Mirage (ON HOLD for revision)

Chapter 8: Senility

The train passed through in one fluid motion, leaving everything behind. The sun has almost set, spilling a curious fiery glow reflecting over cement and glass after a light drizzle just before Cedric left the pub.

I left early this morning to specifically avoid running into them, Cedric thought as he leaned against the train doors despite the oversized warning sign not to, and I had hoped I would have to stay out late until they’ve gone to bed.

“And I even hung out with them thinking they’d last at least until night fall,” Cedric mumbled in annoyance, “You really can’t just people by the way they act. That aside, what the hell am I supposed to do until later?”

“Cedric?”

Just now, Cedric thought as his head jerked up and looked around, certain that he heard someone calling his name. He scanned face after face of strangers running elbows in the slowly heating up car but found none of them familiar.

Must've been my imagination, he dismissed after a while, returning to the problem at hand.

He was well aware of the fact that he lost it-- no, that he went overboard with what he did to the old man. He has been 'caring' for him for years since he suffered a stroke, and continued to do so even after the bastard got worse from his drinking. In truth, in that moment, it wasn't his father that Cedric hated but himself.

I was no different from him after all, Cedric dejectedly acknowledged with a bitter sigh, we were cut from the same cloth-- just a couple of self-centered bastard, seeing only what was convenient.

Thankful for the heavy traffic turning streets into parking lots for once, Cedric deliberately took another detour before going home, passing by Matt's house. The lights were on in all the rooms as usual, something Cedric couldn't understand considering that there's almost only one light lit in the house he lives in. How bright it must be, Cedric thought, wondering how, even in that brightness, someone could be stuck in the dark.

"What business do you have here?"

At first, Cedric thought it was Matt's old man. But he was much too old to be a teenager’s father. He was remarkably well-dressed with a knitted vest, ironed, black pants, and a starched, plain white shirt that looked yellow under the streetlamps. But for all the care put in his appearance, it was obvious to Cedric, looking at the silent glare in the old man's eyes and the contemptuous set of his face that the old man was a very cold person.

"I was wondering if Matt's back yet," Cedric replied, managing to sound polite despite his growing annoyance. All he wanted was to quietly pass by, maybe 'accidentally' run into Matt, pick his brain a little, and then go home. He didn't think he would have to deal with more unpleasant people. "I was going to borrow his notes," Cedric added if only to annoy the old man in gratitude.

The old man gave a loud snort, reminding Cedric of his old man's snot filled nose with much disgust, and a smirk broke on the man's face-- a disgusting smirk that fit so naturally with the lines on his face that Cedric began to suspect it was a face the old man often wore.

"Like that stupid brat would ever," he mumbled, but not in an attempt to be inaudible.

If anything, it was obvious how he wanted to be louder but couldn't with his hoarse throat and shrinking lungs. It gave Cedric a thought that often leaves him disgusted with himself; old age is beautiful.

Before he could say anymore, Cedric gave a non-committal response and excused himself. He couldn't resist looking back as the oversized, carved door fell shut, realizing that not once has he, or anyone else for that matter, set foot in that house. His own lack of connections wasn't the only reason Matt's life remained cloaked in mystery, remembering that everyone he has ever overheard gossiping about the strange kid in class who kept to himself  could only make wild speculation as to what kind of family he has. It was silly, Cedric admitted then as he stared at the unchanging facade of the Vizcarra family home, that it was a house of unforgiving mirrors and envy.

Too preoccupied with realizations that took too long to manifest, Cedric nearly forgot his own anxiety as he turned the knob and pushed the door of his own house open.

It wasn't until the door was already slightly ajar that he realized there was way too many lights on, and the living room's was included. Despite his hesitation and the sudden dread that settled much too comfortably in his chest, Cedric pushed the door open, walked inside, and immediately regretted, supposing that it would have been better if he had stayed with Matt's uncle.

"So it really was you on the train earlier."

Cedric always knew that both he and Shirley inherited their parents' genes, if only because it was logically supposed by science and discounting his own striking resemblance to his father. However, the three who say so awkwardly in the living room took the theory on a whole new level. Only then did Cedric digest what the woman said about the train, cursing himself for forgetting, for not realizing, for not being attentive enough to save himself from the unwanted returnee.

"Won't you sit down, brother?" Shirley awkwardly asked, breaking Cedric out of his subconscious.

"Hello, Leah," Cedric finally said.

"Bastard, that's no way to talk to your mother!"

 Then, Cedric reluctantly looked at the three again, deciding that old age is really one a hell of a bitch. What else could prompt a mother who abandoned her children to escape her violent husband to return like she simply went on a short vacation? Too infuriated and afraid he would lose his cool again, turn into the monster his father was again, Cedric turned to Matt's silent defiance and walked back out the way he came, out of what has never been a home to him.