A Drop of Rain

Saturday is the Worst Day

Saturday- (technically Sunday, because it's midnight.)

Morty tipped to the side dangerously, almost falling from the swivel chair in the garage. He realized in time, and instead of falling to the floor, he slumped forward onto the workbench. It's 12:34am, and Morty is shit-faced drunk, hunching over the workbench with a bottle of Scotch. He had been working his way through the bottle for 34 minuets, and so far he managed to get down two thirds of it. He planned to get the whole bottle down today. He needed it.

Picking at the label of the bottle, Morty thought about how disappointed his mom would look if she caught him like this- sipping from a bottle in an attempt to get numb. Beth was already quite the drinker herself, which Morty could only assume traveled down the line from Rick to her. Maybe he was next to the throne of alcoholism. Drinking away his emotion because they're too much to handle.

He knew his mom would be disappointed if she found him like this- so many times had she given lectures to Summer about this sort of thing when she would return home drunk from parties.

**

"Summer, what the fuck were you thinking?! You shouldn't be drinking! You're too fucking young for that shit! Do you want to end up like me and your Grandfather and I?! Do you?!" Beth bellowed at the half drunk red head before her. Morty was watching from the door way in the kitchen with a worried look on his face as his mom and sister fought back and fourth. He was hidden from sight, but he could see everything going on. All the way from the way Summer swayed a bit on her feet, to how Beth's face had a look of hurt and fury etched deeply into it.

"Shut up, Mom! I only had three shots!" Summer crosses her arms, glaring daggers at her mother. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"Not a big deal?! NOT A BIG DEAL?! SUMMER, HAVE YOU MET THIS FAMILY?!"

"YES, MOM!" Summer barked. "I'M AWARE THAT YOU AND GRANDPA ARE ALCOHOLICS! But I'm not fucking like that, SO BACK OFF!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT SUMMER!" Beth barked back, tears welling up in her crystal blue eyes. "You could be just as bad as dad and I..." her voice broke into a sob. Beth was mighty well drunk herself, having been sipping from a glass of red wine since noon. Everyone knew how sensitive Beth could get with this kind of thing, especially when she was actually drunk. Like now. A roller coaster of emotions.

"Mom... I won't let that happen..." Summer approached her mother, eyes suddenly softening. "It's okay mom... it was only three shots, a-and they weren't even the strong stuff. I'd say I was probably buzzing right now... I'm not even close to being drunk, and I don't plan on getting drunk any time soon..."

Morty snuck away from the scene before him, skipping all of the squeaky stairs on the way up to his bed room. Beth nor Summer had known he was there- he had just come down for a glass of water, and he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He heard a conversation that he wished he missed.

**

That memory was from about a year ago, when Morty had just turned fourteen. Around the time Rick had just settled into the family. Ha, isn't it funny that his next birthday is in a couple weeks? He's going to be sixteen years old. And Rick's not going to be there to see it.

'What if Rick had caught me like this?' Morty wondered to himself. He probably wouldn't give a shit. He'd probably pat him on the back, and drink whatever amount of alcohol Morty didn't get to in time. Fuck Rick.

Mortys eyes blurred, and he reached up a hand to feel his cheeks. When had he started crying? He missed Rick so much. He needs him. He hates him. He loves him. He never wants to see him again. He wants him to come home. He wants to see him. He wants to punch him. He wants to hug him.