sweetcannolicarisi:

giraffe-puppy:

Mike’s Balsa Wood Bones

This is a songfic inspired by the song “Balsa Wood Bones” by Saint Motel

Big thank you to @lesbiancarisi for the support

Trigger Warnings: graphic depictions child abuse, alcoholism, depression, anxiety, rape, murder, suicide

Growing up, Mike was in a constant state of fear. It tightened his chest whenever he heard the front door open and his father would walk through the door. Anytime his brother did something he had to take the fall for.

He will never forget the lessons his father taught him, he contemplates over them now while sitting alone in his dark apartment, over a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

“Somehow I can’t forget, you picked my feet off the ground

You pushed my face in, and I nearly drowned

What did that teach me?”

Mike remembers at age four, how he didn’t clean the bathroom right. How his father dunked his head in the toilet over and over while berating him for missing a spot of filth in the corner. He made him clean it with his own toothbrush after and mocked him when he cried and coughed.

He wasn’t sure what that lesson was supposed to teach him, he doesn’t think there was any excuse for that behavior. But it wasn’t the worst thing his father had ever done to him. Not by a long shot. He downed another gulp of the amber liquor, hoping his feelings would go down with it. They didn’t.

“I just can’t forget, you were just mean from the start

You’d leave me bleeding in the park after dark

What did that teach me?”

Mike was seven when he went to his first black-tie formal with his father. He doesn’t remember what the event was for, but he knew if his father was there, then it was important for his climb up the political ladder to becoming Chief of Police.

He remembers bumping into a woman and spilling grape juice on her white dress. How she assured Mike it was fine, assured William that it wasn’t a problem. Mike apologized, but he knew nothing could make up for the transgression. His father had a bruising grip on his arm for the rest of the evening.

At first, Mike didn’t know why they had to cut through the park to get to their parking space. He remembers the sickening crack when his father’s fist connected with his ribs, leaving him winded on the ground. William kept kicking him, berating him for ruining his evening, embarrassing him in public, in front of his colleagues. He never hit Mike’s face, he was too careful for that.

“You can find your own way home, don’t even think of climbing in the car with me, you fucking disgrace.” He left Mike there in the dark, coughing up blood and begging for forgiveness.

Mike remembers walking home before a cabbie took pity on him and drove him home. He used the key under the mat to get inside and crawled into bed, not caring that his suit was still on. Mike thinks about that night often, how much of an embarrassment he was to his father, how much it hurt to feel his ribs crack. He can still feel it if he thinks about it for too long.

“Somehow I don’t forget, you’d laugh right into my tears

You’d call me sissy, and you’d call me a queer

What did that teach me?”

Mike was eleven when he met Peter Stone, the famous ADA’s son, at the policeman’s ball. Peter’s old man was chatting and drinking with fellow DA’s, hoping to gain their favor. While Mike’s father joined in and sang his praises about the wonderful work he’s done.

Peter was shy, quiet and inquisitive. Every bit as bright as his father praised him to be. William praised Mike’s intelligence as well, told others how he wished to follow in his father’s footsteps. He didn’t, but he would if he knew what was good for him.

He and Peter spent the evening together, getting lost in the crowds of people before finding a quiet balcony to talk. He doesn’t know how long they stayed out there, but he can still picture Peter’s beautiful green eyes, his freckled cheeks that turned rosy from the chill. They talked about nothing and everything, mostly about how much they hated their fathers.

Mike didn’t know at the time what it was about Peter, but he felt so comfortable around him. He felt this oddly warm and fluttering feeling in his stomach, it was almost ticklish. He remembers pecking Peter on the lips and him returning the gesture before a cruel hand dug into his shoulder and yanked him away.

“And just what in the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Peter was frozen, his face pale and eyes wide. “Get the fuck outta here you queer!” And just like that, he ran away, back into the crowd, leaving Mike with his monster.

Hard eyes bore into his own, Mike didn’t know such cruelty could shine in eyes that looked just like his own. They left the party silently, only once they got home did William say anything.

“You wanna be a fucking queer? I’ll show you what happens to your type.” He grabbed the broomstick and forced Mike to bend over, shoved his pants down. Mike will never forget the splintering, burning pain, no matter how much he wants to. He was locked up in the closet for two days after that, and William concluded he was “fixed.”

He never saw Peter again after that night. He wonders if Peter remembers him, and decides he must have repressed the memory if he knows what’s good for him.

Mike opens up another bottle of whiskey while he contemplates his childhood. He decides something needs to be done about this. He can’t hold it in anymore, he can’t suffer under his father’s cruelty anymore. He grabs his gun from the lockbox and calls an Uber.

“I just won’t forget, how it just made you feel good

To snap my bones, like they were balsa wood

What did that teach me?”

Mike suffered for years under his father’s roof, he still suffers now, playing policeman when he wanted to open a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. He had to play Daddy’s good boy his whole life, he still does. He can never escape from it, it’s suffocating him and he can’t make it stop unless he makes his father stop.

He remembered at thirteen years old, his father broke his arm for something he didn’t do. Matty was nine, he had broken their grandmother’s urn and her ashes went everywhere. William was in the home office when it happened and the boys could hear his angry footsteps.

He remembered calming his brother down, holding him and promising him it would be alright. To just follow his lead.

“Who did this?! Which one of you did this!” William was furious, he looked between his son’s, waiting for an answer. Mike swallowed his trepidation and stepped forward. His legs felt like lead, his throat wouldn’t release the words. Every fiber of his being did not want to face his father’s wrath. But it was inevitable.

“I-I did.. I’m sorry da-” before he had time to process it, his father had him in a headlock and on the floor. His arm twisted up behind his back. Mike remembered the pain of having his arm broken when his father pressed his knee to his elbow and cracked it in the opposite direction. He didn’t realize he was screaming until his throat felt raw.

He lied to the doctors and told them it was a wrestling mishap with his brother, they believed him, because no one would suspect the Deputy Chief of Police. Matty looked so upset and sorry, but Mike assured him it was fine. He always looked after his little brother, no matter what.

A load of good that did him, he’s lucky to get a call from Matt on Christmas now. He’s usually high and asking for money to support his drug habit. Every time Mike asks him to come home, and every time without fail he’s hung up on. Mike doesn’t blame him for choosing the destructive path. If their father didn’t center his efforts entirely on him, he’s sure that he would end up much the same way.

The Uber pulls up, “you Mike? Hop in.” He sat in the back of the car and focused on the music playing softly over the radio, he doesn’t recognize the artist, but it’s not bad. It’s almost soothing, even when his chest tightens with anxiety over what he’s about to do. It’s a long time coming, and it needs to be done. He will never be free otherwise.

He remembers the address without even trying, he’s forced to come here every Sunday and on major holidays and make an appearance for his father’s work friends. Flash the signature Dodds smile and praise his father to the high heavens even when he despises the man. Despises what he’s forced Mike to become.

“Somehow I didn’t forget, I found out right where you live

I rang the buzzer and I let myself in

All that you taught me.”

Mike buzzes in to enter his father’s apartment complex. William moved out of their childhood home and into one of the ritzy Manhattan apartments closer to work. What would an old man do with a big empty house anyway?

“Hello? Who’s this?” The intercom crackles, garbling William’s words and making his voice sound tinny.

“Hey Dad, it’s me. I thought I’d stop by, figured I don’t see you enough.” That’s far from the truth, Mike knows why he’s here. He doesn’t care about anything anymore. Doesn’t care about the spot of filth he missed, the dress he stained, the boy he kissed, or even the urn he didn’t break. He’s come to a head with everything in his life, and the only direction he can go is forward. But he can’t do that as long as his father still looms over him.

William buzzes him in, and Mike nods to the man at the desk. As he goes up the elevator, he thinks about what he’s going to say to William. What can he say to his own father after years of torment? Does he really need to explain himself?

William lets him in with a smile until he realizes Mike is drunk. “Michael? What the hell is the meaning of-”

Mike pulls out his gun and aims it right between his father’s eyes. “Sit down, and shut up.”

“I will never forget, the look of shock on your face

I pulled the trigger and your life was erased

What did that teach you?”

Mike stares down at his father’s corpse, his eyes are still wide open in shock even with the bullet hole nestled between his eyes. He always was a perfect shot, William said so to everyone when he graduated from the police academy with flying colors. It was expected of him to be nothing less than the best because he is his father’s son. He was his father’s son, now.

He knows the process, knows a neighbor likely heard the gunshot and is calling the authorities right now. But Mike doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone, not even himself. He feels free in a way he never felt before. Free to make his own choices, free to do as he pleases. But he knows that freedom is going to be short-lived. The cops will be here in a few minutes.

Mike sighs and sits on the expensive couch, and puts the gun in his mouth. He’s free now. He pulls the trigger, and it’s all gone.

MY WIFE FUCKING BROKE ME WITH THIS. HIGHLY RECCOMEND IF YOU NEED TO CRY

This…this is incredible writing folks.