Jean and Danny

Jean and Danny 2

I sighed gutturally as I entered my cold house, my white sneakers thudding loudly against the wooden floor beneath them.

I walked from the back door (I always came home through the back door, it was just a thing my family did) into the kitchen, and peered through the doorway, expecting my father to be in his usual spot on the floor, watching television or listening to the radio.

I was almost surprised when he wasn't there. I flipped the switch for the kettle, as my knees shook, and I jumped on the balls of my feet a couple of times, trying to get the heat to circulate through my system again.

"Hey, boy! Is that you?" My father's all too familiar voice called. His voice was always kinda wheezy, and very throaty and deep. It was like he always spoke from his chest, but it was difficult because of all the smoking he did. He normally sounded exhausted and tired, because he could never really get to sleep properly at night, and today was no exception.

"Yeah?" I called, sounding almost shy as I walked from the small kitchenette into the lounge room, then gently dropped my bag into a nearby armchair.

I peered into his room, and saw him laying there on the floor, a small casket of beer and a glass beside him, the floor covered in it's usual tobacco splutter, because my father bought the cheaper roll-up cigarettes, and always made a mess when rolling them up. I assumed it was because he rolled them up on the floor, while leaning on one arm, but... Who knows? Maybe he was just naturally messy?

He looked over at me with tired, bloodshot eyes, and I peered back, through the doorway.

This was kind of awkward. He almost never spoke to me. Well, unless I started the conversation, or he was talking about the household chores. Other than that... We never spoke. It was just a thing. Like there was a code in place from preventing us from speaking.

For a minute, I thought he was going to ask me how my school day was, and make my mind cave in, but instead, he said something completely different.

"I'm going out on the weekend. Think you'll be alright by yourself?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

I was sixteen. Of course I'd be alright by myself. Although, I'd turned sixteen about a month or two ago. Despite that, this had been a regular occurrence for years.

But, it gave me one hell of an opportunity. To hid him from Daniel, and via versa.

"Sure, but can I have a friend over? One of my friends from school wanted some help with homework, and... well... if you're out, then I can't really leave the house," I explained to the drunken man before me.

Today was Thursday. Now, ordinarily alcoholics would drink every day, and once upon a time, my father was one of those alcoholics. But, ever since my sister turned eighteen and moved out, he only ever drank on Thursday's. Why? Because Thursday was pay day.

It took a moment for the man to register what I was saying, and then he seemed to understand.

"A... friend?" He asked, drawling the words out as if they were from a foreign language he hadn't spoken in a long time.

Well, to him, the words may very well have been foreign. I didn't exactly see him going out and having friends of his own.

I nodded. "Yeah. For homework," I drawled, a little louder and more confident this time.

He licked his lips slowly, making a very weird, loud dragging noise across them as he did so, then he nodded.

"Alright. Alright. You can... have a friend," he responded, as if he were still trying to figure out how his tongue worked.

I looked over at the thing containing liquor, and guessed that from how flat it looked, he was probably smashed, and would be for the rest of the day.

I nodded. "Thanks," I chided, trying to end the conversation before he started repeating himself.

He did that a lot when he was drunk. Say the same thing over, and over again, as if this were the first time he'd said it.

I didn't bother asking where he was going on the weekend or any important details like that. If I did, it normally took half an hour, and a lot of cryptic words and arguing to get the answer out of him. When my father was drunk, it was like he was always looking for a fight... But he was cowardly about it.

I walked away from his bedroom, and back into the kitchen, where I heard the kettle boil. I smiled as I pulled my mug from the drying rack, and gave it a quick rinse in the sink, before beginning to make myself a hot chocolate.

Then I'd get started on my homework, and that would give me more time with Daniel on the weekend.

I smiled a wan and bitter smile to myself. I felt kind of tired, and living with my father had kind of soured me. I realized I had two hours till I had to go to work, and shook myself from my self-pity. If I was going to get my homework done, there was no time to fool around. I nodded, steeling myself for my homework, and mumbled a sentence that had kept me going for years.

"Conviction keeps you going."

I placed my warm mug down on the counter, then raced back to my bag, feeling energy surge through me, as I recalled every one of my beliefs, and how much energy each of them was filled with. It seemed to pass back to me, and I felt boundless energy pour through me for just a moment.

I'd get this done. I'd go to work. I'd do it all. I smiled bitterly as I set to work.

'Let's see how long those thoughts last when the sugar-coating wears off.' A darker side of me hissed into my head.

I dismissed the thought.

A sugar coating could last a long time if one was smart about it,and I certainly wasn't the kind of person who burned out easily.

--------------------------