Rich Bitch // malum & lashton

thirteen

MICHAEL’S HIGH WAS SHOOTING DOWN RAPIDLY. He knew it was going to happen. He knew that he couldn’t possibly have a whole good day. It was probably the worst of worst things that could happen.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt sick. His hands and legs were starting to shake out of fear. He couldn’t do it. He walked backwards, away from the house. Calum tried to ask what was wrong, but Michael just shook his head, unable to form words in that moment. He could feel his heart start to pound in his chest like a frustrated person would knock on a door – hard, fast-paced, and nearly breaking the wood.

“You g-gotta g-go, okay? I-I don’t want you – I don’t want you here.” Michael said, shakily.

“I’m not leaving you like this.” Calum said, trying to understand what was happening.

“P-Please, you can come back after. Just – Just not now.” Calum didn’t move a muscle. “Fine. Go inside, straight to my room – it’s the last room on the left down the hallway. But whatever you do, just please, block your ears.”

Michael took a deep breath in and out to try and calm his nerves before going back inside. He kept his eyes to the floor as he decided to guide Calum to his room. Before shutting the door, he put his hands over his ears to make sure the Kiwi did the same. He did with an innocent smile on his face, but as soon as the door was shut he put his hands on his lap.

Michael walked down the hallway, his shoes making the only sound in the house. He looked up once he’d entered the kitchen. He couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t dreaming.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He spat, trying to keep his voice stern so his father didn’t know he was scared.

“Please, Michael, sit down.” He looked to his mother, who was busy boiling the kettle on the stove, like nothing was happening. Like she casually let her husband who left them like this through the back door all of the time.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’ve certainly grown, haven’t you?”  

Michael felt so small. He felt like he was five years old again, letting his dad belittle him even more to the point that he felt like crying. His eyes set to the stain on the floor he had caused a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted him to leave.

“You’re certainly different from the little boy with saliva dribbling down your chin and tears in his eyes that I left a while ago.”

“I don’t want to talk. I just want you to go like you did last time. Minus the draining all our savings.” He said quietly.

“Michael!” his mother scolded.

“What? You’re taking his side for this? He’s the dick who left us with nothing!” He shouted. “He literally maxed out every cent of money we’d ever owned and left us with nothing but a few bruises and a note with a fucking smiley face on it!”

“Little Mikey definitely has grown up.” His father stood from his seat. “Man of the house, swearing and standing up for himself.” Michael let a fierce glare pierce into his father’s eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.” He said, pushing him away.

He walked down the hallway and opened his door. “There’s a back door,” he said to Calum, “use it.” He walked back to his father.

“Who’s that?” he asked, looking genuinely interested for a second as he saw the Kiwi try to open the back door.

“None of your fucking business, really.” The teenager rolled his eyes as he sat down, gripping the bottom of the chair so his dad wouldn’t see his clenched fists. “Why’d you come back?”