"Mom I'm hungry. I want some milk."
"Me too."
"I told you to call me P' . Go watch cartoons first. I'll make it in a moment."
Every family has problems. That is nothing unusual.
Not unusual at all.
It is just that my parents happen to be sworn enemies. They have fought until their heads split open before, so badly that doctors refused to stitch them up. I still do not understand why they ended up stitching each other instead.
One was already hard enough to believe, and now there are three. How exactly do you fight to end up like that.
My name is One. I am eleven years old. I have a younger brother named Two who is eight, and the youngest, Three, who is seven. One at the beginning of the year, one at the end, with absolutely no sense of creativity when it came to naming children.
Seriously, what is wrong with these two parents of mine.
Having this many kids does not mean they get along. Both sides of the family are well off, which only makes everyone more stubborn than necessary. The grandparents do not get along either, but they love their grandchildren deeply and compete to spoil us.
Still, we cannot visit either side. If we go to one house, the other side starts a war fueled by hurt feelings. That is a disaster waiting to happen. Staying at our own house is the safest option.
My dad's name is Dee. Good Dee, but not very good. He is still quite young. He had kids back when he was in high school. He is twenty eight now, so you can do the math. A delinquent type with a bad boy face. Easygoing. Too easygoing. If he were not, he probably would not have ended up with Mom.
He is handsome, I will give him that, but dangerous too. He lives simply, loves gaming, and gets heated fast. Never backs down, always ready to fight. Stays at home all the time. To be honest, he is glued to his games. You can call him all you want. He will not come unless he feels like it.
He does love his kids though. Just briefly. Short attention span. Shows up for a moment, then goes right back to gaming.
Talking to other people is hard for him because he looks intimidating. The moment he steps outside, his face turns fierce. He gets angry easily. Especially when it comes to anything school related. That is why Mom usually handles those things.
But do not rush to judge and think this is as bad as it gets.
There is another supreme being in this household. The mom of the family. Or rather, a man named Man. Very manly. Built just like Dad, which explains how they can actually fight each other.
He cannot stay home. Loves going out, partying, socializing. A true people person. Always has to look good, drenched in perfume, sweet talking girls.
There is only one person in the world Mr. Man can yell at nonstop.
Mr. Dee. Who else.
Creaaak.
"I'm back."
Late at night, the front door burst open. Someone's voice arrived long before their body did. What followed was a thick cloud of perfume, so strong it felt more like he had just bathed in it. It was always like this whenever he drank. Afraid the kids might smell alcohol, forgetting that perfume was no better.
The boy with the handsome, expressionless face glanced sideways. His features were copied straight from his mother, but his strict, orderly temperament came from Grandma. He watched the tall, well built figure stumble in with arms spread wide.
Eleven p.m.
So relaxed. Acting like he had no kids and no husband.
Pale skinned but flushed, wearing a black shirt with the buttons undone to expose his chest, eyes hazy and unfocused. He tripped over his own feet and had to brace himself against the wall as he walked into the living room. He reached out and ruffled his son's mushroom cut hair, trailing the mixed scent of alcohol and perfume.
Drunk again, the great social butterfly.
The eldest son stood up from the sofa. He sat like this every night after Dad ordered food for him and his brothers, bathed them, let them watch cartoons, and put them to bed at the usual time. Then he would read or watch movies while waiting for his alcoholic mother to come home.
"They're all asleep."
The eldest said flatly, face perfectly blank, voice cool. It was not that he did not care. His sharp tongue and soft heart were exactly like Grandma's. After all, he waited for his mother every single time she went out.
"I bought something for you."
Curved lips stretched into a wide grin, eyes closing as something was pulled from a pants pocket and dropped onto the small lap.
Plop.
Gasp.
"A cockroach."
The stone faced boy's eyes flew wide. He yelped and jumped to his feet, only to be grabbed by his mother's hand as laughter exploded.
"Hahaha. It's just a toy. Are you really scared of that."
"Mr. Man. Stop messing around."
In this house, the children do not call their parents Mom or Dad. They call them Mister instead, out of distance. The younger ones do the same. They often call their eldest brother Mom, because he is the closest to them.
"Have you eaten yet. What did that good for nothing father order for you?"
The big drunk slid over and curled up on the sofa, using his orderly eldest son's lap like a pillow. The boy pinched his nose and turned his face away from the heavy perfume.
"Sushi. The kids wanted it. What about you?"
"Grilled pork. Talked too long, drank too much."
"Are you going to shower?"
"I can't. I'll sleep on the sofa. Get me a blanket, will you, my dear son."
Thump.
One shoved the large head off his lap and stood up, his small legs carrying him into the kitchen. He returned with a basin of water and a small towel, setting them down on the table.
"Take your shirt off and wipe yourself down first."
"I'm cold."
"You go out and meet too many people. I don't want you bringing germs back to the kids."
"Yeah yeah."
Mr. Man stripped everything off, leaving only black underwear, then lay sprawled out with his eyes closed. A mother who looked more like another child. One shook his head, then picked up a white teddy bear and placed it over the groin to spare his eyes.
"Go on. Clean up."
Splash splash splash.
"Mr. Man. What's that mark on your chest?"
As he wiped him down, small fingers poked at a red mark on pale skin. Being born to two shameless adults who talked about sex like it was everyday conversation, marks like this inevitably led to certain thoughts.
"Hm. No idea. I was drunk."
"Don't mess around with anyone else."
Since the day he was born, Man had been the most stubborn person in the house. He never listened to anyone. No one had ever been able to stop him. Except this. From the moment he got pregnant with the first child, One.
Man's morning sickness had been severe, from early pregnancy until nearly delivery. Even Dee ended up vomiting along with him, both of them completely wrecked. In the end, the grandparents had to take turns caring for a middle schooler who got pregnant in the middle of the term.
"Why. Afraid of your kids' father or something. Don't worry, we're not even in love," Man said with a wide grin that showed a small fang.
The child did not smile back. One rarely smiled to begin with.
Just like someone else.
"I don't want to raise siblings with different fathers."
The smallest body in the house spoke with the heaviest conviction, sobering the drunk up a little. Being scolded by this kid was terrifying. Just one look was enough to make goosebumps rise. It felt like having another mother in the house.
"Ah. Okay. Fine. I won't sleep with anyone else."
"Here's your pajamas. Put them on yourself. I'm turning the lights off."
The small boy changed into plain black sleepwear, simple and unadorned. He liked acting like an adult, even though he was only ten years old.