Catch Me When I Fall

A Bad Thing For a Good Cause

I can't sleep. I've laid here for hours, tossing and turning. It doesn't help that I'm hungry as fuck.

I sigh, the frustration growing more and more.

I'm frustrated with everything, but mostly that I can't sleep even though I'm dead-tired.

It's an awful feeling.

And the more frustrated I get, the harder it is to sleep.

I'm also convinced my mom is working another night shift tonight, because she hasn't come home yet. Not that I know of. 

If she has, she hasn't come upstairs to see me.

Not that I want her to, necessarily. It just something she usually does.

I wish I was at Khai's house, in his bed. 

I slept fine then.

I don't fall asleep until around six a.m. But I barely sleep for an hour before I hear my dad shouting and throwing things, and it wakes me up.

Shouldn't he be passed out, hungover? I'm not going to investigate.

Unless my mom is home.

I open my bedroom door and listen for a few seconds, still unexplainably agitated.

Conveniently, it goes quiet then.

I sigh and groan, then head to the washroom to brush my teeth. It's not like I'll be having breakfast or anything.

Once I'm finished with that, I head downstairs. I don't see my mom anywhere, but my dad is sitting on the kitchen floor, crying.

"Where's mom?" I ask, studying him carefully.

"She's sleeping over at the neighbours. Thought you were at that friends house." He replies, his face hidden in one of his hands.

"That was yesterday. I came home last night, remember? We talked a little." I reply, my tone cold.

He glances up at me, confused. I give him a dismissive cue. He doesn't remember.

"Did you get something to eat? You're hungover." My tone remains cold, but it's not devoid of empathy.

"For fuck's sake, Tyrone, do you think I got anything to eat?" He asks, also agitated.

"K, I'm just asking. Did you at least drink lots of water?" I want to know. 

It's no use, because he just starts crying again.

"You're really good to me, Tyrone. No one else has ever been."

"Mom has." I reply. He nods.

"Both of you. You know that I'm very, very sorry for everything that's happened." Boris cries a little harder.

"You always say that. But it keeps happening. How are we supposed to trust that you're being serious?"

Boris doesn't reply, and I get him a glass of water, then squat next to him.

"Here."

He takes it from me, then places a hand on my shoulder. I wait, a little impatient knowing I need to get ready for school, but also because there's nothing he's going to say that he hasn't said before.

I doubt he remembers the night I almost killed him out of rage. 

Probably a good thing.

Me, on the other hand... I'll remember it for the rest of my life.