Chapter Text
His mother’s bright orange jumpsuit was flashing like a giant traffic cone in his eyes. It was all he saw, not because it was the brightest and most colorful thing in the room, but because he couldn’t believe she was in this situation. That she could do what she did. He knew it would happen, but why did she have to be the one to do it. He deserved it, but doesn't she see that all she did was prove him right? This was so stupid of her. Too stupid to just ignore.
The verdict was read. A life sentence. Good…
He heard himself being called to the stand for a final send off basically and he took a breath before standing. It was time. Time to tell her what he really thought. Everything was Dad’s fault ultimately. He knew the old man's actions were his own, but dear old mom was no saint either. It was time to let her know her fault in everything. She wasn’t the saint she thought she was and it was time for her to know. It was time for her to regret it.
It’s only now that he is taking in the details of the room. It was bright and sunny, with light shining through the large scale windows with bushes and trees galore seen outside in perfectly cut arrangements. The blue sky peeking out through the branches. The light illuminated the brown of the polished wood throughout the courtroom. The bright polished brown of the benches the onlookers were sitting on. The brown of the judges seat, having him positioned high and mighty. The brown of the witness stand, a much darker almost deep red sort of brown. What kind of red is that? What kind of wood made that brownish-red color? He wouldn’t know, he couldn’t place it. Why was the witness stand the only differing shade of brown?
Despite his pondering, he slowly but surely made his way there. His determination to see this through resolute. As he finally stepped behind the red-brown podium with his final farewell in hand, he saw his mother’s face. Her head was bent down in its usual shamed expression, but despite having been imprisoned this whole while, her face looked fuller and far healthier. Maybe she looked better because it was his first time seeing her after a while, but he knows that he knows the real reason. He couldn’t dwell on it. This couldn’t become a good thing. This can’t be forgiven.
“Hello. I’m just here to tell the truth. Mom, the reason I’ve kept my life a secret from you is because I’ve always known deep down that you were capable of doing something like this. Not what form it would take or what would trigger you or how far it would go, but I knew it would be something. Anything to help your vanity, preserve your pride, fuel your ego, and most importantly, reclaim your lost status. All of which have been intertwined for so long they might as well be the same emotion. I’ve pushed these negative feelings towards you aside and even forgotten them most of the time because…”
His mother finally brought her eyes up to him at that last word and it froze him in place for just a moment. The same beautiful amber brown as his sister, illuminated by the sun's rays and made all the more gorgeous.
“Because you're my mom, the matriarch of the family, the reason the family as a whole has survived as long as it did the way it has, and someone I loved despite our differences. Emphasis on the second thing I’ve mentioned because the sad and unfortunate truth for everyone especially for you is that you’ve been forced to do the grunt work to keep the family whole and thriving all these years to this day and I know I have a part to play in that. That’s partially on me and I am so sorry for that. I know I should’ve done better as your only son on that front.”
Despite everything, he meant every word of that apology. Maybe if he just got off his ass more and did something, things wouldn’t have ended up like this. He finally allowed himself to think this for the first time as he stared at her usually loving and hopeful face, now filled with confusion. He knows what he has to do though, she can’t get away with this.
“…On my end, it was the result of my own laziness mixed in with depression, paralyzing fear, and high anxiety. The fear and anxiety is where you come into play mom.”
He saw the confusion melt away into something he couldn’t describe. He realized she was searching for something in his eyes too.
“You have a special way of emotionally and mentally torturing those who are not living up to your standards. Everytime someone close to you makes a decision that you don’t see as classy or sophisticated your words of cruel judgement, mockery, condescension fill the room and it’s like nothing else matters. It could be just a passing comment you make to them later on while you and said other people are doing something together or something that person overhears if they manage to catch you on the phone at the right time. That’s all it takes for you to send a person spiraling and fucking up everything just to do it again right to please you. And then you act surprised when everything blows up in that person's face as a result. And god forbid it blows up in your face. God forbid you face the consequences of your actions towards someone. That’s just always been who you are. You're passive aggressive and contrary, purposefully tripping people up and sabotaging people to get your way. I’ve seen it my whole life with you. I’ve seen how your judgement makes people destroy themselves for you. The reason I don’t trust you with my thoughts and feelings is because you simply cannot be trusted with such things...”
His own eyes meet his little sister’s. She was sitting in the front row, right behind mom. Again, those perfect amber eyes were staring into his soul, this time they were tear filled, angry, and unforgiving. She’d forgive him eventually right? She had to.
He realized that he never thought of that until now…
“...You are not capable of respecting the mental needs and emotions of others, because to you anything other than blind optimism, social climbing, and blind obedience to your whims is weakness. Everyone in our family has been a victim of this, especially the men. That’s another thing about you, you don’t like men. You don’t listen to them or tolerate them in any way. You are a misandrist. That’s why you did what you did right? I get we were dragging you down, but you couldn’t just kick him out onto the street like anyone else in your situation? Send us, Becca and I, away to other relatives? You seriously couldn’t think of any other solution?”
His eyes went back to his mother’s and the change looked instantaneous. They were blank now. Not the same look of his sister. There was no anger, no betrayal. It was the same look she’s had his whole life, whenever she looked at him . No.
“How dare you cry now?” He said with his voice cracking as if he was going through puberty. Who was he saying that to? His eyes flitted between his two women. Only Becca was crying. Mom was…indifferent. His eyes didn’t leave her anymore. They were just black voids now. She dissociated. No. Please. No.
“...I’ve been monologuing for too long so let me get to the point. Mom, I have rejected the job offers you’ve gotten me and squandered every opportunity you've given me because I can’t end up like everyone else in your orbit. I cannot risk owing you things..”
He was trying to will a different response to enter her face.
‘Be hurt. Be betrayed. I deserve that. Let yourself feel this. Don’t give me nothing!’
“That plus telling you about my life and my thoughts about it gives you too much power to use against me to hurt me, to hold over my head , to maneuver me into whatever scheme and dangerous situation you had planned for me next. I let myself become a bum because I couldn’t let you control me. Nor did I feel I could do anything without your approval either. It was one messed up giant cycle and it ends here.”
The room was silent. Hanging on to his every word. Yet the only thing that mattered was his girls. What would become of them? How would visitation work? How would the dynamic at home change now that it was him and Becca? Finally these questions reared their ugly heads as he finished up his speech.
“This is the last time you will see me. This is the last time you will hear from me. Nor will I take anything from you ever again. Lorena Jackson-Ramirez, I disown you as my mother and denounce you morally as a human being. You are dead to me. I’m done. Have a nice life.”
His mother was still in her own world and his control snaps, “Come the fuck on mom!!” He screams at full volume, “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not him! I know it was all mostly his fault! So why are you giving me that face!?”
Her silent contemplation continued and he lashed out, pulling the podium to the ground in a fit of unrestrained anger.
“I’m not him! I’M NOT HIM! Don’t look at me like that! Don’t ignore me! I’m sorry! Mom!”
Still nothing.
“... MOM!!!” He waved his arms around nonsensically during his outburst and ended up elbowing someone in the face, which snapped him back into reality. He’s not in a sunny courtroom, but his shitty one bedroom apartment illuminated only by the lamplights outside. He’s not yelling at his mom or seeing his sister cry, in front of him was only darkness…
“WHAT THE FUCK BRYCE!?!” A female voice screeches from next to him.
…He did, however, actually elbow someone in the face. None other than the Bitch-Queen herself. She has been thoroughly jostled out of the bed as a result of his unexpected attack. She’s covering her left eye and it looked like her blonde hair is covered in some dark liquid. He quickly turns the lamplight on his right bedside table on to see that his worst fear is confirmed. Blood in his bed. Again.
And it was everywhere this time. Even on him as he realizes there’s something warm dripping down his leg
“That’s my line! What the fuck!?” He pulls the warm, stained sheets off and runs to the bathroom post haste, “I thought I fucking told you to stop bringing in your weird blood lattes into my fucking bed!!” He yells, Jamming his sheets into the sink and turning on the hot water. He makes for the light switch and now the apartment is been illuminated by both the warm yellow of the lamplight and incessantly flickering fluorescent lights of the kitchen, which is the same room as the bedroom.
The Bitch-Queen Busies herself with her own, picking up the somehow still intact white mug and rushing to the tiny bathroom to deal with her hair, “Well no one expects to elbowed in the fucking face at one in the morning do they?” She replies snarkily.
“It’s one o’clock already!?” He looks at the time illuminated in on his stove-clock and it says ‘1:05 pm’ in bold old-fashioned green font, “Jesus fucking christ why didn’t you wake me up?”
“ What else did you think when you saw that your fucking covers off the window?,” She says, her thick British accent echoing off the bathroom walls, “ You wake up pissed off either way, might as well enjoy it before you start dicking around.”
“You have to enjoy it, helping yourself to my supply? And making a mess of my apartment? Heating up actually blood with my fucking pots? Which cost a whole fucking lot by the way!” He yells as he sees one of his smaller sterling steel pots looking a mess with what is obviously some congealed blood surrounding the insides on the stovetop.
“If you actually tried to save up you could actually afford some place haitable instead of this pig sty!” She shouts back, rinsing her long hair in the sink to no avail, “Shit!” she mumbles to herself as she admits to herself a second shower is in order.
“It’s a pig sty because you pull shit like this!” He yells, pouring dish soap into the filled sink, and lets his sheets soak. He knows that’s not true, but vampires can’t even get sick from stuff like mold anyway, so what’s the problem?
“Whatever!” She shouts, slamming the bathroom door. Bryce winces, waiting any moment for bis neighbors to come knocking and yelling about the noise. He’s been lucky with it, but any night that could end. He looked around at his grey, moldy, and crumbling walls, the incredibly short distance between the stove and the bed. The old fashioned tv set that came with the apartment. Everything already came with the apartment except his sterling pots, which were a treat for himself. It wasn’t the smartest expense, but he had just been embraced and figured it would be something nice. Even if he couldn’t functionally use them, they reminded him of some happier times and he couldn't just ignore that. A memory of fun times in the childhood home, cooking empanadas in the kitchen at home came to mind. The delicious smell, his mother's warm smile, the oceans of febreeze they had to spray throughout the house once they were done eating so his dad wouldn’t smell them when he got home…
He shakes the memory from his mind before it can go any further. He can’t bring himself to dwell on the past, especially after that nightmare. He needs to get out of there. To move and get some fresh air and the sound of the shower give him the perfect excuse.
The Bitch-Queen knows the drill anyway.
He wipes his legs of blood with a paper towel, changes into pants and a leather jacket and leaves without a word of notice or good bye to the blonde in the shower. He doesn’t bother taking some of his supply either, he figures he’ll just have some with Nines and the others at The Last Round.
Down the stairs and out he goes. The methodically slow and manual breath he takes in and out as he examines the scene in front of him. The lamplights, the occasional car going by, the building as far the eye could see. He can’t help but think that it would all look so much better in the daytime, specifically during dawn or sunset. That would’ve been nice, but that is not his life anymore. He’s not going to lament though. Never.
He’s walking down his block when a horrific smell enters his nostrils. He gagged and spun around looking to find what it could be, only to discover what must be a homeless person leaning against a brick wall closeby unconscious. He figures that must be it and walks off. As long as it’s nothing or no one serious, there’s no reason to bother.
He’s going, going, going and gone after finally turning a corner.