FicWad

I grudgingly get out of the car and follow her inside, backpack slung over one shoulder. Looks like I wouldn`t be needing it for a few days at least. I am sorely tempted to just run down cracked driveway and down the street and never look back. The once snowy white net curtain that had definitely seen better day’s twitches, and the car bleeps behind me and flashes twice, locking. Once inside I hang up my black leather jacket, and throw my boots in the cupboard. I didn`t chicken out and run, obviously.

“So,” Mom says at last tiredly, pouring coffee into a novelty Christmas mug with Rudolph on that I had gotten her five years ago as a gift. Before everything had went up in flames and burnt away into ruin. “Another broken promise I see. Another perfectly good school overjoyed to see the back of you.”
I stare at the ground dejectedly, doing my best to ignore her.
“Are you trying to set some kind of crazy record for how many schools you can get kicked out of or something?!” her usually calm voice is raised, but she isn`t quite shouting. Not yet anyway.
I regret my words instantly. “That`s a little unfair, don`t you think? There must be a crap load of school in the state I haven`t been chucked out of yet.” I want to slap my calloused hand across my big fat pie hole and have the fluffy white carpet swallow me up whole. Of course, what I want never matters.
“This is a new personal best, even for you.” She rants on as though hadn`t spoken, her eyes blazing. “School only started two months ago and already they gave you the axe. What am I supposed to do with you?” she questions the silent room, shaking her head angrily, long tangled her flying around her face.
“I didn`t mean to-“
She raises a hand to silence me, and collapses down on the charcoal leather sofa. “I hope you are proud of yourself, because I`m not.”
I suppose I was in a way.
“I don`t even know you anymore. Why does everything have to be a constant battle with you, Dean? Do you hate me that much? Or is this still about him? Because if it is then this is just pathetic.”
I explode. She had no right to bring him into this. No fucking right.
“Oh yeah?! Pathetic?! What the fucking hell do you know, mom?!” it was out of line, just digging myself in deeper, but I couldn`t bring myself to care.
Her eyes have closed, and she has kicked of her shoes. Two long professionally manicured fingers gently massages her temple.
“I meant it when I said this was your last chance.” She continues, ignoring my fiery outburst. “You need help, Dean, and I am at my wits end. I just don`t know what to do anymore.” She moans, and I feel even worse.

I shuffle my feet uncomfortably, the big toe on the right peeking out from a whole in the Batman socks. I want to speak up, say something to make it all better, but I don`t know what to say. So I stay quiet. What could I even say? I mean really? Sorry I`m suck a fuck up? That wasn`t going to cut it.

“You`ve made it quite clear I`m not good enough, Dean, made it obvious that you can`t stand living here with me. You can`t stay out of trouble for a minute, your grades are abysmal and your so called friends are demons. One of them is even called Lucifer for goodness sake! What am I supposed to do?”
“His name is Luke mum, Lucifer it just-“
“What? A very fitting nickname?” She scoffs.
“Mum, one more chance,” I plead. “I promise, I double promise that this time I won`t mess it up.” I try and flash her my winning smile, but it comes out as some weak imitation.
She sighs tiredly and shakes her head for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. “I meant it Dean, no more last chances. I have had enough.”
Enough? Like as in enough of me. That stung more than I would care to admit.
You need a complete fresh start, get out of Kansas go someplace new. “
“Fresh start?” I question dubiously. Was she finally going to make good of her boarding school threat? Or cart me off to live with some distant family member again? “Not Granddad’s again, right? He hates my guts anyway and besides, I was miserable there!”
“No Dear, not Granddad’s.” she bites her painted lip, looking anxious now instead of pissed. “I know we agreed to never have anything to do with him ever again, but that was a very long time ago and well, you leave me with no other choice.”
She takes a steadying breath.
And that is when she lets the bomb go.
“No arguing now, Dean. You are going to live with your father.”
World War Three erupts in the living room then. All guns were blazing, nukes going off, the whole nine yards.
“No fucking way.” I tell her angrily, “You can`t make me do this.”
“You are going to live with your dad and that is final. My mind is made up, Dean.” Then as though she hadn`t just said the cruellest, more life ruining sentence ever, she calmly sits up and turns on the television, before settling on some crappy hospital drama.
“There is no way in all of Hell that I am going to live with that traitorous, good for nothing, deserting bastard!”

She responds by turning to volume up to try and tune me out.
“He left us!” I scream at the top of my lungs, the shock quickly being replaced by anger and hatred for the disgusting man I refused to call my father. We may unfortunately share blood, but he was nothing to me, Certainly NOT my father.

“He walked out on us when I was a kid, just left us a note on the fridge next to my Sport`s certificate and just drove of on that damned car of his one day and never looked back! He doesn`t care about either of us, not you and certainly not me.”

I can still remember the day clearly. Mom weeping brokenly in the kitchen, her beautiful face stained with black tears from where her make-up had ran, eyes all red and puffy. A sheet of A4 lay abandoned on the table in front of her, crumped and torn.

“That was years and years ago.” As if that made his betrayal any better.
“Exactly!” I agree with her, “Years and years ago. I was twelve Mom, twelve years old when he abandoned me. Three weeks after my birthday.” I had been too young to really understand what was going on. All I knew was that my Dad had left me and I was screaming at Mom for hours to try and get her to make him come back.
He never did. Not once.

Sure, he sent the occasionally letter accompanied with a car on Christmas and my birthday, but that was it. No visits or anything. Those went straight in the bin, but not before I shredded them into tiny, insignificant little pieces first. Tiny and insignificant, just the way I had felt.

“He didn`t leave because of you, Honey. Your Dad loved you very much, he still does.” She tries to explain gently and forces out a weak, unconvincing smile which I scoff at.
“You said we would never have to see him again. You called him all of the names under the sun, don`t you remember? You hate him as much as I do.” I argue.
“He just didn`t love me. People fall out of love sometimes it just happens. And it sucks, but that`s just the way things are sometimes. He isn`t a bad man and I was wrong to say all the horrible things I said about him, especially wrong to say them in front of you. I`m sorry.”

It was too late for apologies. To damn late. No one was ever sorry, not really. Only when they got found out. When he first left he tried to contact me all the time, I never picked up. Pretty soon he got the message and stopped calling.
“But you did say them.” I tell her smugly. “And they were all true.” Each and every bitter, hare fuelled word. My d-John Winchester was a heartless, deserting dickhead. A terrible husband and a crappy father. We were better off without him. I was happier without him.

And that was just the saddest lie I have ever heard.

“You have to be joking. You hate him as much as I do. He ran out on us to be with some bitch and her snot nosed sprog. How can you forgive that?!”
“Honey, I am sorry you feel that way, but it is decided. You need to get out of Kansas, maybe you were right when you said months ago that there is nothing left for you here. I think being with your Dad again will-“
“What?” I hiss. “Be good for me?”
That is when I lose it and just start screaming, hurling curses out of my mouth, and lashing out at whatever I can reach. The cushions get it first. Purple and black satin things with diamanté spirals are chucked against the wall. I watch with deep satisfaction as a framed photo on a shelf tumbles down to the floor and smashes. I kick over the coffee table, Mom`s phone and bills flying everywhere.

I wander over to the broken frame and carefully rip out the old school photograph. A young boy with bright eyes and a dusting of freckles grins up at me, missing three of his front teeth. I must have been around ten in that photo. How was I supposed to know that in just two short years my entire world was going to be disturbed? Because of him I was felt torn apart and wrecked, just left bloody and wounded on the floor, waiting and praying foolishly for him to come back.
I gave up praying a long time ago.