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Raph

Going to bed angry was never a good idea, but hey, when was the last time anyone ever really listened to sleep experts? When Raph woke up the next morning, he felt exactly like his sister when she was on her period: irritable, hungry, and in the mood to punch somebody— none of which could be fulfilled at the moment (he wasn't ready to face aggravated assault and battery charges and to get food he would have to go the kitchen, which meant Leo would be there. Leo's face was the last one he wanted to see today).

Whatever. Maybe it was a good thing not eating breakfast. His first soccer game of the season was coming up soon, and he needed to stay fit; no way was he going to be the reason his team loses. Second, there was no need to leave his room, anyway. He had his phone charger, manga, own bathroom, and Spike. He could keep himself entertained for a while.

Raph saw Spike crawl out of the water and towards his basking spot, which he was suddenly struck with the urge to take Spike out and scratch his back. "You seem to be doing much better than I am," he remarked, inching himself closer to Spike's tank to observe. Spike blinked. "Yeah, I've got Leo to blame for that. I mean, just who did he think he was, assuming my such reasons and everything? I would've explained why if he didn't look at me that way."

Spike moved just a teeny-tiny bit.

"No one got hurt, anyway. We got out of there with our two arms and legs, right? And we even brought something for Donnie to analyze! Isn't that what matters? To bring results? Am I the only one who wants to know more about The Foot and Shredder in this family?"

Silence. Gurgle. Gurgle.

"And then there's Leo. Does he realize he doesn't need to wait for me outside until I get back from somewhere, right? Maybe it wasn't so bad when we were kids, but I'm literally sixteen! Why can't he understand there is a difference between the words brother and father?"

Another blink. Raph sighed. "Thanks for listening, man." This was why Raph loved Spike— he didn't judge him or make him feel like he was some tornado spiraling out of control; he sat still and was quiet and just listened to what he had to say. That was all Raph wanted, really— someone who could listen.

His eyes suddenly landed on his inflatable boxing dummy stationed in the corner. If he was going to stay in his room, he might as well get started on his morning workout. He changed out of his clothes and into sportswear, walked up to the dummy, got in his fighting stance, and attacked the dummy with every move he could think of.

Punch. Kick. Punch. Kick. Every mistake or memory he thought of, no matter how big or small, evoked a surge of energy and emotion that was released with every hit he landed on the dummy. All of his raw frustrations, insecurities, and struggles were becoming exposed in a place where he could only feel them privately; he wanted to show these feelings to the world, but then again, he wanted to hide them in his own secret chamber.

Come to think of it, Raph had never been good at managing his emotions. They were almost like a rollercoaster— when up high (meaning whenever he was in good spirits) for a split second, they wanted to stay up there forever, never coming down; however, as soon they tipped down (this could mean a lot of things: anger, sadness, etc.), his emotions ran amok all over in the form of endless twists and turns, never knowing when it would stop. When this happened, he felt incredibly guilty for feeling that way, and then feel guilty for his shame. He was entitled to his own feelings, right? He was allowed to react differently because everyone was different and had their own weaknesses, right? It wasn't like people could just turn their emotions on and off at one's convenience like a fucking machine.

Raph had always been told by his friends and family alike how difficult he was, how complicated he was, how sensitive he was, and how full of anger he was. Even when he was a child, anything 'small' would set him off— a broken pencil, a dirty look from someone, or a canceled school event. Nowadays, when he got angry over little things, it would take him days to figure out what made him so angry. Every time someone wanted an explanation for that, Raph had to say it like it was an apology. No, I don't know where it comes from. No, I don't know why it affects me the way it does. No, I don't know why I feel this way. At some point, Raph stopped trying. Why even bother? It was a waste of time telling someone who didn't understand the same response over and over.

By the time Raph was finished, he was sweating like his room had transformed into an illegal sweatshop. Now he needed a shower. If he really wanted to, he could stay in the shower for several hours, but his father had reminded everyone that the water bill was starting to be a little costly, so there was that.

The shower was also another place where he could go and let his bottled feelings explode. He could scream and cry all he wanted and nobody would hear him through the running water (or at least think anything was wrong). He had been counting the many times he broke down in the shower, and according to the entries in his secret journal, it had been eight. Eight times in a fit of distress did he write paragraphs about what shitty feeling he felt or what shitty events he experienced on certain days that led his emotions to consume him like a parasite. If he hadn't written everything down, he would've lost his mind a long time ago.

***

After taking a nice, hot shower and changing into a fresh set of clothes, Raph heard a knock at his door after leaving his bathroom. It turned out that there was no need for the knock, since the person who did it let themselves in anyway.

"Woah," Mikey said, poking his head inside, "shouldn't you be a skeleton by now?"

Raph rolled his eyes. "I'm barely decomposing, that's why."

"Still, I'm surprised. You've been in your room for, what? Four hours now?" Mikey nodded, impressed. "That's a new track record!"

Raph scowled. Mikey was testing him. "What do you want, Mikey?"

"To check on you, obviously."

"More like to annoy me. Get out!"

"Are you still mad?"

"No," Raph answered a little too quickly.

"Oh, you're definitely still mad," Mikey confirmed. "You should try hitting something— specialists say it's the most effective way to let off some steam."

"Good idea. Is your face available?"

"That would be child abuse."

"How is that child abuse if—" Raph grunted, "—argh, go away, Mikey. I'm not in the fucking mood." If he was being honest, he never really was, but today was just not one of those days.

"Wait!" Mikey used his weight to push the door back open before Raph could fully close it. "Dad said he still wanted to talk to you about your little stunt, remember?"

Raph felt his face darken. "Really? And he sent you to remind me? He couldn't come here and tell me that himself?"

"No, but—"

"OUT!" Raph pushed Mikey out and managed to close the door. He was considering of locking it, but he thought it would be better if he didn't; if Mikey was smart, he wouldn't open the door again because if he did, his face would be greeted by a soccer ball.

When Raph turned his back to the door, he heard the sound again. Knock, knock. "Go away, Mikey."

The door creaked open. Raph grit his teeth. Oh, Mikey had done it now. He whirled around. "Didn't you hear me—"

Raph stopped mid sentence when the person behind him wasn't his curly-haired freckled-faced five foot six brother wearing the paint splatter designed hoodie and pajama shorts with eyes all over them. Where Raph thought Mikey stood, was a man with a lean frame that testified to his copious intake of herbal tea and intense training since he was young: his father, towering down at him. He was dressed like the kind of dad you'd see playing golf or be sitting on the porch reading the newspaper while laughing at his own geeky dad jokes— things Raph had never seen his father do, ever. Maybe just the newspaper part (minus the dad jokes), since he liked reading and finding out about things the old-fashioned way. "Technology changes way too much!" he said.

"Oh," Raph said, flustered. "I, uh, I'm sorry. I thought you were. . ." he trailed off.

His father nodded, like he understood. "I knew very well who you thought I was. You were not expecting me?"

Raph secretly hoped his father wasn't around the corner and heard what he said to Mikey, because if he did. . . "To say the truth? No. Not really."

"Hmm. I did say we would talk about last night today, did I not?"

"I didn't forget. How come you never came up here and forced me to go downstairs to 'talk'?"

"Breaking down your door and dragging you by a chain bound around your hands behind me is not my style, Raphael. I figured it was best to give you space.    I wanted you to manage your feelings."

Raph grunted, "It doesn't feel like I have. I have this urge to hit someone."

"And have you?"

"Only the fighting dummy."

"Good. That's a start. You've redirected your anger somewhere else. But I also have a feeling the anger you feel towards your brother is misplaced; it is not him you truly feel angry at."

"Whoever said-"

Raph was cut off gently with one raise of a hand from his father, who then extended it out. "Follow me."

"Wait, where?" Raph asked, but his father only insisted. Sighing, Raph relented.

He followed his father out of the house and into the backyard, something Raph wasn't expecting. The dojo was his father's number one favorite spot for anything having to do with serious chit-chatting, so it was a change of scenery from a tatami mat and shoji screen walls to green grasses and a birdbath. But Raph didn't complain. Being outside somehow made him feel more refreshing, more human; he felt connected to nature. At least if the house was too noisy he could come out here, no matter if it was rainy or sunny.

They found a nice patch of scruffy grass to sit on. It was nice and sunny and cloudy, with perfect wind speeds and the smell of dusty flowers waiting to tickle noses. Just the kind of weather Raph thought would be perfect for a picnic.

"I remember when I bought you your soccer net," his father said, gesturing to the rectangular-shaped frame sitting a few feet across from them. Parked nearby was a soccer ball soiled in grass and mud. "You were so desperate to make the cut on tryout day that you begged me to buy you a net and a ball so you could practice extra hard. Remember?"

Raph smiled a little in nostalgia. It was true— he wanted to make a good impression not only on the other players, but his would-be coach as well. And of course, his family. He used to play for hours and hours on end, unable to be swayed by his father or siblings when they tried to get him to come inside. The only one who could convince him. . .

"Yeah. Good times," Raph said. ". . . I don't know how many times you tried to get Mom to tell you how to get through to me." Raph's voice felt weird, heavy. Taboo.

"Ah, there was no secret there, Raphael," his father chuckled, but there was a hint of sadness. He then said after a few moments of hesitation, "You two were very close-knit. Everyone could see it."

Raph was studying his father's face. Anything for a transition. Sometimes, his father was like a closed diary, never letting other people— like his children— know what was going on in that head or heart of his. Raph always hoped his father would open himself up and show his pages, express his feelings, and say all the words he felt he couldn't. But he always said the same thing: "I'm fine." Raph heard those words so many times to know that they didn't mean shit; he knew better. Leo was the same way, too. Maybe that was why Leo and his father got along so well— because they knew how to mask their feelings from the world.

"She was the biggest smother of all. Her and Leo, actually. It didn't matter if I told them to lay off me or whatever, they still did it."

"You were the youngest." His father shrugged, but Raph saw his father pulling his lips together, like suppressing a smile. "At the time, anyway. They could never leave you alone. Especially Leonardo."

Raph showed a sliver of a smile before his mind was muddled with the memory of him and Leo fighting last night. He frowned. "Maybe a little too much, eh. He makes me so mad sometimes."

"So I've heard. But that doesn't mean his intentions are always bad. He is your brother, after all. And what do big brothers do? Look out for you."

"Yeah, but he's my brother. As long as I can remember, he always wants to know where I am, what I'm doing, who I'm hanging out with. Interrogating me like I'm some criminal. . ." Raph took a break to bury his head in his hands and sigh. He resurfaced a minute later. "He didn't even give me a chance to explain! I know I shouldn't have lied. . . to either of you and I'm sorry, I truly am, but I was worried you wouldn't be on board. All I was focused on was moving forward."

His father re-positioned himself at an angle to not only face the 'view', but Raph as well. Half-facing. Raph saw how his father's gaze almost immediately became steady and focused. It was his silent way of saying, I'm listening.

"I wasn't breaking into the drug lab because I'm reverting back to my 'old habits.' I wasn't doing it just to find something that could connect back to Shredder."

His father frowned, clearly not following. Raph sighed. He needed to do a better job at explaining things.

"At school yesterday, Talia and I talked," Raph recounted. "And let's just say her words. . . convinced me." Oh, Raph wished that was all her words did, but no. Her words moved something inside of him. Something he still wasn't quite sure about. An emotion? A memory? Whatever it was, he felt it. "It made me think of Mom and what happened to her. The situation Talia's in, Dad, sucks. She doesn't know why what happened happened, and the only thing that can give her a little peace is answers. Answers we can only give her. Who are we to deny her that? That's her closure. I want to play a part in her obtaining it; our family may have not received it, and maybe we never will, but Talia could. She can."

His father made a sound that sounded sympathetic in the back of his throat. His gaze drifted away from Raph's and to the sky, as if there was a certain memory he was thinking deeply of. His eyes drastically changed in terms of color shade, going from a lively brown with a tint of copper to a dark amber. Raph caught sight of his father's lips trembling, but it didn't last.

"My son, you have a big heart," his father said, "which talks levels about your empathy. Your passion. Your intentions lie in the right place, but the way you go about them can be rash. Sometimes dangerous. If anything happened to Talia and April. . . I do not know if Mr. Elbaz and Captain 'O' Neil would be able to handle that. I wouldn't know how, either."

Raph slumped his shoulders, ashamed. Leo was right about that part, at least. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice— a voice he didn't use frequently.

"I am disappointed that you went against my orders," his father continued sternly. Raph nodded lightly, awaiting next for his punishment. But then his father softened his eyes, "but I am glad you owned up to it and came clean about your reasons."

The air had cleared between Raph and his father. But next on the list. . .

"Thanks for understanding," Raph said. "I'm glad you're not mad anymore."

His father stood and dusted off his jeans. "Yes."

Raph smiled, but before he knew it. . .

"OW!" His father had taken the wooden staff that had been leaning against the wall and smacked Raph's shoulder with it. He looked up, rubbing his shoulder, shocked. "What was that?!"

His father stopped before he could open the screen door. Turning his head, he squinted his eyes in a forceful manner. "Your punishment."