The little, ugly yellow house on the corner of Elm and Hawkeye had been his home for as long as he could remember. A small two bedroom, with plain walls and a shag carpet that hadn’t been replaced since the 70s. Even so, it was a place of cherished memories.

So how could something he'd loved so much turn into… well, this. A building of yellow stained walls, black streaked carpet, piles of dirty dishes, and an overwhelming, staggering odor of bitter alcohol. These were only a few among many other reasons why Nate discouraged visitors. He'd prefer to keep this part of his life a secret from his friends.

Yet some still pried. Tyler, for example. A boy Nate was rather fond of, with long, blonde braided hair. He parked his car at the end of an empty road in Nate’s neighborhood and leaned against the wheel; gazing at each of the houses that lined the street one by one. “Hey, so, which ones yours?” Ty asked, inquisitively.

Nate rolled his eyes at the question as he looked around his seat. “Why do you care?”

“‘Cause I wanna see where my boyfriend lives.” He spoke matter of factly. Seriously, why wouldn’t he care? “We screw at my place all the damn time. Why can’t we go to your room?”

“I don’t want to.” Nate turned to the blonde boy, watching the disappointment simmer in his (sort of) boyfriend's cerulean eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. My mom just… look, she works from home so we wouldn’t be able to do anything fun anyway.”

“I don’t care about that.” Ty fully faced him. “I just want to see your room. That’s all. We don’t have to do anything like that.”

“But why? If we aren’t going to screw, what else is there to do?”

Ty clicked his tongue, irritably. Snapping, “Whatever. Fine,” and threw his hands up. He sank in his seat.

Nate turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he exhaled. What was so interesting about going to his house? He didn’t get it. Well, whatever - as Ty put it. “I’m going.” He turned to the pouting boy. “Hello, I’m leaving.”

“Yeah?”

Nate gave him a sour look. "Can I get a kiss?”

“No.”

“The hell not?” Nate snapped.

“Why can’t I see your room?” Ty fired back.

Nate stared at him for a long, agonizing silence. Ultimately, he threw his head back to stare up at the fabric stripping from the ceiling. “Whatever.” The door clicked as he pushed it open. He hesitated, wondering if Ty would have a change of heart. Yeah, right. Getting the boy to do anything once his mind was made was like trying to push Mt. Everest. 

“Fine. I don’t need a kiss anyway, jackass.”

Ty's tone turned cold. “Bye.” 

The door slammed shut, allowing very little time for Nate to step back as Ty floored it down the street. He turned with a muttered, “fucking brat,” as he traveled the remaining five-minutes by foot to his house.

Just standing at the door he could already smell the day's alcohol as it seeped through the cracks. He gagged. It didn't matter how many times he inhaled that crap, it never seemed to pass the olfactory threshold.

The door creaked open after he sucked in his last breath of fresh air. “Mom!” He yelled, the strap of his book bag slid off his shoulder and hit the stained carpet. His keys chimed together, clinking in the glass bowl, as he set them down. He stepped into the living room, gathering empty beer cans, cigarette butts, dirty paper plates, and ramen cups. 

“Mom!” He tried again. 

Silence.

There’s no way she isn’t home, he reasoned. The only times she left were to see their lawyer for the massive debt his dad had left for them. Or to buy more liquor; he closed his eyes grimly as that thought sank in. 

He opened them again with a cock in his brow, letting the garbage he had collected fall gently back to the ground. “Mom?” He pushed off the floor to stare curiously into the kitchen.

The wood below creaked as he stepped further into the decaying house. In the kitchen, cabinets had been torn right off their hinges and food had splattered onto the floor. The house appeared calm as he muttered, “what the hell?” in the back of his throat.

*His eyes pried away from the violent mess in the kitchen into the dark hallway, which connected the main house to the bedrooms and bathroom. He proceeded slowly, cautiously into the black. His shaken hand flipped the switch before the bulb flashed a brief second. It flickered out and the hall engulfed back to black. Like something out of a horror movie; he saw a brief image of splattered blood smeared on the walls with a streak on the wooden floor, tracked directly to her bedroom.

“Mom!” His blood raced, pulsating inside him. He forced his mother's door wide.

His heart immediately sank.

“What the fuck are you doing!” He bellowed.

His mother's dead, glossy eyes met with his. Silent, save for the barely audible drops of blood that kissed the carpet. Her fingers trembled once she realized the dread in her son's eyes. The knife she held slid from her hand with a slight metallic thud.

Her white gown was saturated crimson. Witnessing that, amidst the intoxicating stench of iron, was nauseating. The sides of his vision momentarily darkened as an acidic taste crawling up his throat. He gripped onto the frame of the door to keep himself upright.

She sucked in a sharp gasp. Her voice was small and shaken as she wheezed, “Oh my God… What are you doing back?"

He fought with himself to keep from passing out. However, the longer he took to grasp the situation; the more blood drained from her body.

*

“Hey,” Simon spoke anxiously; nudging Nate who had suddenly quit sharing his story. “What happened next?”

Nate shivered. Watching someone he loved almost die was by far one of the more horrific, and likely traumatic, events he’d ever witnessed. Between the blood, tears, and regret - he begged God to let him forget. 

He recoiled when Simon touched his arm. “What happened?” Simon tried again.

“Hh?” He cleared his throat. “Sorry," He spoke so softly, turning away from Simon. With a shaken breath, he managed to pull himself together. 

He continued, directly facing Simon, but he couldn't let their eyes meet. "…I called 911 and got her to the hospital in time. She, uh, had a high blood alcohol content. Afterward, she was held for a forty-eight-hour observational period. Then she went to rehab. Now she’s in a halfway house, I guess.” Nate questioned just how well Simon had received all of that. If anything, he was kind of glad Simon couldn't detect the waver in his voice. Surely, however, body language spoke enough for him on that front.

Simon hesitated, “Then… do you want to see her?”

Nate breathed, glancing at the rocks under him as he dug his nails into his knuckles. “It’s complicated.”

“Huh?” Simon frowned as he leaned forward. “I’m sorry… I didn't catch that.”

“It’s fine.” Nate turned, placing his hand beside Simon on the rocks. He’d really rather not talk about it anymore. “What about you, huh? Did you get the job?”

“Y-yeah?" Simon hesitated to change the subject but reluctantly submitted. "He was happy I could help out in the bait shop. Now Carter can be in the diner more.”

“What?” Nate groaned. “The hell does that mean? He doesn't trust me to man the shop by myself?”

Simon grinned. “Well, you haven’t exactly proven yourself responsible enough to take good care of his things.” He tilted away from Nate who was suddenly way too close for comfort. 

“Oh, wow, like you haven’t dug at me enough for that already.” Nate rolled his eyes, then matched Simon’s grin when the boy began to snicker. “What’s so funny?”

Simon shook his head, shoulders shaking. “It's not funny... but you sank his damn car.” He couldn't help but succumb to his sudden amusement. “I shouldn’t laugh. It’s really offensive. But his car…”

“Woooow. If only Carter knew just how terrible you really are.” Nate laughed his own, but Simon wasn't paying attention to his lips anymore. Taking advantage of that, he added, “I think you have a really bad sense of humor but for some reason, I really like that about you.” 

His hand inched further along the rock; allowing his body to fall just a little closer to Simon.