Listen up by Sierra A. Slinger

"This world is so fucked up, son."

Crap. He's awake, and that means you're probably in trouble.

You close the front door quietly behind you, and move slowly towards the living room, pausing at the door. He's sitting in the armchair, the one that isn't facing you, and you can only see one of his arms hanging over the side. You hesitate because you don't really have enough gut to go any further.

You were really late, and you thought for sure that he'd be asleep, because sane people were usually in bed by eleven, and it's 2 a.m. But no, the asshole had to sit around and wait up for you, probably drinking himself to all hell, and, yeah, that's alcohol you can smell in the air, which is great, just great. You guess it's pretty sad, though, because you can see two untouched boxes of pizza on the table, and there's Hitch, your favorite movie of all time, sitting right there on top of them. He probably planned out a whole evening of bonding, and suddenly you feel like the worst son on the entire planet, because you actually kind of are. You are the worst, it's you.

Crap.

"Shit, sorry, dad, I meant to get home sooner, but Daniel set all his clocks back four hours, because he's an jerk, and he said he wanted to know what it would be like to live in Hawaii, or some place. Okay, I forget what he said exactly, not like it matters, because all that comes out of his mouth most of the time is the most refined brand of diarrhea, which comes with-"

"This whole... fucking world," he mutters , cutting you off. Well, shit. He's drunk, "Is so fucked up. Hey, sit down."

You sit down. Right across on the couch, where he can see you and you can see him. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket, wearing it inside, because it's freezing in this house, its probably colder in here than it is outside. Your dad hardly ever turns on the heat. He says it wastes money, especially when you have perfectly good winter clothes. Clothes he isn't even wearing, he's dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans. You can see the empty cans stacked up next to the chair from here, and you think it's no wonder he doesn't notice the cold right now.

"Get me a beer," he slurs, "I can't walk too good right now. Floor keeps movin'."

"Yeah, 'cause you're shit-faced," you say flatly, "Generally, that means you've had too much to drink, you asshole. So no, I'm not getting you a beer."

"Evan."

"And, have you even eaten? It's no wonder you're so fucking drunk, you've got perfectly good pizza sitting here, the good stuff too, from the bakery, not that frozen crap, but no, you sit here and diet on alcohol instead, like an ass." Now he's rubbing his temple, like most people do by this point in your rants. If he weren't drunk, you probably wouldn't be talking to him like this, but then again, he's pretty okay when he isn't drunk, so you wouldn't even have a reason to. Plus, his reflexes are bound to be sluggish, so it's not like he could hit you if he wanted to. "What did you do when you got home? Did you just sit here and drink like an idiot, because that's what it looks like you did. The freaking television isn't even on, you sad old man. Do you want to fuck up your liver, or something?"

"Was gonna surprise you," he slurs, and you get that horrible guilty feeling again, like it ever left. You sit back, "Got you that... fuckin' movie an' ev'rything. Figured we could watch it. Pizza's... prob'ly cold."

You don't say anything to that, but that's okay, because he doesn't look conscious anymore. His hands slipped down to the sides of the chair, his right one knocking over the stack of cans loudly, his chin resting on his chest cause he slumps down his chair. You think that maybe, if you had payed attention to the time, you would have been home earlier and he wouldn't be drunk like this. You guess you should have known better, actually, because you know he has a drinking problem, and you knew there was a case of beer in the fridge. A big one, too.

The two of you haven't been all that close, every since your mom died. Heck, you were never really that close, but when she was gone, it felt like a shared bond you had left too, which you never really understood. Maybe it's because neither of you wanted to talk about her death, because it would have been so much easier to just ignore that it even happened, but it did happen. And the more the two of you ignored it, the more awkward things were. For a while it was all you could think about. It was sort of like a wake-up call, almost; like you had been living this whole fairy-tale life before, where you were happy with a mostly loving family, but those things don't last forever. They never do.

Welcome to the real world, dill-weed. People lose things. You're no different.

You don't know why you thought you were different. What did your family have that the others didn't? In fact, our family was dysfunctional as all hell, not the main family, of course, but the aunts, cousins, and maybe also your stupid older brother, Thomas. So the other families probably had more. But your mom... Well, she was like a saint. She was just such an awesome person, sweet, kind, honest, loving and, understanding, but then she was just gone; Poof! Like she was never even there, only she was, and no one can take away her memory.

You think remembering her is worse, though. Because every morning, when she isn't there to wake you up, you can feel her absence, it's unbelievably noticeable almost unbearable. When walk into the kitchen, and she isn't there making coffee because she has to go to work, and she has to wake your dad up, and the two of you would be pretty much lost without her. Which you are. Now, because she is.

You hate remembering. Remembering sucks.

Then there was that whole episode when you came out and told him you were bisexual, which you immediately decided was a huge mistake, because you just opened up the floodgates. It's not that he was angry about it, no, he was crazy accepting, ever child's dream right? Only he was accepting in a violent, angry, and hurt way, rather than just being indifferent about the news, like he was about most everything else. When you told him, he blew up, yelling at you for not telling him sooner. He kept saying things about how you never talk to him anymore, about how he wants to know these things, and he made you feel so guilty that you started lashing out at him too, telling him he's exactly the same way, so why should you be the first to say something? Why should you have to take the blame? Why should you be the one to say anything?

Most embarrassingly of all, while he was just standing there, glaring at you in silence, you started crying. You started crying right fucking there in the kitchen. Even worse, he hugged you, and you just couldn't stand how awful and emotional you were being, so you punched him. You punched him for being a supportive father. It wasn't even that hard, just enough to let him know to let go, and when he did, you ran.

You guess it was a good thing it happened, though, because the two of you had hardly spoken more than a sentence or two at a time to each other since your mom's death, and this broke the pretty much shattered silence and then stomped it into dust. You guess it's really the only way the two of you know how to express yourselves. Even now, all you can do is be angry, even when you're morbidly depressed, thank God Daniel can read you like a book. After you met Daniel, you sort of realized what your mother must have been for your dad.

It was a little better after the scene in the kitchen. Not that is was easy. It was never easy with the two of you, but it was easier than it had been, at least. Today had probably been another one of his attempts to make up with you, and you screwed it up, just like you screwed everything up. You are the worst. Crap.

Well, enough remembering, it sucks anyway. So you stand up , and go into the kitchen to get a trash bag to put the empty cans in. Some of them still have beer in them, which you empty out in the kitchen sink. You figure it's the least you can do for being the worst son that has ever been spawned.

"Sorry," he slurs suddenly, while you're picking up the pizza to put in the fridge, and you jump, almost dropping them to the floor. You turn around, scowling unfairly, "I..uh...should'a gone to bed..."

"Yeah, you should have," you say, and take the pizza to the fridge. You can hear him talking while you're in there, but you can't make out the words. You go back into the living room, brows lowered as you look at the floor, "I couldn't hear you from the kitchen."

"I said I wanted t' talk to you, cos you gotta know that the world sucks, okay?" You snort, because wow, that was not news, but he continues anyway, "Cos people are fucked up, okay? Always fuckin'... hating one another, but... we're all human, okay? And those people are all... fucked up. So don't be like them."

"Okay," you agree uncomfortably, shifting, just ready to leave.

"And don't..." he squints at you, as if he can't really see you. Maybe he's looking past you, though, you can't really tell, "don't be like me either, okay? I know you... kind of are, but don't... shut people out... okay? Like that boy of yours...don...shut 'im out..."

"Dad-" you try to stop him, because holy crap, you are not going to talk about Daniel with him, especially not when he's drunk, but he goes on, interrupting you, like he doesn't even care that this is getting painfully awkward.

"No, listen," he gestures wildly around like he's looking for something, probably you, before letting his hand drop back to it's place, hanging loosely from the arm of the chair. His chin drops too, "Listen..."

He doesn't continue though, and when you move a little closer, you can hear him snoring softly. So you sigh, and go to his room, where you grab the quilt off of his bed but think it'll be to itchy so decide to get a comforter out of the linen closet instead. You drape it over him and recline the chair so he can sleep better, and then leave to go to your room, shutting off all the lights on the way. He is going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning, but that really only means he'll be a little angrier than usual. Still, you stop to close the blinds in front of the windows in the living room and kitchen before you go. Just as a precaution.

When you get to your room, you look at you computer, because your screen is lit up and someone has messaged you. You smile a little, because it's Daniel. You plop down on your plush desk chair before answering.

hey Evan!

HI.

okay, i know you just left and everything, but you kind of left your ipod over here, soooooo...

I CAN'T COME GET IT, I HAVE TO MAKE SURE MY DRUNK ASS DAD DOESN'T WAKE UP AND BREAK SOMETHING. HE'S SUCH A JACKASS, HONESTLY, I CAN'T BELIEVE HIM. HE DRANK FORTY BEERS, DANIEL. FORTY. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT IS?

that's....a lot!

PRECISELY.

that's terrible.

I KNOW, RIGHT?

no, but really, you talk about him like this all the time, but he's your dad, Evan, and i know you love him.

NAH.

JUST YOU.

......oh my god, Evan.

ALSO, HE DIDN'T REALLY DRINK FORTY BEERS.

WHAT?

Evan.

WHAT??

.................

........................

DANIEL, I WILL KILL YOU AND SLICE YOUR BODY INTO TINY LITTLE PIECES, AND THEN BURN THOSE PIECES, AND THEN THROW THE ASHES INTO THE FUCKING OCEAN.

...................................

OKAY, I'M GOING TO BED, FUCK YOU, AND GOOD NIGHT. I HOPE YOU HAVE ALL OF THE NIGHTMARES.

ALL OF THEM.

nooo, no, wait!

that line was just SO CHEESY! hehehehehe!

like something from one of your chick flicks!

and i didn't really expect it, either, i guess...

YEAH, WELL, WHATEVER, IT'S NOT LIKE IT'S A BIG FUCKING DEAL, YOU SAY IT ALL THE TIME LIKE IT'S GOING OUT OF STYLE AND YOU WANT TO GET AS MUCH OUT OF IT AS YOU CAN, YOU JERK.

YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCK YOU. NEVER MIND, THEN.

pfft, hehehe, nooo, it was cute

IT WAS NOT.

shut up, it was so.

love you too, Evan.