You and Me (GEMINIFOURTH)

Chapter 11: Fractured Bonds

Fourth stood outside his house, taking a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. Gemini had asked him to wait—to give him time to figure things out before they made any decisions. And even though part of Fourth wanted to move forward, to end the uncertainty hanging between them, he had agreed. He would wait for Gemini to find a solution, even though it felt like time was slipping away from him.

With a sigh, Fourth pushed open the front door. The moment he stepped inside, the familiar tension hit him like a wall. The house was quiet, but the air felt thick, heavy with the remnants of yet another argument. The living room was in disarray—scattered papers, an overturned chair, and the unmistakable sound of broken glass crunching under his feet. Fourth's heart sank as he surveyed the scene. It must have been his father again.

He walked further into the room, his eyes falling on his mother, who sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead. She looked exhausted, her face pale and drawn, as though she had aged years in just a few hours. Fourth's stomach clenched when he noticed the fresh bruises on her wrist—angry purple marks that stood out starkly against her skin.

"Again?" Fourth asked quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and sadness. He didn't need to ask who had done it. His father's violent outbursts had become a painful routine in their lives, something both he and his mother had learned to endure in silence.

His mother didn't respond right away. She didn't even look at him, her eyes still fixed on something distant, something far away from the wreckage of their living room. For a moment, Fourth thought she wouldn't answer at all, that she would just pretend, as she always did, that nothing had happened.

But then she reached down and picked up a broken photo frame from the coffee table. The glass was cracked, and the frame itself had clearly been thrown or knocked over in the chaos of the latest argument. Inside the frame was an old photograph—one Fourth recognized immediately.

It was a picture of him as a baby, cradled in his mother's arms, his father standing beside them with a wide smile on his face. They looked happy—truly happy. His father's hand rested gently on his mother's shoulder, and his mother was gazing down at Fourth with that same expression of love and tenderness he had always associated with her.

Fourth sat down beside her on the couch, looking at the picture as she held it out in front of them.

"This was the day your father was so happy," his mother said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "The day you were born—our first child. He was... different then. We both were."

Fourth swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture. He couldn't reconcile the image of the man in that photograph with the father he knew now—the man who lashed out in anger, who hurt his mother without a second thought. It felt like a different lifetime, a different world.

"Mom..." Fourth began, but he didn't know what to say. What could he say? He had tried before—tried to tell her that this wasn't normal, that she didn't deserve to live like this, that she should leave. But every time, she had brushed him off, insisting that things would get better, that his father didn't mean to hurt her.

His mother sighed, setting the broken frame on the table in front of them. "Your father... he wasn't always like this, Fourth. There was a time when he was so full of hope. When you were born, it was like everything we had dreamed of was coming true. We were going to be a happy family. But life doesn't always turn out the way we think it will."

Fourth bit his lip, feeling a swell of frustration rise in his chest. He knew his mother still loved his father, despite everything. She always held onto the memory of the man he used to be, the man in that photo. But Fourth couldn't ignore the reality of who his father had become.

"He's not the same," Fourth said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "You don't have to keep pretending, Mom. He hurts you. He hurts us."

His mother closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to hold back tears. When she opened them again, her gaze was soft but sad. "I know, Fourth. I know he's not the man he used to be. But... he's still your father. He still loves you, in his own way."

Fourth shook his head, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had happened in their home. "That's not love," he whispered. "Not anymore."

His mother fell silent, her eyes drifting back to the broken photo frame, as if searching for something that was long gone. Fourth wanted to reach out, to shake her, to make her see that they didn't have to live like this, that there was a way out. But he knew it wasn't that simple. His mother had been trapped in this cycle for so long, she didn't know how to escape.

"I'm sorry," his mother said after a long pause, her voice breaking slightly. "I'm sorry that you had to grow up in this. I wish things had been different."

Fourth's chest tightened at her words. He hated that she felt guilty, that she blamed herself for the life they had been forced to live. But he also knew that her apology wasn't enough. It didn't change the past. It didn't change the fact that he had spent his childhood watching his father slowly unravel, his mother trying to hold everything together with fragile smiles and quiet reassurances.

"I'm okay, Mom," Fourth said softly, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. He wasn't okay. Not really. Not with the bruises on his mother's wrists, not with the violence that simmered beneath the surface of their family. And now, not with the secret he was keeping—the child growing inside him, a child who would be born into this mess if he didn't make a decision soon.

His mother looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else—something that looked almost like resignation. "You're stronger than you think, Fourth," she said quietly. "You always have been."

Fourth nodded, but inside, he felt anything but strong. He felt lost, trapped between the life he had been dealt and the impossible decisions he had to make. He didn't know what his future held, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn't want to repeat the mistakes his parents had made. He didn't want to bring a child into the same broken, fragile world that he had grown up in.

And yet, the thought of getting rid of the baby—the life that was already forming inside him—felt like tearing a piece of himself away. He didn't know how to make that decision. He didn't know how to choose between the love he had for Gemini, the fear of his own future, and the responsibility that now rested squarely on his shoulders.

As he sat there beside his mother, the broken frame between them, Fourth felt the weight of it all pressing down on him, heavier than ever before.

What was he supposed to do now?

He didn't have an answer, but he knew one thing for certain: whatever decision he made, it would change everything. And there was no going back.