The Beautiful People - Butterfly Logic

Chapter 2

As Tucker burst into the kitchen, the scene exuded luxury and opulence. The spacious kitchen was adorned with polished marble countertops that gleamed under soft overhead lighting. Stainless steel appliances lined the walls, their surfaces reflecting the warm glow from the hanging pendant lights above. The room was impeccably organized, with gleaming pots and pans hanging from a rack above a large island at the center of the room. A large window framed by heavy drapes showcased a view of the manicured garden outside, with the last rays of sunlight casting a golden hue over everything. Despite the elegance of the surroundings, Tucker's heart raced with apprehension, knowing the tense encounter that awaited him upstairs.

Loyola's voice rang out over the clattering of dishes, deliberately loud and cheerful to mask their conversation from any prying ears nearby. She aggressively scrubbed at the glass plates, creating a cacophony of noise that echoed off the kitchen walls as she exclaimed, "Child, it's about time you showed your handsome face around here."

Breathless, Tucker sneered. He already knew. He didn't have to ask further; his mother was drunk and on a rampage. He braced himself for the hellish encounter. He could taste the alcohol from a mile away. This would be the same as most nights: his father stayed at work, and his mother drank her problems away. Only they didn't go away; they came to Tucker's world. It was like he was her free punching bag.

"Why do you sound like you ran a mile," Loyola inquired.

"Five miles," Tucker corrected.

"Boy, you are training for the Olympics or something?"

He laughed.

Loyola glanced out the window to find an empty driveway. She wondered where his car was if it were not in the driveway. She knew it would be another point of contention with the misses. She would try to cover for him as best as she could. She hated seeing Tucker abused. It reminded her of her childhood. Like Tucker, she had the world's weight on her shoulders. It didn't pan out so bad for her in the end. She could only hope the same for Tucker. She liked him. And she wanted to see him do well in the world.

"I'll send for my car after I face my mother," Tucker added.

Loyola shook her head slowly, her expression grave as she looked at Tucker. It was clear she was concerned about the situation. Tucker could see the worry etched into her features. This was not just any disagreement; it was a dire situation, and he knew it. The tension in the air was thick, and Tucker felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders. He swallowed hard, bracing himself for what was to come.

Tucker asked, annoyance seeping into his voice, "Should I be worried?"

Loyola leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "One of your little friends saw you in the graveyard with your girlfriend," she divulged. "What you doing in the graveyard, anyway? Dem souls earned the right to rest in peace without the likes of you interrupting them." Despite the seriousness of her words, Loyola's eyes conveyed a mixture of concern and exasperation as she continued scrubbing, the clinking of dishes acting as a shield against unwanted eavesdropping.

He clenched his fist to show his frustration. "Why can't people mind their own damn business for a change."

Loyola shot a look that read: are you serious?

Tucker thanked Loyola for the warning before turning his attention to the staircase. He moved cautiously, attempting to tiptoe up the stairs without attracting attention. As he ascended, he strained to hear sounds from his mother's whereabouts. The distant hum of a soft radio indicated she was likely in the bathroom. Despite his efforts to be stealthy, a creaking step betrayed his presence as he reached the top. With a disappointed sigh, he closed his eyes momentarily, realizing his attempt to sneak by unnoticed had failed.