Bruit- to voice abroad; rumor

"Baby, I know you're a little angry with me right now, I just really needed to talk to you. I miss you... I-I really want to hear your voice. It hasn't been great here this first week. I've just had some trouble getting to know everyone." I struggled to continue my message for Aria. I sounded like a ten year old. I didn't really know what to say to her anymore. It was like she had completely cut me out of her life, and I was pretty much sick of it.

I was ready to just give up. On her. On us. On making friends. On everything. I was so done with everything. Once my scum bag of a father beats it, my mom will probably want to move again. So it really doesn't matter. I'll just be gone to the next state in no time. I still won't have any money, and I still won't have any friends. I surely don't have any plans after high school. I don't know what's going to happen from there, I just can't imagine it being any worse than this. High school is brutal.

"You suck at this dude." I whispered the words to myself as if they'd make a difference.

"You're absolutely worthless you know that?" My eyebrows drew together. This wasn't me talking. This was another voice. A lazy, gruff, nasty voice that I knew all too well. He was getting loud, I could hear him through the walls. I sat up quickly, listening for more. "My God, you can't even make a decent sandwich." I was on my feet, throwing my door open. It was the stupid comments like these that usually turned into much much more.

"I absolutely despise you. Why did we get married?" I could almost feel his anger. It was weird. I could sense how drunk he was. It was mid day too. Before even saying a word to my absolutely sorry father, I put myself in the middle of him and my mother. He wasn't even standing up. He was sitting on the couch, like a coward, like he always was. My mom has gotten to the point where she won't cry anymore. At least, not until he was asleep. She just waited, looking like a frail doll with no emotion.

"Dad stop talking." My voice came out a lot weaker than I was intending on it being. It always seemed to do that. I wasn't afraid of him anymore, that wasn't it. I was afraid of me.

"Why sonny? What ya gonna do? You gonna beat me like I used to beat you? You gonna get me back? Come on, Marge. Make him hit me." I shook my head, a cold laugh coming from my throat. "No dad. Just watch tv and leave mom alone. Come on mom. Let's go walk." I had become really good at controlling my anger. In fact, I get angrier with myself than I do with him. Because I'm just like him. I know I am.

I turned to my mother, her kind green eyes seeped into my brown ones. My brown eyes, that were exactly like my father's. The only thing my mother gave me was the golden glints in my brown hair. Everything else was my dad's. From the light freckles on my nose to my horrible posture, and I absolutely hated it.

I put my arm around my mother's strong shoulders and led her to the door. I'm sure my dad said something else but I didn't listen. I could only hope my mom didn't either.

I love my mom with all of my heart and I'd do anything for her. I just wish she'd stand up for herself every now and then. She needs that to keep her sane. I think she could do just fine without my dad, but she doesn't believe that. In fact, she'd be doing much better without my dad if she'd just let herself. It pissed me off to no end.

"Mom you can't let him just push you around like that." I shook my head and began walking down the stairs that lead to our apartment. We did get one of the nicer ones in this complex. One of the top ones. I could only imagine what it'd be like living in the tiny homes beneath ours. Not homes, no. More like holes. I couldn't call this place home if I had lived here for years.

My home was warm, and the air was just a little sticky. My home had a palm tree in the front yard and cracked cement in the driveway. My home had faded blue shudders and broken flower boxes. My home had bookshelves overflowing with novels I hadn't had the chance to read. My home was not here. It was far away now.

"He gets in his moods, you know that. He doesn't really despise me, he loves us. You know that don't you? He's just so tense. I keep trying to get him to go to the doctor. That's why he keeps getting mad. It's no big deal Oli. Really."

It sounded almost as if she really believed herself. I knew that she didn't though. But she'd never show me that. She loves him, even though he treats us like absolute dirt. She still loves him, and I don't think I'll ever be able to understand that. I wanted her to stop giving him passes, that seemed to be all she did. Sometimes, I think it's good that she's so naive. I think it must be nice sometimes to feel so at ease about things even when nothing is the way you say it is.Other times, it just feels useless.

"No big deal? How could you say that? What if we left, mom? What if we just packed up all of our stuff without telling him anything and left while he was asleep. He can function perfectly fine on his own, he just won't. He refuses to because you do everything for him! Don't you see that mom? Maybe he cared about us at some point. But he doesn't anymore. He's the worthless one!"

I don't know why I even tried anymore. She seemed like she was listening but I know she wasn't hearing me. This wasn't the first time I had suggested us leaving my father. It certainly wasn't the first time I had thought about it. Regrettably, I had even thought about leaving without my mom. It was the things like that that made me realize that I was just like my filthy, no-good father.

"Oliver James Presley," I cringed as my middle name that was identical to my father's slithered out my mother's mouth. She was angry. "Don't you dare talk about your father that way. He raised you. I'm so tired of hearing you suggest all these awful things. It's over Oliver. He's dying. Your father is dying."

She said as if I was a small child who was being sheltered from the truth until now. But she didn't care enough about me to shelter me at all. I finally was realizing that. She didn't care about me enough to even protect me from him. What was worse was the fact that she didn't care enough about herself either. Maybe it really was useless, maybe I just needed to stop trying.

If only she'd talk to him the way she had just scolded me. Then maybe we'd get somewhere with this situation.

We were facing one another now, on the sidewalk. I could feel the eyes of strangers burning into us like we were in some soap opera. Like we were there for them to look at, like we weren't real people. She was fuming and so was I. Nothing was really being said, at least nothing that would change our minds. That was one thing I really did get from her, my stubbornness.

"Okay, whatever. Go back in there and get chewed out for doing absolutely nothing. Go ahead, when he takes a swing at you, I'm not going to be there to take it for you." I believe this was the coldest thing I've ever said to mother, and I couldn't look at her for much longer or I think I might cry. I ripped my eyes from her's and began to walk away. Everything in me wanted to run back and hug her, and to apologize. Not today. I didn't turn around, I didn't look at her. I continued walking.

I don't think she said anything to me, but I wasn't listening either. I had absolutely no clue where I was going. But I was going. My throat was burning and I could feel my eyes beginning to blur with grey tears. I hated that feeling. I hated knowing I was about to cry. I hated crying. Guys aren't supposed to cry.

If I have judged this town at all, I wouldn't doubt for a second that I'd hear some random rumor about my mother kicking me out of the apartment or something. People here suck. Rumors were like crack, everyone was addicted to them. And believing them was just human nature apparently.

Maybe no one who saw it really cared enough to start something. That's what I was hoping for to be honest. But, honestly, when did my hopes ever work out for me?