Gets Better
Hey all, just a short piece, not quite a normal one or such, but still rather fun to write and what not. We've all heard the saying "it gets better" I'm sure, and it sounds very nice I suppose...so I started with it and went for a quick story!
It doesn't. They'll tell you it does, but that's just so they can sleep easier at night. They don't want to admit it, hell, it's doubtful anyone does, but it's the truth. 'The truth isn't pretty' and that is true, so people tell themselves nice looking lies so the world doesn't look as bad.
When high school was over it was supposed to get easier--the world was supposed to open up into some grand minded field where one could meet people who share similar ideas and feelings.
That doesn't always happen--hell, sometimes it's better if things never change. Mike let out a saddened sigh at that golden piece of knowledge, wishing he'd known it yesterday, or better yet, his entire life. And yet he'd believed it anyhow; it gets better.
It gets better.
**"Bullshit," the husky muttered under his breath as a surge ran through him.
**
"You are choosing to be...be this," his mother said with a scowl.
"No! I'm not! I--I just w--"
"We don't want to hear it!" his father barked, "You want to be faggot, then we can't stop you. We tried to raise you right, told you what was right and wrong and now you're spitting in our face like this? You ungrateful mutt,"
The surge ended after he blinked--the memory seeming to fog up. Of course, he knew it would return, and in greater numbers as well. Fumbling, his paw moved over the countertop, searching for the cool touch of a glass to raise to his lips. Eventually he found it and downed the liquid. He wasn't sure it was right to enjoy the burn it brought, but he did nonetheless. Something about feeling the fire run down him made it all better--it got better.
A new heat boiled in him for a few seconds at the thought--recurrent and mocking.
The saying was founded in stupidity and false hope--that much he was sure of. Everyone said it though; it gets better. And then what? Magical fixes?
If only. That wasn't what the saying was about, he knew. It meant that life could suck, and hell if it didn't at times; it meant that things would work out in the end, but not just magically. Still, that was a lie, or maybe he'd just been so foolish as to believe that it meant everything worked out for the better. Things would surely all work out, but that was just stating the obvious.
Mike tapped his glass again, and waited for it to be filled; which happened soon enough. He gave a small smile to the bartender, but the badger paid him no real mind, instead just rolling his eyes as he moved off to serve the other side of the room--the empty side. The bar itself wasn't exactly bustling with life, of course, that was to be expected this early in the afternoon.
**The husky in the liquid's reflection smirked back at him, and he didn't seem so alone now. No, he had someone. Mike had Mike to keep him company, at least until he drunk him away as well. For a few moments he wondered if that made him crazy, to be thinking of his reflection as company. It was a good thought though, at least in comparison to his others, and just thinking about them made them return to the surface as he winced yet again.
**
"You're not my son,"
"W--"
"There's no way," his father told him surely, spitting the words at the husky. Behind him, his wife nodded, "I can't believe you would do this to us,"
To them? What the hell was he doing to them? Mike tried to speak, but words didn't quite seem to come out, he wasn't sure there were any to say.
"We need you to leave,"
"But I d--" Mike began, not wanting to find himself out on the streets.
"Now,"
The memory seemed to snap shut and Mike shook his head of it, quickly taking the glass and downing it. This had to work sooner, he had to forget. It had to get better.
The saying played on repeat for a few moments. He couldn't help but hope it permitted others to sleep more soundly at night. After all, it had to be so much easier for them, laying with their loved one, having their pillar next to them; it was easier for them to say it got better. And they had to say that, they had to believe it. Else it meant facing the awkward moment when one realizes that things don't always end well.
**It was easy after all, to just give that kind phrase and move on--knowing he'd made such a difference in the fur's life. That sagely wisdom would guide them throughout their days, mold them and protect them to their happy ending. If only it were true. It was just an empty phrase, kind of like when someone would say 'I'm sorry' at a funeral, it didn't change anything, it just made the other's mind easier.
**
"We're sorry," his mother told him, tears in her eyes.
Mike stared at his mother for a few moments and then looked to his father, whose gaze was far more stern and less relenting. He knew that look. It was a defensive look--the look his father gave a threat to the family. He was that threat. "I'm sorry too,"
"I'm cutting you off," the bar tender told the husky sternly as the dog tapped his glass yet again.
Mike just stared at the fur for a few moments. He knew better than to argue, and besides he was tired of arguing. After a moment he just let out a laugh and nodded, "You and everyone else,"
It took him a moment to get steady on his feet, or well, to feel steady at the very least. Blood pounded in his ears, slow and stuttering seeming. Focusing on the sound was difficult though, or well, it made it difficult to keep track of what he was doing, such as standing. He felt himself go limp for a moment, and then he was falling it seemed--before he was caught.
"Woah woah, easy there," a familiar voice said.
Mike just let himself be held up for the moment, not quite sure how to focus on such a difficult task as standing up and listening to someone talk. Glancing over, he caught the look of an otter holding onto him and giving him a shaky smile--somewhat forced obviously.
"A bit heavy on the drinking, wouldn't you say Mike?" Frank asked his friend, having trouble keeping the husky up on his own. He didn't look good--not at all, the husky should've called him sooner.
"What are you doing here?" Mike slurred.
"Just in the neighborhood, like you asked me to be," the otter reminded the husky with a chuckle, "And looks like I'm just in t-time! Hey, hey...come-on, don't be slouching,"
Mike didn't listen, closing his eyes and relaxing. He could feel Frank struggling to keep him up, and a part of him realized he should help, but he couldn't. It didn't matter anyhow. Soon enough the ground would race to meet him. The otter would let go. The otter would drop him and leave him to wallow in his pathetic self-pity. Frank would realize; realize his life was better without him, that he could measure up to so much without him, that there was nothing he offered.
It would be quite the sight maybe--the drunk husky on the bar floor, maybe if he was lucky he'd hit his head hard. That was a terrible thought he knew, and it wasn't like he wanted to die, just, to not wake up was really what it was. What did he even have anymore?
The otter did let go of him, just as he expected him to. He was going to leave him on his own--go find a better life without him. That was what he was sure was happening, at least until he felt a seatbelt being pulled over him.
"My God Mike, you trying to get yourself killed--you're a fucking lightweight and you know it,"
He didn't really hear his friend, instead more wondering what he was doing. Why get him in a car? He should leave. His parents didn't want him, his friends shouldn't have wanted him. None of it made sense; not even as he felt himself fading away from consciousness.
When he came back to life he was still in the car--staring up at the slightly tattered apholestry that held the ceiling together. A pained groan escaped him.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," Frank announced, looking over at the husky, "For a moment or two I was thinking I'd have to take you to the hospital,"
Mike groaned again and looked over at his friend, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Well...I was waiting till you were good enough to get inside, cause I'm sure as hell not carrying you into my apartment, you can walk," Frank replied sternly--though it was much more simply the fact that there was no way he could physically manage the task of moving his friend inside. "And now...I guess I'm giving you a place to stay for a bit...I mean.......well...."
That would've made him laugh normally, in a strange way at least. Instead, Mike just started to lean up and nodded, "Yeah...since my family doesn't want anything to do with a faggot,"
"Hey, don't be like that...you're a great guy,"
"It's not about if I'm good or not...I'm a monster to them now..." Mike said, feeling a bit woozy but thankfully not having to throw up, at least not yet. He placed a shaky paw on the door, "But hey...at least I've got it off my chest, right? I'm not hiding from them anymore," he said with a smirk, "That bullshit is supposed to make me feel better,"
Frank's throat caught. So it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Hey man, don't worry, it'll get bett--"
"Don't you dare fucking say that!" Mike interrupted with a growl, his paws bunched into fists. He spun around at his friend and gave him a push, "Don't you dare fucking say that! It's bullshit! All bullshit!"
"M--Mike..."
"It gets better? It gets better? What the fuck does that even mean? It doesn't get better. It's a nice little lie we tell ourselves to get to feel better, like those fucking magical words get to fix it all--it gets better!" he spat out.
So this is what it felt like, surely this was what it was like. The hate. The contempt. The disgust. He'd made his parents feel all of these--and about him. He could relate. "Bam! I'm in corvette crusing down the street. Worrying about my family hating me? Damn, I forgot about that! Thinking about that next big test? Hardly, that's gone too! It got better!"
Frank began to try and speak, the words just about the leave his muzzle, but the husky shut him off as he continued.
"If it got better they would've never had to come up with such a stupid fucking saying in the first place, would they?"
"Of course they would've, it's about hope,"
Mike just scoffed off the otter's words. There were about as useful as the saying itself; hope and the like were all just silly terms that tried to make the best of a bad situation. After a few seconds his energy left him as he leaned against the door; just speaking that much had drained him, or well, at least in combination with still being quite drunk it made him feel tired.
It was silent for a few moments.
"OK...let's get you inside...you can sleep off your hangover on the couch...that sound good?" Frank asked, as he moved around to help his friend. He wasn't sure if Mike ever responded, though in a way he was happy to not hear it. He was sure the next bit of time was going to be rough on the husky, but he didn't really know what to say either. Of course he wanted to say that it would get better, but obviously the dog didn't want to hear it.
Instead, he just helped him into hi apartment and set him down on the couch, where Mike quickly collapsed and turned away from him. The dog didn't even reply when he brought him a pillow, blanket, and water. "Hey...I'll...uhh...well...I'll just give you some time, get some sleep, OK?"
Mike snuffled his reply back to the otter.
He didn't have to worry.
It would get better.
He thought that, foolishly. He nestled into the couch and remembered other times, times further than just the other day. Helping his mother in the garden, building a toolshed with his father, a thousand silly tasks. Smiling and laughing and joking with them, being seen as someone better than he was. The thoughts began to slip away though as his eyes grew heavier--it gets better...