Finding Mr. Perfect's Flaws (boyxboy) *Completed*

Finding Mr. Perfect's Flaws [Four]

Finding Mr. Perfect's Flaws

[Four]

Ah... who knew ice cream and fights are a good start for relationships?

My father made me pay the hospital bill. As I sat at the kitchen table the next day, he told me. I was let out of the hospital early this morning and now I was eating cereal at the kitchen table. I scooped up a spoonful of cereal and put it in my mouth. I chewed as he entered the kitchen. He looked really annoyed and I knew it was because of me. I always pulled the strings in him that I usually don't mean to pull. Usually.

I was only in a little bit of pain. I had a big pill bottle filled up with strong pain killers that the doctor had prescribed to me. I felt a little drowsy, but it was better than in pain. Because of the drowsiness, I was crunching my cereal carefully, as if I was pondering life.

"Zachary," My dad said, acknowledging my presence. He went over to the refrigerator and pulled out the gallon of milk. He twisted the cap off and started to chug the milk straight from the spout. I frowned in disgust. He dropped the milk on the counter and some of it sloshed over the sides. He was going to make me clean that up too, no doubt. He had used his "something's wrong and you're going to have to pay" voice. I started to get ready for impact. I stared at him and waited for him to continue.

"You're paying the hospital bill," He announced. My mouth fell open in shock. "And it's going to be really expensive, for all that crap you needed. So you need a second job. That crappy job at the ice cream parlor won’t cut it."

"Are you kidding me?! What am I-?"

He straightened his shirt collar and turned around. Without another word, he marched out of the kitchen and I heard the front door slam. I sat there in shock. I dropped my spoon, the loud noise echoing off of the empty walls. I looked at my bowl, wishing I had the courage to stand up to my father. But I couldn't. I would have nowhere to go if he kicked me out. I couldn't imagine myself being really rude to him either. He was my father, after all. 

I had work today, so I decided to start getting ready. It was eleven in the afternoon as I showered, dressed and headed out of the house for work. My old, dirty skateboard was lying against the door, a coat of dust layering it. I decided to take it today, for a chance to think and clear my head. Last night's dream was still burned into the back of my head.

As I zipped up my jacket on the front porch, I watched the lady across the street from me. Ms. Harris. She was trying to water her dead plants. When she saw me looking she raised her curly old head and squirted the hose at me. She yelled out the word I've been hearing for about a year.

"Faggot hooligan!"

I rolled my eyes, dodging the water. I grabbed my skateboard and ran across my dead lawn. Water hit my shoulder and my pants. I ignored it and kept running. I jumped over the little fence lining our front yard and landed on the other side of a bush, safe from the water.

"Psycho lady," I muttered, dropping my skateboard and pushing off. I flipped my bangs out of my face and proceeded down the sidewalk. It was cold out today, so hopefully no one went to the ice cream parlor.

When I got to the store and walked in, an obnoxious face greeted me. My manager, Rich. He was a smart ass in school. He would tell me all about his day and talk to me about the girls he was interested in. I would roll my eyes, wipe the tables, and pretend to listen. I would add an occasional, "Really?" or, "Why would she do that?" But other than that, I wouldn't usually encourage conversation.

It was about twelve, when the store bell jingled. About three guys and a girl walked in, talking loudly. When they saw me behind the counter though, they hushed. I heard a giggle and I looked up from the scooper I had been attempting to clean. My heart froze.