AN: Okay. I just saw this movie a little while ago. And I only saw the TV version of the movie too, so if I'm missing stuff, or got thing wrong, please tell me. Also, this is meant to be a one shot, but if you want more I'll give more a chance. Lastly, this is my first ever time writing slash really, and it isn't really slash. Then again it is MOPI, so you shouldn't expect anything less. Enjoy!
I should feel something.
There should be an awful sinking sensation in my gut. A headache that makes me close my eyes and remember, but no. Nothing.
Not even happiness can be found in the recesses of my mind.
I've just been to my father's funeral and witnessed the frenzied antics of my former life, mourning a man that, I myself, tore out the heart of. I watched as the one person that I ever could've loved screamed and spiraled out of control. And I felt nothing. Like a stone. I had no remembrance of that life or the one I am in. Neither had any emotional attachment.
Just from looking at the lobster dinner in front of me, I feel a ravenous hunger building up in my stomach. Thinking about the wad of cash that I'll pull out of my back pocket to pay for all of this makes me feel like a powerful dictator. Like Stalin before watching yet another 'traitor' have his head chopped off. The look that will be on the waiter's face only intensifies the feeling.
My father wanted me to be like him. I'll always remember being a little kid and trying to imitate him whenever I could. watching him at dinner parities or business meetings. Going home and standing in front of the mirror. Practicing the movements of the man that I began to hate over the years.
I'd go to show him my math homework or a test that I got everything right on and he'd just ignore me. Just push me aside and continue to yuck it up with his Ivy League buddies.
After that it's all a blur. No feeling, no love, no hate except my own for the asshole that contributed to my creation.
Then something happened. Something that slowed down the speeding car of my life, if only for a moment.
I saw good ole Daddy bring home a kid my age or younger. The kid had a toughened look that made him seem older than he was, so he was probably younger than I was at the time. But his eyes made him look like a lost puppy. He stood hunched over and looked almost afraid.
My mother was out raising money for some starving children in Malaysia, or something like that, and my father was slamming his bedroom door closed. The banging of the bed against the wall kept me up. I could hear my father grunting and panting, but I never heard anything from the boy.
I heard my father curse and a slap and then the door opening. I remember the fear that crept up my spine as I listened to my father drag the boy to the front door and then throw him out into the street. After my father went back into his room, I snuck out of mine.
Silently, I crept out of the house in my little flannel pajamas and found the boy asleep by the garbage cans. His jeans were unbuttoned and his jacket was still on. A jacket that was almost orange in the shadow and way too big for his slight frame. Something told me to hold him while he slept so I pulled him into my arms.
I stroked his hair and watched his chest rise and fall for half an hour. When he started to stir, I dropped him and ran back into the house. His head made a thud as it hit the pavement and I hoped he was okay.
I was sixteen the first time I held Mike Waters while he slept.
In the morning he was gone. And I was sure that I would never see him again.
The last time I saw him I was twenty-one and my secretly philandros father was dead of heart problems.
Both of them were in the same place. My father was dead in body, but Mike was dead in soul.
The thing that should bother me is that I killed him. Both of them. I killed three people. And at one point or another, I loved each of them. My father was my world as a child, Bob took me away from my father, and Mike. Sweet Mike. Didn't do anything.
I can damn my father for ignoration, and Bob for theft, but the only thing I can damn Mike for is love and adoration.
As I taste my lobster I think about what my father would think about me.
The butter drips off my lips and I know he's a monster.
I swallow it down and I know that I am even worse.
Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you thought!