John lay on his bed, his left hand supporting the back of his head while his right hand casually toyed with a sleek and weighty object, his fingers tracing the familiar contours of the trigger. It had been about 3 or 4 days since that train wreck of a fight, or at least John felt so. He wasn’t certain, after all, he had been lying there like a vegetative existence, drifting in and out of sleep, not eating and barely drinking.

He had yet to tackle the clutter in his messy room. Workout equipment and various items were still strewn haphazardly, creating a chaotic scene reminiscent of a cluttered junkyard.

He had slept, woke up, and slept again. He repeated that cycle until he grew thirsty and whenever he needed a drink he’d grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge that stood beside his bedhead, ignoring the alcohol that called out to him with a promise to make all his worries disappear, he didn’t want to have any similarities to the alcohol addicted moron.

Then, when he could no longer sleep he’d ponder, Where’d I go wrong? 

He’d ponder on where he went wrong, what he could have done better, and how his life came to this…as well as what would become of it as he felt the chemistry between the object and the back of his throat growing.

No no…let’s not go there….yet. With a sigh, John temporarily stowed away his dark thoughts as he got up and stored the pistol back in its safe that lay atop the fridge, unloading it and carefully storing the ammunition in another, much smaller safe which was right beside it.

He had contemplated it several times as he drifted in and out of sleep, each time he passed out he’d say ‘Next time…. when I wake up for sure,’ but each time he’d dream of Kate as well as think of what his father would say and would be held back.

Plus, he was uncertain as to whether he could even bring himself to do it. Despite having been miserable enough in the past to consider such a drastic action, he always hesitated. It was only when he experienced a traumatic event and developed inner strength, fueled by a bitter determination never to yield to anything, that he strangled and buried those feelings.

But even the greatest of willpower had its limits, “....” 

Truthfully, John had regretted it, well perhaps the timing of it even if only a little, but not the bout of passion he had lost himself to. He felt bad not because James had recently passed his mother said, but because of what she said about taking advantage of her.

I took advantage of you…huh. He mused to himself, his thoughts not really a statement, nor a question. He had come back to take his mother from James one way or another, whether it was by beating him half-dead or blackmailing the son of a bitch. 

When he heard he had died he couldn't help but feel an immense disappointment, part of the reason for getting in shape was to teach that guy a lesson, to hold him down while he fucked his wife right in his face, or so he’d fantasize of. The other half was for another matter that had taken place at school.

John shook his head not wanting to add to his woes. He felt empty, hopeless, but at the same time desperate. Was this how his mother felt at that moment when she tackled him but subsequently gave up at the end?

Right… Mom… Suddenly, he remembered Kate. What had she been up to all this time? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t worried about her; she was still his mother at the end of the day. Despite the heaviness in his heart, he couldn't deny the flicker of empathy that remained, a glimmer of warmth amidst the darkness that enveloped him, but at the same time…

“....”

 ….Despite that empathy, he felt like he wasn’t present to experience the full range of it despite his body being here in the moment. That was the best way he could describe it if asked to.

He had always felt like this as far as he could remember. The last time he felt genuinely happy was when he, his father, and his mother went to the park. They had just sat and watched him play with the other children, but something was reassuring about them being there, something that brought contentment that was never present when he was there alone.

He remembered turning to look at them while running and seeing how his father stared lovingly at his mother, and how he’d look at him with those same eyes, smiling and waving at him. He vaguely remembered thinking, 'Dad really loves Mom and me!' It was a fleeting thought, but it stuck with him. His father had never once actually told him this, but he just knew it at that moment, as young as he was. That was why he hated James, why he hated himself, and why he hated yet worried for Kate.

The reason why he hated James went without saying; he hurt John and he hurt his mother. He hated Kate for the things she said about his father, as well as her resigned attitude in life. He hated himself for how he acted towards his mother, the person his father would expect him to protect.

I should check on her, he wanted to get up, but he was tired. Too tired to move, too tired to care, too tired of life itself. He wasn’t happy but he had to live…because he couldn’t die, or so was his childhood mantra.

His lightless eyes glanced over to the safe once more, triggering an idle thought, How didn’t James discover this? Well, even if he did, he couldn’t open it anyway; doubt he’d care enough to try either. John smirked. It had belonged to his father, or so he presumed. John remembered asking Kate years ago if his father had ever been into hunting, but her response had been a firm denial, she described his father as a gentleman who abhorred violence in any form. He wouldn’t raise his hands at a roach much less her or any larger sentient creature. 

When he heard this, the young John scoffed, silently questioning the validity of her words. He had read Kate’s diary where she’d described being hurt 'so good' by his father. Scurrying back to the basement with his short little legs, he cast her a side-eye, leaving Kate perplexed.

In there were the two safes, the bigger of the two oddly unlocked. Inside lay a paper with the pin to open it, along with the smaller one and his new shiny silver toy.

The young John smiled mischievously, his eyes dancing with mischief. Eager to examine and play with it, he put his finger through the hole and spun it round and round, sniffing it, and even giving it a lick.

John smiled bitterly as he recalled his disappointment back then when nothing had happened when he pulled the trigger. In a rare moment of gratitude for his younger self’s stupidity, he was relieved and grateful that he hadn't known how to load it and that his father kept it empty.

Turning on his side to face the wall, he propped his head on his hands, his gaze fixed on the blue surface. Drowsiness crept in, and sleep beckoned to him once more, but before succumbing to its embrace, he couldn't help but wonder, What type of guy were you really, Dad? With his eyes gradually growing heavy, a wry smile touched his lips as he thought, At least we're a normal, happy family in my dreams….yeah, those days…were better….

***

In the next moment, an alarm went off. John turned onto his back and stretched his short, stubby limbs, yawning. Today marked his first day of second grade, and if he didn't get up, his mother would surely come in, full of energy, and wake him up in a much cruder way.

The 7-year-old boy couldn't fathom why his mom was so full of energy first thing in the morning; he just wanted to go back to sleep. Nevertheless, today would be a long day, and he had more pressing matters to attend to before school.  As he sat up, scratching his messy hair and kicking off the blanket, he sprang to his feet and shouted, ensuring the entire house could hear,  "MOM! I'm HUNGRY!"

Yes, sleep and school could wait; his stomach took precedence above all else!

Meanwhile, Kate, who was in the kitchen cooking at the moment, wondered if she had to go wake John up. It was then, right on cue, that she heard John’s high-pitched demanding voice, “Mom! I’m hungry.”

Part of her was glad he was behaving responsibly, but another part was sad she didn’t get to see his cute little face startled awake. The rhythmic sound of tiny feet thumping down the stairs announced his arrival. 

“Mooom.”John's scream pierced through the air as he thundered down the stairs at full speed. But in his haste, he missed a step, sending him tumbling down as he turned his body doing a roll brilliantly down the stairs, each bounce on the way down eliciting a groan from him.

Kate, alerted by the commotion, spun around at almost lightning speed. Without missing a beat, she was already beside him, scooping him up from the stairs as she asked, “Oh no! Are you ok baby?” John nodded, tears brimming in his eyes as Kate enveloped him in her embrace, gently caressing his back.

He seemed just like a puppy as he shivered in her bosom. Kate gently withdrew to inspect him, ensuring his well-being. Next, she firmly grasped his shoulders, fixing him with a stern, somewhat ominous gaze. “What did I tell you about running on stairs, John? Why don’t you ever listen?” Her words more reprimanding than an inquiry, a touch harsher than intended.

John bit his lip and lowered his head seeing her smile that wasn’t a smile. “Uh, I don't remember. Anyway, I'm not feeling well, Mom. My body hurts, and I don't think I can go to school.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, studying her son's evasive eyes. With a snort of disbelief, she hummed, “To the doctors we go then~.” Rising to her feet, she gently guided John by the arm, smiling once more.

"NO! I mean, I'm okay. No, I mean we shouldn't. It's expensive, right? I just need to rest for a day is all, really, Mom!" Gone were his tears as he pleaded his case the best he knew how, he tried his best to escape his mother to no avail.

Seeing this, Kate just smirked as she said, "It's okay, sweetie, we have insurance. Don't worry, you'll be fine. Plus, your aunt works there; she'll just give you a quick shot."

At the mention of his aunt and injections, John's face paled, and his eyes tensed as he looked up to meet his mother's gaze, abandoning the facade of an injured puppy as he glowered like a cornered one.

Mr.J

Wassup guys, here we have a little bit of a flashback/dream. To be completely honest this story should have started with our protag as a kid, but I figured that would be way too dubious with the tags taken into consideration, especially because I hope that I could one day publish the book lol. Plus I figured people would get bored quickly, so in a way, I ended up butchering my work. Still though, what's the point of having an incest tag when the characters don't even feel like they're family? In a lot of these stories you could take random people off the street and slap step to them and call them family, you wouldn't notice a difference. Some may like that but I feel like it's a cheap way to write the genre. Anyway, this might be a two-part chapter, so look out for the next one (though not as long) tmr night, and the chapter promised on Saturday is still on.