Deeper Than The Night (UC, Mi/L, Mature) [COMPLETE]
Posted: Wed Jun 15, 2005 12:43 pm
Title: Deeper Than The Night
Part: One
Author: Ann
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Warnings: Child abuse.
Spoilers: None
Part One: Wanting Something Better
Life isn’t just fun and games. It’s adventure and consequence. It’s love and pain. It’s day and it’s night. Our lives depend on the choices we make. Sometimes they’re wrong and lead us to nothing but heartache. Other times, they’re the best decisions we’ve ever made and everything’s perfect. Usually though, they’re a combination of the two. A bittersweet mix of emotions that can throw us for a loop so quickly that it’s terrifying. I’ve never experienced the perfect. Never had a chance. Every time I get even remotely close, the walls crumble around me and by the time I know what’s going on, it’s too late to change it. So I settle. I fight to find my way to the bittersweet where everything is right but completely wrong at the same time and I settle. But I’m tired of settling. I’ve done it too damn long. For once in my life, I want the perfect. But I know better. For me, perfect doesn’t exist. It’s just a word designed to make those of us who will never have it suffer. And even though I know it’s something I’ll never have, I can’t help but wish for a modicum of something else. Something better.
He tucked the small notebook into the back of his pants, the waistband holding it in place, before covering it with his shirt. He had never really written down his feelings before today and didn’t want to take the chance of anyone finding it. He didn’t want anyone knowing what was going on inside his head. Didn’t want anyone getting that close. He had built the stonewall around his heart years ago and no one had ever broken through it. Or even cracked it for that matter. Not even Max and Isabel, who were like his brother and sister. Hell, they really never even tried. And he liked it that way. If they didn’t get too close, they couldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Max and Isabel. It was that he didn’t trust anyone. From the time he was six years old and placed in the foster home he was now living in, he was forced to grow up so fast that trust was never given a chance to build. So instead of letting people in, he tried to flood them out with harsh words and intimidating looks. And it worked. Even as close as Max and Isabel were to him, they knew when to back down and walk away. But it was killing him a little more with each day that went by. Michael Guerin was dying. Not of some horrible disease, but of his own will.
Letting out a deep breath, he opened his bedroom door and found himself flying across the room and into the wall. His right eye was swelling shut from the blow it had just taken by the hand of his foster father Hank.
“You dirty little bastard!” Hank yelled as he walked over and started kicking Michael in the stomach, arms and chest. “How many times” kick “do I have” kick “to tell you” kick “that I expect” kick “my dinner ready” kick “when I get home?” kick
Hank reached down and grabbed him by the hair, yanking him up off the floor. “Get your good for nothin’ ass in that kitchen and fix me something to eat” he hissed as he threw him through the doorway and into the hall, where he landed on his back. Wincing at the pain, Michael got up and walked to the kitchen. Throwing a pan on the stove, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a can of Spaghetti and Meatballs and reached for the can opener. He let out a hiss of pain when his right hand came in contact with the drawer, his arm obviously broken. Using the other hand, he pulled the can opener out and used his bad hand to hold the apparatus while the good one turned it, cutting through the metal. He would have used his powers if that prick wasn’t standing over him. But it was a chance he couldn’t take. Pouring the contents into the small metal pan, he turned on the burner and grabbed a spoon, stirring occasionally.
He thought back to the words he had written just minutes before. Something better. There has to be something better. There has to be something better. He repeated to himself as he continued to stir. One would think that after eleven years of constant abuse, he would be used to it by now. But it’s something you never get used to. And no one should have to. His eyes burned, the unshed tears threatening to spill out. But he fought it. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t let that bastard see him crying. He refused. So he did what he always did. He forced the tears back in and closed himself off.
Finishing the food, he poured it into a bowl and dropped it and a beer on the table in front of Hank. Turning, he stormed to the door.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Hank asked, still sitting in the recliner watching Wheel Of Fortune.
“Out!” Michael said, slamming the door behind him. He had to get the hell away from there. Even if it was just for a few hours. He wished he could just crawl into a hole and bury himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with Hank anymore. But like the perfect life he wanted, he knew it wouldn’t happen. Having nowhere else to go, he walked to the Crashdown. He wasn’t scheduled to work until tomorrow but at least it would be a reprieve from life. Reaching his hand up, he was able to use his powers to make the swelling and discoloration on his eye go away but he didn’t have the strength to fix his arm or ribs. He would have to let Max do it later.
Walking in the back door, Michael walked to his locker and put on his apron, fully expecting Mr. Parker to make him clock out as soon as he realized he was there.
“Oh Michael. Boy am I glad you’re here today.” Mr. Parker said as he stepped into the employee lounge. “Jose called in, his little girl’s sick, so we were minus a cook. You can go on and get started.” He smiled. Michael had become quite the workaholic the past few months which was something Jeff could appreciate considering he too, was addicted to work. Michael nodded and walked over to the grill.
A few hours had gone by and Michael was feeling more at ease. At least if he got miffed, he could just take it out on a hamburger and not much was lost. It had been difficult working one handed, but he was managing. Jeff was a bit concerned though. Michael was acting weirder than usual. He wouldn’t say a word, even to tell the waitresses to move their asses, which in itself, was alarming. But that wasn’t all that he noticed. He was walking strangely, barely breathing and only using one arm. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he didn’t like it. He also knew that confronting Michael wouldn’t get him anywhere. Talking to that boy was like talking to a pylon. Shaking his head, he decided to just let it go. For now anyway. That worked until about twenty minutes later when Michael evidentially forgot about his arm injury and attempted to pick up a thirty pound bottle of cooking oil. Yelling out in pain, the bottle went crashing to the floor as Michael doubled over, gripping his arm.
Jeff ran over to where Michael was and got him back to a standing position. “What’s wrong with your arm son?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Michael said quietly as he turned to face the grill again.
“Come on Michael. I know better. I saw what just happened. So tell me what happened to your arm.” Jeff said as he carefully turned Michael to face him and examined his arm. It was clearly broken, there was no doubt about that. But how?
“I said nothing ok?” Michael spat as he yanked his arm away, painfully. He didn’t like feeling cornered, and right now, that’s exactly how he felt.
“Tell you what Michael. You tell me how you broke your arm and we’ll forget about what happened here. But if you don’t…”
“You’ll what? You’ll hit me? Go ahead. Take your best fuckin shot!” Michael yelled.
Jeff was floored. “I was just going to say that if you don’t tell me, I can’t help you. Why would I hit you?”
“Why not?”
Was that what was going on with him? Someone was beating on him? But until today, there were no signs of it. No marks. But then again, most abusers make sure to hit where the marks can’t be seen.
“Who’s hitting you Michael?” Jeff asked, obvious concern in his eyes. Again, Michael felt cornered. He wanted to tell someone about it, but he couldn’t. Not because he was trying to protect Hank. Far from it. No, it was because he was ashamed. Ashamed that anyone could do this to him. But he didn’t want pity. He just wanted to be left the hell alone.
“No one hit me ok?” Michael hissed. “Look, you want me to work today or not? Cause I sure as hell didn’t come here for an interrogation.” Michael said.
“No. I want you to go in back and get some rest. You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”
“Great. Now you’re criticizing how I look. Anything else about me you’d like to attack?” Michael yelled.
“Michael, he’s just trying to help.”
Michael turned his head to see Liz standing in the doorway looking at him, her face mirroring her dads.
“Just what I fucking need. It wasn’t enough to have one of you on my case. No, I get two. I’m out of here!” Michael said letting out a deep breath and stalking out the door.
Jeff looked at Liz. “Do you know who’s doing this to him Liz?”
“No. But I going to find out.” She responded.
“I don’t want you getting near that man Liz. If it is him, he’s obviously dangerous. There’s no telling what he would do.” Jeff said, pulling Liz to him in a fatherly hug.
“I don’t plan to get close to him dad. I have another plan.”
“Don’t push him too far honey. He’s at his breaking point. If it is his dad, he’s probably been holding it in for years. What happened here to day could just be the tip of the iceberg.”
“I know. I also know that if it is his dad and something doesn’t happen to stop it, the next time could be the last. It could be the one to kill him.” Liz whispered as she broke from Jeff’s embrace and walked out the door. She had to find Michael. Before it was too late.
TBC…
Part: One
Author: Ann
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Warnings: Child abuse.
Spoilers: None
Part One: Wanting Something Better
Life isn’t just fun and games. It’s adventure and consequence. It’s love and pain. It’s day and it’s night. Our lives depend on the choices we make. Sometimes they’re wrong and lead us to nothing but heartache. Other times, they’re the best decisions we’ve ever made and everything’s perfect. Usually though, they’re a combination of the two. A bittersweet mix of emotions that can throw us for a loop so quickly that it’s terrifying. I’ve never experienced the perfect. Never had a chance. Every time I get even remotely close, the walls crumble around me and by the time I know what’s going on, it’s too late to change it. So I settle. I fight to find my way to the bittersweet where everything is right but completely wrong at the same time and I settle. But I’m tired of settling. I’ve done it too damn long. For once in my life, I want the perfect. But I know better. For me, perfect doesn’t exist. It’s just a word designed to make those of us who will never have it suffer. And even though I know it’s something I’ll never have, I can’t help but wish for a modicum of something else. Something better.
He tucked the small notebook into the back of his pants, the waistband holding it in place, before covering it with his shirt. He had never really written down his feelings before today and didn’t want to take the chance of anyone finding it. He didn’t want anyone knowing what was going on inside his head. Didn’t want anyone getting that close. He had built the stonewall around his heart years ago and no one had ever broken through it. Or even cracked it for that matter. Not even Max and Isabel, who were like his brother and sister. Hell, they really never even tried. And he liked it that way. If they didn’t get too close, they couldn’t hurt him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Max and Isabel. It was that he didn’t trust anyone. From the time he was six years old and placed in the foster home he was now living in, he was forced to grow up so fast that trust was never given a chance to build. So instead of letting people in, he tried to flood them out with harsh words and intimidating looks. And it worked. Even as close as Max and Isabel were to him, they knew when to back down and walk away. But it was killing him a little more with each day that went by. Michael Guerin was dying. Not of some horrible disease, but of his own will.
Letting out a deep breath, he opened his bedroom door and found himself flying across the room and into the wall. His right eye was swelling shut from the blow it had just taken by the hand of his foster father Hank.
“You dirty little bastard!” Hank yelled as he walked over and started kicking Michael in the stomach, arms and chest. “How many times” kick “do I have” kick “to tell you” kick “that I expect” kick “my dinner ready” kick “when I get home?” kick
Hank reached down and grabbed him by the hair, yanking him up off the floor. “Get your good for nothin’ ass in that kitchen and fix me something to eat” he hissed as he threw him through the doorway and into the hall, where he landed on his back. Wincing at the pain, Michael got up and walked to the kitchen. Throwing a pan on the stove, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a can of Spaghetti and Meatballs and reached for the can opener. He let out a hiss of pain when his right hand came in contact with the drawer, his arm obviously broken. Using the other hand, he pulled the can opener out and used his bad hand to hold the apparatus while the good one turned it, cutting through the metal. He would have used his powers if that prick wasn’t standing over him. But it was a chance he couldn’t take. Pouring the contents into the small metal pan, he turned on the burner and grabbed a spoon, stirring occasionally.
He thought back to the words he had written just minutes before. Something better. There has to be something better. There has to be something better. He repeated to himself as he continued to stir. One would think that after eleven years of constant abuse, he would be used to it by now. But it’s something you never get used to. And no one should have to. His eyes burned, the unshed tears threatening to spill out. But he fought it. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t let that bastard see him crying. He refused. So he did what he always did. He forced the tears back in and closed himself off.
Finishing the food, he poured it into a bowl and dropped it and a beer on the table in front of Hank. Turning, he stormed to the door.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Hank asked, still sitting in the recliner watching Wheel Of Fortune.
“Out!” Michael said, slamming the door behind him. He had to get the hell away from there. Even if it was just for a few hours. He wished he could just crawl into a hole and bury himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with Hank anymore. But like the perfect life he wanted, he knew it wouldn’t happen. Having nowhere else to go, he walked to the Crashdown. He wasn’t scheduled to work until tomorrow but at least it would be a reprieve from life. Reaching his hand up, he was able to use his powers to make the swelling and discoloration on his eye go away but he didn’t have the strength to fix his arm or ribs. He would have to let Max do it later.
Walking in the back door, Michael walked to his locker and put on his apron, fully expecting Mr. Parker to make him clock out as soon as he realized he was there.
“Oh Michael. Boy am I glad you’re here today.” Mr. Parker said as he stepped into the employee lounge. “Jose called in, his little girl’s sick, so we were minus a cook. You can go on and get started.” He smiled. Michael had become quite the workaholic the past few months which was something Jeff could appreciate considering he too, was addicted to work. Michael nodded and walked over to the grill.
A few hours had gone by and Michael was feeling more at ease. At least if he got miffed, he could just take it out on a hamburger and not much was lost. It had been difficult working one handed, but he was managing. Jeff was a bit concerned though. Michael was acting weirder than usual. He wouldn’t say a word, even to tell the waitresses to move their asses, which in itself, was alarming. But that wasn’t all that he noticed. He was walking strangely, barely breathing and only using one arm. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew he didn’t like it. He also knew that confronting Michael wouldn’t get him anywhere. Talking to that boy was like talking to a pylon. Shaking his head, he decided to just let it go. For now anyway. That worked until about twenty minutes later when Michael evidentially forgot about his arm injury and attempted to pick up a thirty pound bottle of cooking oil. Yelling out in pain, the bottle went crashing to the floor as Michael doubled over, gripping his arm.
Jeff ran over to where Michael was and got him back to a standing position. “What’s wrong with your arm son?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Michael said quietly as he turned to face the grill again.
“Come on Michael. I know better. I saw what just happened. So tell me what happened to your arm.” Jeff said as he carefully turned Michael to face him and examined his arm. It was clearly broken, there was no doubt about that. But how?
“I said nothing ok?” Michael spat as he yanked his arm away, painfully. He didn’t like feeling cornered, and right now, that’s exactly how he felt.
“Tell you what Michael. You tell me how you broke your arm and we’ll forget about what happened here. But if you don’t…”
“You’ll what? You’ll hit me? Go ahead. Take your best fuckin shot!” Michael yelled.
Jeff was floored. “I was just going to say that if you don’t tell me, I can’t help you. Why would I hit you?”
“Why not?”
Was that what was going on with him? Someone was beating on him? But until today, there were no signs of it. No marks. But then again, most abusers make sure to hit where the marks can’t be seen.
“Who’s hitting you Michael?” Jeff asked, obvious concern in his eyes. Again, Michael felt cornered. He wanted to tell someone about it, but he couldn’t. Not because he was trying to protect Hank. Far from it. No, it was because he was ashamed. Ashamed that anyone could do this to him. But he didn’t want pity. He just wanted to be left the hell alone.
“No one hit me ok?” Michael hissed. “Look, you want me to work today or not? Cause I sure as hell didn’t come here for an interrogation.” Michael said.
“No. I want you to go in back and get some rest. You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”
“Great. Now you’re criticizing how I look. Anything else about me you’d like to attack?” Michael yelled.
“Michael, he’s just trying to help.”
Michael turned his head to see Liz standing in the doorway looking at him, her face mirroring her dads.
“Just what I fucking need. It wasn’t enough to have one of you on my case. No, I get two. I’m out of here!” Michael said letting out a deep breath and stalking out the door.
Jeff looked at Liz. “Do you know who’s doing this to him Liz?”
“No. But I going to find out.” She responded.
“I don’t want you getting near that man Liz. If it is him, he’s obviously dangerous. There’s no telling what he would do.” Jeff said, pulling Liz to him in a fatherly hug.
“I don’t plan to get close to him dad. I have another plan.”
“Don’t push him too far honey. He’s at his breaking point. If it is his dad, he’s probably been holding it in for years. What happened here to day could just be the tip of the iceberg.”
“I know. I also know that if it is his dad and something doesn’t happen to stop it, the next time could be the last. It could be the one to kill him.” Liz whispered as she broke from Jeff’s embrace and walked out the door. She had to find Michael. Before it was too late.
TBC…