna go Michael don't make me go!" She sobbed.

Wishing my Mom, a woman much more certified to deal with small child meltdowns then myself, I tried in vain to calm her down at least a little however if anything it got worse.

Two years of unshed tears in, held in, away from Mark and his stupid, 'stop crying' grunt, were coming out in rabid succession. It got so bad I realized we were wavering on the brink of a full blown panic attack and so panicking I pulled my phone from my pocket.

I tried my mom twice however there was no answer, so desperate, for someone, anyone of the female gender, who could perhaps offer Maggie the soft breasts to cry on and gentle motherly touch she'd been lacking, I called Spencer.

She answered on the first ring.

"Hey! Michael! I was just about to ca...."

"Spencer I need help." I interrupted.

"What's wrong?" She demanded, "Are you okay? Where's your Mom? Who's crying?"

"My Mom is at work." I replied, above Maggie's wails, "And Maggie having a breakdown and I don't know what to do, I'm sorry to bother you but I'm like kind of freaking out and I... I need help."

"I'm on my way." Spencer assured me.

Sighing, I thanked her and told her to hurry before hanging up to devote my full attention to Maggie, my heart hammering wildly my chest hoping Spencer would come quickly.