And So Romeo Forgot His Lines

And So Romeo Forgot His Lines {9}

The next day, Seamus was back in school. I sadly told him we had to work at his house. His mood sank and he grumbled out a string of cuss words. At the end of the day, he led me to his bus. “Fag boy, you’re back?” Jake asked, giving a cocky look.

“You bastard,” Seamus growled and advanced at him. I shoved Seamus into a seat. He glared at me with his pretty eyes.

Wait a minute.

Did I just call his eyes…

No. Shut up Alex.

“Sit with me Alex?” Jake offered, gesturing to his seat. I smiled and sat with him. “You look very beautiful today.” I grinned and flipped my hair. “Well thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Jake pulled out his cell and handed it to me. I handed him mine and we entered each other’s numbers before switching phones again. We hit a bump and I leaned on him. He grinned and moved his lips towards mine.

“Well look at that! We’re at my house!” Seamus grabbed me and pulled me away. “Fag! “Jake shot angrily as he pulled me off the bus. The bus drove away and Seamus led me up the walkway to his house. “Why don’t you ever mow your lawn?” I asked in disgust. Daddy always mowed our lawn.

Seamus rolled his eyes. “Too much work.” He opened his front door and reluctantly led Bob and I inside. The hallway had a dark, dirty carpet. The wallpaper was slightly peeling. He led me to his living room. It was small with a worn couch pushed against the wall and a TV across from it.

We kept walking to his kitchen. There were dirty dishes in the sink and a table with dirty dishes on it as well. There was a small TV on the counter. Lizzy was in there eating a sub. She looked up and smiled at me. “Hello Alex!” “Hi,” I said politely.

Seamus opened and cupboard and sighed. “Lizzy,” he whined. “There’s no clean glasses?” She shook her head. “It’s almost the weekend. You know we never do dishes until the weekend.” He sighed in annoyance and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I guess we’ll just have soda.” “Um, no. Too many calories,” I said in disgust.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed himself a Mountain Dew. He led me upstairs. He opened the door to his room.

Oh. My. God.

Shoot me. Just shoot me.

It had black walls with a black carpet and black sheets and pillows on his bed. He had a few posters tacked up. There was a small desk shoved in the corner. He had speakers placed on a black chair with his iPod plugged in. He had a black dresser and his closet was open, revealing all dark clothes. Black, dark purple, and dark blue with the occasional random splash of color from a band shirt.

He grinned. “Welcome,” he said and bowed. We went inside. There were empty cans of soda and energy drinks. A half finished bag of chips. A plate with crumbs on it. Clothes thrown around randomly. A stack of CDs near an old player. Another stack had toppled over next to it. A ripped pair of converse was peeking out from under his unmade bed.

He walked over and turned on his iPod. Some screamo song exploded out. “Oh Alesana,” he said with a smile and looked at me. “Coming in?” I covered Bob’s eyes as I walked in.

There was a dent in his wall near his door. His room was depressing. I hated being in it. “How can you stay in this room you freakish emo?!” I cried. It smelled strongly of smoke. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Want one?” he offered. I shook my head violently. Smoking was so not my thing.

“Hey! Second hand smoking is terrible for children!” I cried, slapping my hand over Bob’s nose and mouth. “Alex? Bob is plastic.”

Oh yea.

He was, wasn’t he?

I sat awkwardly on his bed after he shoved magazine off it. “So is Lizzy your mom?” I asked, just to talk. He blinked before roaring into laughter. “Step mom?” I tried. He laughed harder. “My…sister…” he managed.

Oh.

“She’s, like, a thousand million years older than you!” I cried. “9,” he corrected. “She’s 25.”

9, a thousand million. What’s the difference?

He changed Bob’s diaper again. “So where is your mom?” I asked. He shrugged, unconcerned. “Clubbing, partying, drunk in a ditch, dead. Who knows?” I stared at him. “You don’t even care?” I cried. If mother was gone and I didn’t know where she was, I would certainly panic. Who would buy me knew shoes?!

He finished changing the diaper and looked up. “Why should I care?” he asked, confused. “She’s your mom!” “And?” “You should care!” He chuckled. “If she wanted me to care, she would call me. She’s not my responsibility.”

“So, what, she neglects you?” He rolled his eyes. “Typical. Because I’m emo it means I have to have an abusive parent or be neglected. No. I have Lizzy and that’s good enough.” “What about your dad?” “What about him?” “Where is he?” “Who knows, who cares.”

I watched him as he placed the bottle in the baby’s mouth. I was determined to find out more about Seamus Fitzpatrick.