59Author's note: Is this good? Should I continue it? Or should I end it all? You decided in the review section cuz' it ain't a commission, sonny bois.
Lincoln woke up with his ass glued to the toilet's stool, hands numb from gripping a half-empty can of Budweiser with a killer headache to accompany it.
The dark bathroom, which was scarcely lit by thin lines of winter sun rays, didn't shock him as the fact that he drank till' unconsciousness these days in random places (including the bathroom) wasn't that exactly uncommon.
He acknowledged that some of these days he might as well were trying to drink himself to death.
Days like yesterday.
Here's another thing he failed to do right. It would look nice in his trophy corner, he can imagine it. "This trophy goes to the sucker that failed to oof himself". Lincoln chuckled sardonically before raising the beer can slightly in a mock toast and chugging it down. It tasted like warm piss.
He ran towards the tap coughing and hacking. Opening it, he washed his mouth from the terrible taste. He gripped the sides of the sink and took a good look at himself.
Honestly, he couldn't say he didn't look like shit. His scalp was balding and he was only 35 for fuck's sake. The cowlick at the side of his head that may have been once viewed as charming and unique now made him look like a hobo. The work shirt that he didn't bother to get off after coming back from work last night was dishevelled with beer stains all over it. A five o'clock shadow covered half his face from his upper cheeks to just right under his jaw. His eyes, expectantly, were bloodshot and the dark bags under it made him look like he got jacked up with some serious stuff. All and all, he didn't look like he was in his A-game.
He opened the tap again and washed his face to the best of his ability. He fetched his underwear and trousers and put them on. Taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes, he turned around, opened the door and prepared himself to face the music.
Like a switch being turned on, his senses were assaulted by the brightness of the living room and the chaotic happenings of his large and rather unusual family. Everyone moved with a purpose. Well, at least, their purpose. In the distant past, he could've said that he loved them in all their fucked up ways. That he didn't, wouldn't, want them to change to be anything other than themselves.
He wasn't sure about that anymore.
Truthfully, even before the shit hit the fan in the last few days, he was doubting his own love for his children and wives for quite a time now. Some nights, thoughts about murdering them in ways as fucked up as they are would fill up his head at night. Lynn leaving his bed because she too jumped on the anti-Lincoln bandwagon only reinforced these beyond messed up thoughts in his head.
He knew he was sick; probably one of the most mentally unstable in the family excluding Lemy. He knew he should get help but help costs money. And they barely had enough money as it's.
And no money? No funny bunny honey.
Speaking of Lynn, he knew she was cheating on him. One night, she returned at 3 AM drunk, with hickeys on her neck. He confronted her about it and things got pretty violent and were only getting physical. Thankfully, Their shouting was so loud, it woke everyone up.
Yes, even Mr Grouse's grandkids that conveniently happened to be staying over at his house with their parents for Thanksgiving.
In the end, they didn't get into a drunken spar because the rest of the family intervened and separated them. Though, it was far from over because he decided to retaliate.
In hindsight, sleeping with Maggie again while she was having a mental breakdown and emotionally vulnerable wasn't the best decision he had made in his lifetime. Not only did it make him more of a dick, but it was also stupid. He was trying to piss off Lynn, who isn't even that acquainted with Maggie as far as he was concerned. All it got him was Luan cursing a storm at him, Socking him in the jaw, taking away his coach privileges and throwing him out in the streets.
Talk about déjà-vu.
What did Lucy do? She just stood there, arms behind her back shaking with the deepest frown of despair he ever saw on his little sister's face.
That was all half a year ago and he hasn't seen Maggie, Lois or Gloom ever since.
Alas, the current situation was a different can of tuna. One he isn't even sure was his fault.
Lincoln strode forward, passing by Lyra who was fidgeting with the pages of the Bible on the couch beside a sulking Lupa who immediately straightened up; and directed her gaze on his back.
Noting his arrival, Lyra closed the Bible, kissed it and pressed it against her forward.
"Wonderful evening, isn't it, father? Have you slept well?" Lyra gave him a half-lidded look and greeted him curtly with a tilt of her head.
Lincoln didn't even turn around to address her, but grunted in acknowledgement all the same. The action mildly startled both girls as their father always jumped at the opportunity to make small talk. That it would somehow validate himself more to them.
At least, that's what they thought.
In reality, Lincoln was unconsciously reaching out to people. Loneliness and the stress of his eccentric, depressing lifestyle eating away at his sanity with the only anchor to keep him grounded in reality are having a somewhat normal conversation to delude himself into thinking he somehow is living a better life.
Lupa stared.
Lyra didn't get the message and followed up with another question.
"It's choir practice today, father. And aunt Lori is out. I was hoping you'd drive me there later once you're back." Lyra pressed on, now narrowing her eyes.
Lincoln turned his head to the side and nodded slightly.
Lyra's visage brightened considerably and a small smile laced her features.
"That's good. Though I can't help but wonder as to what you'd be doing at such a late hour on Sunday?" Lyra tried, with no ulterior motive this time, to open a conversation with the calmest voice she could muster.
She knew she said something she shouldn't have said if the clenching of her father's fists and the tenseness of his shoulders were any indications.
"Father I-"
"LIENA! I'm going out. Go get me my jacket." Lincoln suddenly barked in the direction of the kitchen, startling the other occupants of the house and suddenly gaining their undivided attention.
Lupa flinched.
"O-okay dad!" Liena Loud's voice replied to him from the kitchen where she abruptly stopped her breakfast-making chore and hurried to the clothesline that was hung in the backyard to get him his jacket.
Lincoln donned on his puffy orange jacket, a purple scarf and a snow visor. Without saying another word he made his way out of the door.
Only to be stopped by a delicate hand.
"But dad! You haven't eaten your breakfast yet and you must get energy and stuff because it's really cold out there…" The stocky 19-year-old seemed to shrink as she continued talking; mumbling the last part.
"I'll eat out…" Lincoln muttered dismissingly.
"A-Ah okay...I-I ummm...love you dad" Liena hastily said, giving him an awkward, light hug which Lincoln barely reacted to. Making everyone's jaw drop from afar.
Lincoln didn't give any goodbyes as he went towards the door behind him, uninterrupted this time.
With a purpose, he exited the door and closing it quietly behind him. It was time to make amends.
It was time to see his father, Lynn Jr.
The loud house wasn't very loud at the moment as everyone was seemingly shocked at what transpired.
Liena looked like a kicked puppy. Lyra had a contemplative expression. And Lupa?
Lupa hanged her head in shame.