BEASTLY

xi. i'm not okay (i promise)

Mitch Grassi

I haven't been this stork raving crazy in a long time. Now, I know I'm typically a homebody, so staying at home for long periods of time never effects me. But this effects me. My mutation effects me. I don't feel comfortable leaving the house. I don't feel comfortable looking into a mirror anymore. I've smashed every single mirror in the house that I passed by, causing my knuckles to be extremely bloody and bruised, but not broken. I mean, they might have been broken but I can't feel it past the brokenness in my life already. There's nothing happy in my life, and to top it all off, Mike is home. He's been here for three days making Doctor house calls to come and diagnose me. Nothing has turned up. That's because you can't cure magic. Magic always comes with a price according to Rumplestiltskin, and this magic hurts like a bitch.

I spent most of my time listening to music. I drowned myself out with the best old school depression inhibitor: My Chemical Romance. I found myself screaming with "It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Death Wish." Mike yelled at me to stop being so gloomy and, for lack of better words, to shut up. He was doing some research for me today. His goals were to find a new place for us to move so I could have privacy for how ugly things would be from now on (Mike's words) and to hire a private tutor. He demanded I finish high school, get my degree, and find a job to work from home.

I force myself to find some light in all of this. I guess the only good thing is that I might actually develop a relationship with Mike. He's working from home. He'll actually be a good father and not abandon me for weeks at a time.

Boy, was I wrong.

One week later we were moving into our new condo, just outside of the shitty part of NYC. I could still see the lights from the city on our balcony, which was to my request. And, also to my request, there was a large chandelier in the front foyer of our condo. It was the only ounce of color I feel like I could still see, and that was partially due to my imagination... Or maybe my hope. Something so fragile and so beautiful as a chandelier could produce so much light and splendor.

I finished setting up my room, focusing mostly on the wall with all of my CD's. I'd never done that much heavy lifting before and was practically broken in two. I had so many boxes of CD's. So much music I wanted to bring with me. My music kept me alive and kept me safe. There was something rewarding about putting a CD into a CD player... Something not done much at all in this century. Everything was so easily accessible. But, hey, they say music is better than drugs, and I'd rather my drug be my music.

"Mike!" I shout into the empty hallway, passing by Naomi as she smiled and nodded. She was so tall, yet felt so small to me. It was the way she held herself up. She feared for her life when Mike was around; he was always threatening her job. I continued walking down, looking for his room. I found an office, but no other bed other than Naomi's. I did find another guest room, presumably my future tutor's, but nothing that even faintly resembled Mike Grassi. I spotted him looking out the window by the staircase on the first level. I briskly trotted down the stairs and proceeded my first hopeful conversation.

"The view isn't all too bad, huh?" He hmph'ed as a response. It wasn't a sarcastic response... Just an empty one. "So, where's your room? Has your stuff not arrived yet?"

"Mitchell." He refused to look at me. Still looking out to the world... Where he belonged. "I'm not staying here. I can't stay here and be your caretaker."

"I'm not asking you to be my caretaker, I'm asking you to be my father."

"I am being your father, son. I'm making us money. I'm making the money to pay for your tutor, for Naomi, for that damn naked ugly animal of yours... God, now you look like it."