Viva La Wayne {Book 1, Short Story Collection}

4. 'Of Monsters and Men', I'm the Mouse

When I came home after school and went upstairs, Rubin was just about ready to kill me. I'm not saying that he had a right to do so, but then again, I was just as mad as he was. Then again, I don't think I can blame him for wanting to kill me in all seriousness. After facing the music of some things, I realized that it was I who had been invasive of his so-called "privacy".
He was in his room, with his girlfriend, and I saw them making out like fools. Well. They weren't just making out.

I mean, I don't know what the hell people call it nowadays. Some consider 'making out' totally different from others.

Well, I don't care what you call making-out of there is nudity involved. I don't really care. At least not at this point since I am already screwed. I don't have time to wonder how some people identify themselves as "making out".

I spent practically the rest of my evening in my room, wondering exactly how Rubin was going to kill me. I spent my time thinking long and hard. I think about the various ways Rubin could possibly kill me--- especially after I walked in on him and his girlfriend.
I'm in a fucked up shit hole right about now.

Hot damn, I curse in my head.
(And don't mean it in the reference Bruno Mars uses in his song Uptown Funk. When I say "hot damn", it can mean a lot of things. This one, for example, means: Ah, crap! I'm fucked!)

I would check the time on my phone to see the time while I did my homework. Mom and dad would usually roll in from work around 6:30 or so. They had different jobs, but one would usually come in an hour after the other one. Sometimes mom would come in earlier than dad usually would, which was sad in my opinion. I considered it a so-called treacherous thing since she would look like hell every time she walked in home. Her hair loose, her eyes tired, her face sore.

Hot damn, I'd think.
(meaning: shame)

Tonight, dad came home earlier than mom--- and he was right about ready to kill someone. He was tired, livid, and seemed about ready to cuss someone out. The last time my dad has ever swore was after he and Rubin broke into an argument regarding Rubin's absence to cousin Loraine's funeral.

(Our cousin Loraine was sixty-something and she died of booze. She drunk too much with her medication like a freakin' fool. She lived by some pier in Delaware, but we barely visited her. She was from my mother's side.)

The argument was terrible--- and when by terrible, I mean: it was the most suckish argument I've ever heard.
All they did was cuss each other out, dropping bombs like the words they used were nothing but harmless parachutes that suddenly exploded and obliterated almost everything in its path.

I didn't want to hear it one bit since they were just awful in using their words at each other. I would just feel myself wanting to burn my ears off as they would fight. Especially if my dad would get mad and cuss to himself. He was the worst swearer in the face of our family. He was stupid with his words and would just say any damn thing.

I waited for dad to get settled before I spoke to him. I was downstairs, trying to get water from the kitchen in order to hydrate my dying thirst. Once I achieved that goal, dad said, "I'm fine, kid. Do your homework, okay?"

I just looked at him, and he started to mumble in Spanish. Honestly, the only words I knew he said were "puta", "gringos", and "bastardos".
(Bitch, Yankees, and bastards.)

He was on fire.

After realizing that there was nothing to really talk about, I had gone back upstairs and to my room. I decided to keep the door closed since I didn't want to disturb anyone while I listened to my music from my iPod. I usually plugged it into the iHome sound system.

When I went to retrieve the iHome sound speakers, I found them completely wrecked in permanent black marker that was scribbled. The ink stained the speakers and was pressured heavily against the holes. They were done for.

Way to go, Rubin.

I wanted to cuss, or maybe go up to him and smack my speakers against his head. This was a way beyond harsh payback from him. All I did was accidentally walk in on him and his girlfriend making out (or having sex, whatever).

I was just pissed, but I didn't think I had a right to be since it was in deed my fault for walking into his room without his consent. So, basically, I am the sucker at this point. Anyone who knows me should know that for sure. The last time I did something without Rubin's consent was touch his car, pretending to drive in it. I was fifteen, and I liked his car. I didn't do anything to it, but the fact that I was inside of it, touching it, really pissed him off.

So, in conclusion, he decided to color my hair pink in my sleep. Instead of hair dye, he used paint, and I was irate. I mean, sure after a good scrub the paint did come out, but there were a few stains of pink in my hair. So, I had my right to be pissed with him in return--- even though I had no form of revenge to perform against him. It wasn't that I was scared of him, I just didn't know what to do when it came to Rubin. He always held the upper hand, so it was difficult to outsmart him in my revenge plots. He always knew how to backfire one on me like some kind of ninja genius. He was more mischievous than anyone I've ever met. More mischievous than the Teenage Mutant Turtles, and they're brothers. 
Basically, Rubin's the worst.

I just sat on my bed, looking at my iHome speaker, then my phone ranged. I just knew it was Parker since his ringtone was the only one with a strum of an acoustic guitar. It was fast too, so that was another clue. Everyone else had either an alarm, space noises, or something with bells. Parker and Cole were the only ones with special ringtones. Parker's was a strumming of an acoustic guitar, while Cole's ringtone was of chirping birds. Nothing special, but it was somehow. I don't know.

I answered the phone with a low, "Parker?" I wasn't being rude or anything, I just was tired and frustrated. When your brother simply ruins your music and your father comes in cussing, then you'll see my point. Okay? Good.

Anyway, I spoke to Parker over the phone, and he was barely speaking clearly since he was driving. He told me he was coming to pick me up in fifteen minutes, and I didn't know why. It was a school night, and the only time he picks me up if it's Tuesday. Today is Friday, and tomorrow will be Saturday, so, we don't do anything really. He picks me up once a week from school due to my involvement in Robotics Club. (Well, in his words it's "Geek Club" since all we do is build and learn about engineering. Yet, I liked it. So, who cares? I've been doing it for two years, so who cares?)

"Why are you coming to get me?" I asked him.

Then, he says, "Just get ready, okay? I'm taking you out."

"Huh?"

"You know Celeste Morgan? Her girlfriend, Becky Moore, is captain of the Volleyball team."

Who didn't know her? She was the nicest, but the most bitchiest girl I've ever known. She had a nice face, and she has been with Becky since Freshman Year. They've loved each other for years, and we all had our cards that they would either runaway married, or runaway with a family without being married. Who knows? It was crazy.

Parker told me about how Celeste invited everyone to Becky's party to celebrate her being accepted into Penn State for college. It wasn't anything big, he claimed, but I just knew that probably a lot of important people were going to be there from our school. Cheerleaders, athletic teams and the members from each team, and so on. 

"You're coming" said Parker. "Get yourself together, coat yourself. I'm almost there."

I went to protest, but Parker hung up on me. Then, before I knew it, I realized that I couldn't back down from this since I was already dead at home. So, if I hung out with Parker, at least my chances of death wouldn't be too harsh on me.