(Unedited, Not Proofread, 4465 words)
Trigger Warnings: Cursing, emotional manipulation, violence/fighting, mentions of death/murder
After Amelia's Party
"Jeremy, I'm very disappointed in the language you used today," Clara stated as she, Michael, and Jeremy walked down the sidewalk. The streetlights had cut on and the sky's final rays of sunset were fading fast. The boys smelt like cupcake frosting and Clara still had the mild taste of wine on her tongue. The party they left behind in the cul-de-sac was on the verge of ending, with all the guests saying goodbye and awkwardly laughing off the pool incident. No clear answer had ever been given for how Amelia ended up in the pool, and despite Alexander's best efforts, Olivia remained on edge for the rest of the party.
Unbeknownst to the masses, Olivia had freaked out for a very understandable reason, but it was one only Alexander knew. Olivia's childhood friend drowned after falling into a frozen lake while the two were juniors in high school. Since then, Olivia had lamented pools, lakes, and any body of water that went deeper than her knees.
But regardless of how desperately Alexander tried to return the party to its former glory, Olivia never quite got back to normal.
Similarly, neither did Jeremy.
"Catherine pushed her," Jeremy stated, trying to hold a respectful tone as he spoke to Mrs. Afton. He refused to look up at her, knowing he would lose his built-up confidence the moment he saw anger in her eyes.
Against male authority, Jeremy could fight and yell and curse and do all the things angry teenagers did to people who tried to tell them what to do. But to women? Jeremy couldn't even hold his own if he tried.
It had to have had something to do with not having a mother, but no one ever really figured it out.
"I don't care what Catherine did or didn't do, Jeremy. There are better ways to explain than to curse at a four-year-old," Clara reprimanded, keeping her tone light but stern. She had practice with reprimanding Michael, who only ever processed conversations with a respectful tone.
In her time watching her husband punish her son, she had come to realize which conversations Michael took personally and which went in one ear and out the other. Typically, if someone came out of the punishment bloodied or bruised, Michael wouldn't learn from it. She took that knowledge and applied it, even though knowing such awful things made her feel dark and twisted inside.
"Four-year-olds shouldn't be pushing each other into pools if they can't swim," Jeremy muttered, glancing over to the right at the empty yards beside them. Michael walked behind the two, his hands in his short's pockets.
He had no comment. He had learned not to comment when his words weren't asked for. William had taught him that.
"Jeremy," Clara said softly, and she almost coaxed the young boy into looking up at her— though he did stop short. "I understand that you've been... exposed to that language as if it were normal, but it is not. It is not respectful to call someone's words bullshit."
The moment the curse left Clara's lips, Jeremy's green eyes flicked up to her. His head turned so quick that his dirty blonde curls bounced from side to side even after his head had fallen still.
For a moment, Clara looked forward, keeping her chin up and her expression flat. And for some reason, Jeremy looked up at her like she had hung the stars in the sky.
"I don't want you saying that word anymore, alright?" Clara asked.
"Okay," Jeremy replied quickly. After a moment, he confidently added, "But Catherine did push her."
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The Kids Weren't Okay || FNAF
Fanfiction« We have to stop pretending that what we went through was normal. » /// The year was 1973, and together, the charming and charismatic Mr. William Afton and the thoughtful and humble Mr. Henry Emily opened a diner-- the first of its kind. Fredbear'...
