"Semi-Short Stories" [ Story Collection ]

Father Issues [] 6/11 []

He wakes in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar bedroom, in an odd...kitchen? He sees a microwave and a fridge, but the fridge isn't regular-sized. What are those called? Tiny fridges? Mini fridge? That's it. And two queen-sized beds. A boxy TV is resting on an equally boxy dresser, directly across from the gap between the two beds. Draco doesn't sit up, but he leans up enough to get a better look at the room. The second bed is vacant, the sheets pulled back and twisted with sleep. Matthew? No, not Matthew. He's right beside him, dreaming. Nice dreams I hope.

Draco snakes an arm around Matthew to pull himself closer. He doesn't try waking him - he doesn't know what's going on yet. It's best to play dead until the situation explains itself. Or should they book it? Before he can turn to look at the door, he can hear the handle turning. Draco freezes when the door opens. His eyes dart to the nightstand in hopes of something to use as a weapon. Much to his surprise, his guns are well within his reach.

And reach he does.

"Don't move!"

The gun is pointed directly at the man who walked in. The same man that's holding fast food bags.

"But I brought breakfast."

"Michael." He lowers the gun, but keeps it in his hand. "What's going on? Where the hell are we?"

"A hotel. Your parents think you're staying with Carwyn." Michael sets the bags onto the round table by the window and AC unit, on the other side of the bed Draco and Matthew are currently sharing.

"But why?"

"To avoid questions. I'm sure your parents would have had a lot if I brought you two home shitfaced." He's dishing out the food, setting aside a a few things presumably for himself. "And I couldn't bring you to my house, because then Raphael would have asked questions. I figured it was best to just let you both sleep it off." From his pocket, he retrieves a small bottle. "Might need this."

Draco catches it and reads the label. Advil. He didn't even notice his headache until then. "Thanks."

"Might wanna wake him up before the food gets cold."

"No. I'll buy him something if he needs it, but he should sleep until he wakes up on his own. To make sure that the alcohol has completely worn off. It fucks with him." Draco takes a container of hash browns and looks over to Matthew. "Not sure why he drank it anyway..."

"The same reason you did, probably. Felt compelled to." Michael takes a seat in one of two chairs to eat his own food.

"I'm surprised they let us leave."

"I guess he got what he wanted. Whatever it was. Mattie uh, he has some kind of cut on his hand. It's not too deep, but I made sure to clean it pretty well and bandage it." Michael doesn't look at Draco. He thinks he knows what it was that Samson wanted. What he got out of his son's visit.

"Sounds like some satan shit to me. Hope he didn't sell his soul or something." Draco tries to laugh, but fails. The realization hit him full force. "You don't think that's what he did, do you?"

"I...I don't know. You know more about Samson than I do."

"Which is a bit sad, don't you think?"

"It is. I have to admit it. Like I said...it was a compulsion. I knew better, but I still did it."

"More than once."

"More than once. Yes." He looks ashamed now, rather than defensive. "Anyway. Do you think it's possible? The, uh, soul thing?"

"I dunno. The man has schizophrenia, and it's worse than Matthew's. He thinks Satan directly speaks to him, but I've not seen any proof of that."

There's silence.

"But maybe you felt it."

"I don't want to think about it anymore. Let's shut up so we don't wake him up."

So they eat in silence.