This House Is Not A Home

ooc; I haven't proof-read this yet so there are probably a million mistakes. >_< Also, this is where I got the inspiration for this drabble: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fdu0-SX1EPc
Hope you like it.

“Hey, Jimmy, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? I can kick your ass at basketball again.”
“No chance. See you later, dude.”
A grin curled on Yates’ lips as he threw the basketball over to his friend, who was now heading off down the street and leaving the young teen to stand outside the front gate of his house. The boy sat himself down upon the dampened wall, fingertips brushing over the mossy brick which held numerous words scratched into the surface. Most were from Jimmy and himself sitting outside in the middle of summer, scrapping small pictures or idiotic words that they came up with. Some were just random pieces of graffiti from other kids that had lived in this house previously or just drunken somebodys finding entertainment out of scrapping away at a brick wall.

It was a pleasant day outside, the warm weather of summer seeping joyfully throughout the streets of New York. The atmosphere was cheerful, even as the sun slowly started to creep down beneath the houses and as the moon made it’s presence known. As Luke’s gaze followed his friend’s ever shrinking form, a sigh escaped him. Not one of bliss or happiness, but sadness. His head tilted to one side, glancing backwards at his poor excuse of a home, noting the broken upper windows and the door that barely hung from it’s hinges. Breathing in the fresh air for the last time of the day, he started to stand and slowly headed inside.

The moment that the door shut, a deepened sense of darkness settled in Yates’ mind. The rooms were darkened with hardly any lighting and the dull wallpaper was almost ripped from the walls, casting shadows across the rotting, wooden floor boards. It certainly wasn’t the best place for a fourteen year old to be living, but he got by, usually leaving the confides of this building for many hours of the day and only returning when there was dire need to or when the night crept over New York. That was the only time that he felt the need to return, however, he would always happily sleep round Jimmy’s on the floor rather than sleep in his own bed.

Yates slowly made his way through the hallway, the tips of his dirty trainers lightly kicking against the shredded pieces of newspaper and glass fragments. The house seemed empty at the time, signalling that the boy’s mother was out again. She was probably out getting plastered again like usual. It didn’t really make much difference to Yates as she was rarely around as of late. Turning into the living room, the teen glanced around at his dingy surroundings, slipping one of his hands into his pockets and pulling out a dark grey cigarette pouch. It certainly wouldn’t take long for him to feel just that little bit better about his surroundings.

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The rain was beating soundly against the cool glass of the windows, casting shadows across the floor and the person seated silently on the one of those small, plastic chairs in the middle of the room. Smoke dripped from the young male’s lips as he relaxed further into the chair, his muscles loosening as the substances carried in the smoke took effect. Images flicked across the television screen, almost as if in slow motion in Yates’ mind. His eyes slowly closed as he fell into his relaxed state, a small smile residing on his features.

This relaxed atmosphere was short lived though, as the shattering of glass quickly sounded as several large stones penetrated the houses exterior, breaking the living room windows. A loud, drunken laugh echoed through the street, the heavy clicking of heels tapping against the solid ground outside as this drunken woman made her way into the house. After slamming the door, she entered the living room, her hand clinging onto the door frame for support. The laughter ceased as her gaze settled upon her son, seating still in the middle of the room, his own gaze upon her.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she inquired, practically glaring at the boy with his cigarette in hand.
“I was enjoying the fact that you weren’t home, but I guess now I’m just sitting here watching some sort of freak show trample through the house.” These certainly weren’t words that were usually heard in a conversation between a mother and son but, recently, insults and harsh words had been thrown about between them as if not a nice word could be exchanged between them.

Amelia, the mother, practically glared at Yates as she stumbled across the room to where he was sat, forcefully pushing her hand against the side of his cheek and causing the boy to practically fall from his chair as his body was still in its relaxed state. She turned the television off and turned back to her son, who now lay on the floor, the side of his face pressing against the shattered glass of the window. Slowly, he got back to his feet, brushing away the shards that had stuck of his skin, some even piercing it to allow a deep red liquid to flow relentlessly down his cheek and some of his neck.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you little shit!” she shouted, shoving him once more until he stumbled backwards a couple of steps, showing no sign that he was going to try and stop her.
“Just go drown yourself in another bottle of vodka, Mom. Do us both a favour.” At this point, instead of an insult being thrown at Luke, it was a glass that had been sitting upon the top of the television set, only missing the boy by mere inches before it smashed against the wall behind him. The teen hadn’t exactly expected an object to be thrown at him so strongly, his body slow to react to the sudden shattering of glass behind him. He looked at his mother wide-eyed, noting her glare and drunken posture as she grabbed another random item and threw it at him, the object hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“What the hell are you doing?!” This was a first for Yates having things thrown at him by his own mother, even if they had had their fair share of heated arguments, never had she tried to cause physical harm to him other than the occasional shove.
“Just get out!” Another object flew by Luke’s ear as Amelia shouted at him to leave, tears flowing uncontrollably over her cheeks. Without real hesitation, Yates glanced at his mother before quickly leaving the room, grabbing his jacket from the floor.

There wasn’t really an explanation for why Amelia had suddenly turned violent in her drunken state, but Yates chose against questioning it before he left the house. The cold night air hit him sharply as he slid his arms into the warmer arms of his jacket, eyes downcast to the ground as his feet started to take him out through the front gate and into the street. He didn’t know where to go. Jimmy and his family were going off for the evening to Jimmy’s grandparents and he doubted that they wanted him to be dragging along with them. So, he just started to walk. His hands tucked into his jean pockets, body slouched as he continued to stroll down to the end of the street. Walking all on his own.