Tender Hearts Only Get Torn Apart

[Alex's POV]

The sun was smeared on the pavement like fluorescent promiscuity made tangible, bright and sluttish against the paling asphalt. It blistered down unwaveringly on this sweltering autumn day, and anyone outside was either crazy or just carrying a Popsicle with them. I think maybe I fell under the 'crazy' category, since there was no brightly colored wad of chemicals and frozen ice in my hand. The streets and the sidewalks lining them were relatively clear of pedestrians, so I let myself out into the heat and started my trek home. The sweet lullaby of bees buzzing by my ear frequently and the flapping of wings high above me kept me preoccupied. I was staring out at an ugly world through Chanel shades, the whole scene made pristine and bearable to look at by the blue tinting. My footsteps were hurried past the dark alleyways- they smelt of garbage and my sense of smell was strangely strong. I had no wish to die of suffocation, and the smell was so thick that it was like a hand placed over my face- I was unwilling to even try and breathe in such unpleasant odor. The stack of books tucked safely under my arm kept trying to pull my thoughts back to the kind yet nosy boy back at the library I had just left only a few minutes ago, but I refused to linger on such ridiculous and unneeded thoughts for more than the two seconds it took to switch my mind to another topic.

My fingers and hands were shaking badly- I needed a hit. I'd left all of my stash at home, though, tangled in a messy heap of art supplies and ripped up comics.

Comics… It angered me to no end that this small shithole of a town didn't have not one comic book store- we'd moved here only last night and I'd settled into the basement quite nicely, and I almost started liking it before I heard that little bit of info. The next town was more than twenty miles over- we were basically stuck in the middle of Nowhere... the name of the town fit it a bit too well, if you ask me.

Round the corner, stop at the intersection and look all ways even though it was barren, flip a kindly bird to the man shaking his fist angrily at me from out of his pristine white house for stepping on his lawn.

The routine was the same as the one of our last town... until everyone found out our secret, of course. Nothing was the same after that. In every small town, you risk losing your whole life to one simple rumour- never mind the fat that it may or my not be true at all (regardless of the fact that it was). It made me gawk in disbelief at my mother to realize that we’d be moving from Hicksville to nowhere. The only difference was that this place didn’t have even a comic book, and the denizens weren’t uncouth inbreds.

I stop suddenly and walk back three steps for no fucking reason, thinking maybe it would help my rambling thoughts. Of course it didn't, but it gave me a reason to stop thinking about the past and trying to reason, and start thinking instead about my mental stability.

Three corners and twenty-nine neatly trimmed lawns later, and I'm walking up the concrete path to our small green house. I must admit I love the earthy color of it, the way it meshes so wonderfully with our lawn, which is a bit more overgrown than the rest of those I've passed. The smell of honeydew and vanilla wafts thickly through the open screen door, meaning Matt must obviously be baking. I knock my feet- twice for the left, thrice for the right- and step into the house, stopping to make sure the door swings back in and clicks into place and to take off my brightly colored shoes, placing them neatly next to the disorganized pile of mismatched converses, vans and etnies closer to the door by approximately three and a half inches. I swear I didn't measure.

I count the steps to the kitchen, which is about four and a quarter feet away from the white screen door and the empty hall closet. I turn right, nine hasty steps to the island counter. I nod my head and am satisfied with the number.

Moppy blue hair with black leopard spots is sticking up in all directions and poking up from the edge of the island, only God above knows what possessed my little brother to get his hair done so wild. I reach a hand over to ruffle the mess. There's a bit of flour stuck to my hand now, so I wipe it off on the already caked countertop with a grimace.

"Matt, your hair's practically gray now! What're ya doin'?!" I reach over and tug on the last blue bit of hair left and there's a loud sigh, the air whistling out of smoker’s lungs so heavy that I can almost hear a tune. My baby brother Matt peeks up at me from over the top of the island and I grin at his glare.

I swear we get along great.

"I'm painting the Mona Lisa, Alex. What the hell does it look like I'm doing, and why are you back so early?" He stands, all long awkward angles and no curves, blue-gray eyes, that crazy fuking hair, a crooked nose and a pink nail job to boot. Is that lip gloss? "By the way, any luck with the sexcapade?" He winks and wiggles bony fingers at me shrewdly from the screen of pots and pans that keep us apart and me from choking him. I fling my hand to my chest in mock horror and gasp.

"Me? Sexcapade?! Never!"

It's all grins and giggles for the few seconds that he takes to crack an egg or two (maybe three?), I'm really too busy laughing and reaching for his Newports to care. I make a mental note to flush them later, slipping them into my back pocket and smushing them in the process.

We're really never serious around each other because when ma comes home, there's no such thing as a smile. Ma's an alcoholic- I've quit drinking and been sober for almost three years ever since she came home sobbing with blood all over her, shitfaced drunk. Alcohol does fucked up things to people, and even though she was traumatized by the event, she still hasn't given up the bottle. Matt and I both try not to disturb her since she can be violent when she's in the mood. We usually end up leaving or just going to our rooms and locking ourselves in. My fingers tap out a rhythm on the counter as I reminisce, my eyes hazing over.

"You know, it's bad to live in the past. Makes ya grow gray hair."

I jump slightly and look up at Matt, shocked out of my thoughts. There's a Newport burning crisp between his fingers and I hadn't even noticed it until then, along with a smirk on his thin glossed-up lips. He tucks the lighter back into his pocket and I stare at him, smiling. Sneaky fuck.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, how bout that cake, Mattie?"

---

"So then he leans over the counter and whispers in my ear, 'Matthew's the sexiest name I've heard for a while'. How corny is that?! I mean, it‘s a fucking BIBLICAL name!"

Matt scrunches his face up, reliving the reasons he never wants to step foot back into the local supermarket again. Two plates sit on the coffee table between us, one bright pink plastic worn from years of use and the other fine ceramic only bought about a week ago but chipped during the unpacking process last night. We just used our fingers to finish off the chocolaty honeydew cake Matt'd made, since the forks still weren't unpacked and the spoons hadn't worked out too great.

I nod and listen intently, making sure to get a good description of the man so that the next time I went to the market in Matt's place I'd be able to avoid him at all costs. Really, the nerve of some people, hitting on my baby brother! Then again, Matt practically asked for it with all that makeup and those shorts… I bit my lip to hold back my smile.

Five minutes later we're laughing and finishing off seconds, me smearing the remnants of icing from my fingers onto his bony face and starting an all out cake war.

We're shrieking like children and dirty as fuck when the sound of the door opening and slamming shut enters our ears. There's a crash and we both pause, stone-still. I know tonight's a bad night just by the staggers I can hear coming down the hall, and Matt whimpers. He hates it as much as I do- when she screams at us, there's nothing we can do but wait it out and pray for the best. She's our ma- we can't yell back and she won't let us run. We’ve yet to actually be the vent for her violence, but there’s always a lingering nausea I get when she returns home like this, that maybe she’ll forget who we are and use us as punching bags. There's a click that resounds loudly in the now quiet living room, and the door is locked.

We both scramble up and rush around the room, me sliding the sofa back from where our wrestling had pushed it forward, Matt gathering the dishes and shoving them under the couch so ma wouldn't notice. Within five seconds it's straight and we plop down, angels on a cloud. She might actually buy it and amble off to bed.

Bright blonde hair and a pasty orange tan comes through the arch of the hallway. Her eyes are dangerous icy blue and Matt sidles closer to me on the couch. She's glaring and I notice that we're both still covered in chocolate. Shit. She's glaring especially hard at Matt- he looks like Her more than I do, so she seems to hate him more when she's like this. I can smell the alcohol all the way over here on the couch, and I lean over to whisper to Matt.

"Head to the basement. I'll follow."

He nods against my shoulder, stiff. There’s a glare on her face now, and it makes me shudder- the violent part seems to be present now in her more than any time before. I nudge Matt hard with my elbow, it's now or never. Ma doesn't even register the event occurring when jumps over the back of the couch, her eyes following him with understanding. She walks towards that direction briskly, all the way across the room, stumbling slightly. I block her off as she tries to grab him, popping up quickly from the couch and holding her back gently. I hear loud footsteps on the stairs to my room, and Matt slams the door to let me know he's safe and shouts for me to hurry, but I'm not sure if I can make it. Ma's screaming at me I don't hear it, I'm wondering why we ever stayed. I could have moved out before it got this bad, but then Matt would be left here all alone with her, and I can't just do that to him.

I let go of her arms and walk to the hallway now that she's not blocking it. I can go out back, walk around to the other side and crawl in through the window to get back to my room, make her think I‘m just heading out-

but then her hands are snarled in my hair and dammit I should have cut the fucking mop the other day when it was fresh on my mind. She's strong for an older lady, forty two and apparently still kicking. Something rips so loud I can almost feel it traveling along my nerves, but then I realize that's just pain. I reach behind me and untangle her hands from my hair, and she's yelling at me while I struggle with her. I’m out the door into the night and I'm panting hard, scared as fuck that she’ll follow and hit me, since I won’t be able to hit her back. I try to keep my cool but the sound of her opening the large white inside door makes me walk faster, sweaty now from nerves. I reach the basement and lean down, knocking hard on the small pane.

"Matt! OPEN THE FUCKING WINDOW!"

The screen door slams now, and she's yelling something unintelligible. She's crying too, sobbing as she searches almost desperately for me, and Matt's got the window open and then I'm crawling in. My head barely slips in just as she rounds the corner and the sound of crickets and footsteps and her girlish sobs dies as I slam the window shut. The sound of the lock sliding in place seems final.

We're both panting and Matt’s crying just a bit, and she's pounding on the fucking window so hard we're scared it'll break, but then she stops and it's still there, the only wall between us and her.

Matt's wailing low under his breath, and I can barely hear her shouting over the sound of it. I crush him to my chest and let him cry into my chest in the middle of my messy little room, just waiting it out.

And over the muffled sound of Matt's crying, I can hear her screaming about the past, still living in neat little timeframes from 1989.

'Why don't you love me?', she cries. 'Why are you with Her, and not with me? Come out and just be with me...'

But neither of us come out because I look just like Him and he looks just like Her. Matt’s stopped crying now, and soon we'll fall asleep. I stay awake longer than I would have, wondering if maybe the stress of the move triggered all of this. She’d never gotten this bad before, and she’d even tried to hurt Matt. With a disconcerted sigh, I let my eyes slip closed, letting his soft breathing and smoky scent lull my mind as the yelling stops.

It'll all be over in the morning, but the vicious cycle never ends.


___

Yay, chapter two already! I'm the kind of person who pushes them out like crazy, but since I already have quite a few hits on my stories and no reviews, I'm gong to start holding chapters until I get a few. I want to know that you're all interested, and it only takes a moment! We'll do this story on a basis of you give, I give.