The Dangers Of Fluttering by freedomwriter
Mom's Advice (PROLOGUE) by freedomwriter
PROLOGUE The banging on my door is loud and seems incessant. I know without a doubt that it’s my little brother. He yells a few muffled noises I cannot make out, and then finally disappears. But when I turn my back towards the door, the pounding starts up again, this time even louder.

“Come on jerkface! It’s your turn today, so get your ass out of bed!” This time, his words are all too clear as they sear through my head. I wince slightly, embarrased.

Here I am, thirty-four, and back at square one. When I’ve been all around the world, seen most of the things life offers to a person and done things ten people wouldn’t be able to do in an entire lifetime, I’m back home, living in some random crappy house with my mother and brother. Both of them clearly hating the very sight of me.

I’m not really sure how they could afford this place. Although the house is nothing really worth mentioning, both my Mom and Aaron have been exceptionally broke for years now. Now I am too, but that’s beside the point.

Letting me move back in with them was most probably not out of the kindness of their hearts, but because of the little amount of saved money I had left. Whoever had money these days, could live with them for as long as they wanted.

Dragging myself across the room, feeling the continuous marching band in my head doing their great reprise, I open the door and see my younger brother standing there with a raised fist. I stare at him for a moment, not impressed and then motion for him to get out of my way. He gives me a taunting look before stepping aside. Not planning on paying him anymore attention, I shove past him and thunder down the stairs.

With a discouraged sigh, I stare at the small kitchen with the cramped in dining table. My heart sinks and my head starts pounding even more pronouncedly as I retrieve an empty trash-bag from under the sink and try to collect all the empty drink-bottles from the tables with one swipe of my arm. I hear them land into the bag with a satisfying crash. Although I’m a bit ashamed to admit to it, last night’s thoughts kind of caught up to me and the wine and whiskey was all too inviting. When my mother came home late from wherever she’d gone to, she sat with me and we drank the last of the collection. We sat, drank and talked, like we hadn’t done in ages. In a lifetime, it seems. Although we both knew it was years too late, we apologized for everything and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I am able to look her into the eyes again.

Just a small light in the midst of all this mess.
“I think you should go back,” Her voice resounds through the now somewhat clean kitchen. I sigh, looking up at her reflection in the window, before slowly turning around.

“Well, I don’t, I told you that last night, didn’t I?” I try to stay patient, but the annoyance seeps through my voice. I don’t really like talking about what happened, and before last night, neither Mom, nor Aaron bothered to ask questions. But seemingly my mother’s curiosity was sparked after the story I told her and she can’t let go of it ever since.

“They still need you, even if they can’t see that right now,” she says, trying to sound wise. I scoff softly, knowing that after everything that happened, I have kind of lost my unconditional faith in my mother’s judgement.

“They don’t need me, Mom, they’ve made that pretty clear. Besides, I’m not the one that got us involved in this whole situation this time. I’m just the one who was able to walk out of it. They have gotten us into this mess, so I ask why should I be the one to get us out?” I snarl angrily and Mom grimaces slightly.

“What do you think would have happened if they said the same thing when you yourself were in trouble? They helped you!”

“Somebody had to!” I blast back, immediately regretting it when I see the look in her eyes.

“I thought we got past that last night, Nick,” she whispers, hurtful. I sigh and nod softly.

“I know,” I mutter, turning back towards the sink. “These dishes need washing, they ain’t gonna wash themselves.”

“You always were a stubborn brat,” my Mom announces behind my back. I carefully start piling up the plates next to the faucet. I really can’t remember the last time I did the dishes, or collected the trash for that matter.

“I know, thanks for recognizing,” I mutter the half-joke without the humour in my voice. She sighs, obviously considering it a lost cause this time and after a few minutes in which I make it clear I have nothing more to say as I pretend to put all my effort and attention into washing the plates, she shuffles out of the kitchen.

Once I’m sure she can’t see me anymore, I let go of the half-washed plate in my hands and wearily rub my forehead, not caring that my hands are still covered in dish-soap.

Cutting everybody out of my life seemed like the best idea on the moment I was doing it. I would be free, not having to deal with the impending drama and tragedies that would soon follow the group wherever we went. But now that I had to actually live with it, starting up a whole different life away from the biggest mess the Backstreet Boys had ever come across, now I couldn’t help but wondering every day, every minute where everything had gone wrong, and what to do to make it better again.

And yes, we’d been all around the world, we’d seen most of the things life offers to a person and we’d done things twenty people wouldn’t be able to do their entire lifetime. And we had fun doing so. But it was over. Over as soon as one of us couldn’t keep it up anymore. When one of our own started crashing down so hard, taking everyone with him, that nothing could safe us. It had happened before, years and years ago, but not like this, never this bad. And this time, I wasn’t involved on the matter. Wasn’t informed of anything until it was far too late. This time, I was just an outsider looking in, seeing everything we’d ever loved and cared for get destroyed. So is it any wonder that I felt like the only control I had left was the choice whether I should stay or leave.

I chose the latter, sue me. Because heaven knows that I would do whatever it takes to make it alright, if only that was possible. But it’s too late, far too late.


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