"Father of mine
tell me where have you been.
You know I just closed my eyes.
My whole world disappeared.
Father of mine
take me back to the day
when I was still your golden boy
back before you went away"
--"Father of Mine," Everclear.

Sometimes I think he wouldn't hit me if I were his real son. Sometimes I think its me--my fault--and even my real dad would hit me and that's why he hasn't come for us. Because I'm a cardinal fuck-up. Most of the time I'm sane enough to know that Hank Guerin is a drunken asshole and it has nothing to do with me.

It doesn't help, though, to have Max and Is' be so close and so completely far away. Max...Maxwell thinks he can fix everything and that he has all the answers. He couldn't possibly understand. They have a "mom" and a "dad." Isabel cries about lying to the people they love and I come back to the trailer to "take out the fucking garbage and put some more goddamned Bud in the goddamned fridge." I don't blame her...I can't. Not when Isabel has always been there to smooth her hand over me and take away all the things I can't let Max or anyone else see. She keeps my secret and tries desperately to be everything to me that Hank isn't. Both of them do. Max would kill Hank if he knew the whole story.

If I don't do it first.

Whether I'm on Max's floor or on my air mattress in the back room of the Guerin tin can, the thoughts of murder are always with me. They're my sheets...my comforter. I dream about choking Hank in his sleep...of stopping the blood flow to his brain...of electrocuting him with a touch. Over the last four years, I've almost killed the bastard a thousand times and he doesn't even realize it. Almost.

Because I can't do it. I can't hurt the only father I've got. He may be able to beat on, cuss at, and throw shit at the only son he's got, but I can't be--won't be like him.

She died because of him--Patty, my foster mother. I remember hearing her sobbing every night as he slammed out and headed for the bars. Then, one night, she was just dead. I think she curled into bed and gave up. Its been so long, I barely remember her face. I do remember the sound of her crying, though. I remember the smeared mascara tracks on her cheeks and her soft fingers ruffling my hair as she whispered, "Don't be scared, Mikey...shhh, just don't be scared."

I'm scared. I've never stopped being scared. I'm scared that Max and Is' will finally realize that they've put their trust in the wrong person. I'm scared that they're not really my brother and sister. I'm scared that when we do find out where we come from, it will be them that's wanted and still not me. I'm scared that I finally will snap and kill Hank one of these days. I'm scared that no matter how hard I try and fight it, I will turn out just like him.

Damn it.

I don't want to live with the sound of sobs again, with a pretty, make-up stained face. I don't want to see me slamming the door of a shitty old trailer as bruises form on the side of Maria's face. Maria De Luca. MariaMariaMaria. Maria with her big mouth and her pushy attitude and her damned insistence that she belongs in my life. My God...if I ever hit her...am I that kind of man? Oh, yeah...I'm not any kind of man.

Maria doesn't know the half of what puts the stone in my wall. She doesn't know what she would get if I let her in. I can't let her find out.

So I lie here in the dark, one arm thrown over my face just in case Hank kicks the door open and stumbles in. I'm tensed, ready to jump out and slip past him if necessary. Ready to climb into Max's window. Ready to face Maria in the morning with a flip comment and a cold shoulder. That's the way it has to be.

Unless I snap.