The Babysitter || Muke

Chapter One

So I'm bored and starting this new fic because I don't want to do my homework. You'll want to picture Michael with his natural hair, no piercing, or tattoos, and a bit weak. He wants to be punk and stuff but his mom is really religious and considers it to be 'devil activity'.

SO yeah.... Enjoy!

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"I don't need a babysitter, Mum, I'm fifteen!" Michael Clifford screamed.

"You are getting a babysitter and that's that, Michael Gordon!" the woman yelled back. She was going away for three days on a business trip and Michael couldn't have been happier. That is until he found out about her getting a sitter. Knowing her, he was going to be stuck inside with some crusty old man from her church group.

"It's completely pointless though," he said. "I'm old enough to feed and bathe myself without issue. Why pay for someone to watch over me? I'll be fine!"

Michael's mother just rolled her eyes. "Knowing you, you'll burn the house down five minutes after I'm gone."

"I'm not dangerous, for fuck's sake!"

"Watch your tone, young man," she growled. The woman was strict and out of her mind in Michael's opinion. He was so anxious to get away from the crazy bitch, even after two minutes of talking to her. He just wanted to go upstairs and play video games. The sounds might drown out her nagging.

His eyes widened and he jumped up. "See! Right there! Young man! Not little boy!"

"Nevertheless," she insisted. "And you don't have to worry, sweetie, he's around your age."

His slumped against the wall and groaned loudly. Even an old guy would have been better than that. It was going to be so embarrassing! Michael could already picture the guy laughing at him for having a babysitter at fifteen years old. He would get picked on even worse now.

"You've got to be kidding me," Michael said.

"I'm not. My friend Liz from church-" Of course, he thought. "-has a son a little older than you. He's a wonderful boy who gets marvelous grades and plays five instruments! You know, the good ones. He's also in the church choir."

"Delightful," he said monotonously.

Mrs. Clifford frowned. "Don't get smart with me. Maybe he'll actually have a good influence on you. Possibly get you to stop listening to that demon music."

Michael rolled his eyes and walked out of the room ignoring as his mother screamed about how she was not finished with this conversation and you come back here this instant, Michael Gordon.

In response, he slammed his door knowing how much she hated that.

Michael attempted to play COD for a while but he couldn't focus and kept losing. He never lost. He groaned in frustration, tossed the controller to the side and grabbed his guitar. At least with a guitar he could turn his anger into something beautiful and productive. With video games he only caused himself more stress.

"How you think that noise is beautiful is beyond me!" Mrs. Clifford tended to say to him. "Sounds dreadful in my opinion." And then she would stick her nose in the air while killing puppies and making defenseless children massage her bunioned feet as she sat on a throne of skulls...

Okay maybe she didn't do that. Michael may have been exagerating a little. She was too religious to kill a living thing or sit on a throne crafted out of human bones. But she did have bunions.

He plugged the guitar into his amp and began playing loudly, not caring what neighbor he disturbed. He poured out his soul into the notes. His anger, his sadness, his bitterness; all of it added up to create a depressingly beautiful sound. Melancholy, Mikey thought.

Michael bought this guitar for himself one and a half years ago after saving up allowances and money he earned from walking dogs around town. He knew his mother would be livid but that was besides, if not part of, the point. He didn't care about his mother's reaction to an electric guitar. He wanted one in the worst way. He taught himself to play on the church's crappy acoustic and found he was a natural player. But being punk rock, he wanted his own electric. And he finally got it through allowance, birthday money, and a lot of dog poop.

After a while, his anger died down and he began lazily strumming random tunes. His mind turned to his babysitter. The marvelous boy who was apparently so much better than Michael. As far as he knew, the guy sounded like a total prude. That's what everyone at school thought of Michael. That he was a prudish religious boy. He had to wear stupid button downs tucked into his belted pants everyday because his mum wouldn't tolerate him wearing anything else.

"You can't go around looking like a trashbag the way so many of the boys your age do! It's filthy!" she had once said.

And it wasn't like he could buy his own clothes. He spent all his money on the guitar, amp, and picks. After that, his mum stopped giving him an allowance, losing all trust in him.

"Next I suppose you'll be wearing t-shirts with heavy metal band logos and expecting me to allow you to get an ear pierced!"

Which of course was true. He wanted to wear cool band tees and skinny jeans. He wanted to dye his hair and to get a piercing. But no. That would be insane. Because truly expressing himself was a ridiculous concept his mother couldn't seem to grasp.

Michael unplugged the amp and put down his guitar. Running a hand through his boring, uncolored hair, he sighed in defeat. He would have to deal with a babysitter for the only three days of freedom he ever had. He was no longer looking forward to the next day. Instead, he felt sick. Michael didn't know this guy. What if he was popular and told all his friends about him being a weirdo and needing someone to watch over him while dear mummy was out of town? Michael was already enough of an outcast as it was.

So when it was 11:11 pm, Michael wished. He wished that the boy would be laid back and keep this nightmare to himself. He wished that the boy would be friendly and not stick his nose into Michael's business. He wished so hard. He wished because that was all he could do. Michael wasn't one for praying or religion. His crazy mother was proof enough that it was nonsense. Because what god would create someone like that?

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How did you guys like it? Should I continue? PLease let me know! Comment and/or vote!!!