August
"Will you walk me in?" September asks.
It's his first day at highschool, and his birthday.
"Yeah, of course." I smile, opening the car door.
September's only ever gone to private school, and online school, so the idea of public school is new to him.
September climbs out of the car and looks around. "Why is it so quiet?" He asks.
"People must be signing in." I say, leading him through the front door.
The school was full of teenager, old and young. A few look at the door, the others ignore us.
"Well, it seems I've already taken the form of chopped liver." September murmurs.
"C'mon, they'll love you." I say nudging him.
"Whatever." He says.
I drop the subject. "Let's get you checked in."
We walk to the reception desk.
"September Kahler." I say.
The front desk lady looks up. "September Sebastian Kahler?" She asks. "That's how it is in the computer."
September nods.
"And you are?" She points at me.
"August Jones, I'm September's guardian."
"And the other is...?" She asks.
"Shopping." I say. "Estelle is out shopping."
"Okay, you're all checked in." She says boredly.
September and I walk out of the office.
"You can go." He says. "I'll look even more like chopped liver if I have my older brother following me around."
"I could pass as a senior." I joke.
"A senior in college." He jokes back.
"You have a good day, okay?" I ask.
He nods. "Are you picking me up?"
"Yeah." I say.
"Can I try out for soccer?" He asks.
"Go ahead." I smile.
He grins halfheartedly. "See you later."
"Bye kiddo." I say.
***
I walk into the house, tossing my keys to the counter.
The silent house was reminiscent to when I lived alone.
"Son?" A voice rings through the house.
I walk into the office, where the house voice originated from.
A woman sit at the desk, brown eyes and black hair.
My birth mother.
"Hello son." She says.
"Mother." I say softly.
She smiles. "You look like your father."
"As I've noticed." I reply.
The only thing I have in common with my mother is my eyes.
She stands. "I bet you've inherited his way of dealing with things."
"I don't think I have." I answer.
She raises a brow. "Where's September?"
"What's your deal with months?" I ask. "Why are September and I months?"
"It's a month away from when you were born." She says. "You were born September 17th. And September was born August 28th."
"Today."
"No, fifteen years ago." She says.
"I know that." I spit. "It's his birthday. Are you here to celebrate?"
"No." She says. "I'm here to see you, son."
"Why?" I say.
She walks past me into the hallway, then the living room. "I've seen this picture."
She holds up the picture of Estelle, hair up in a messy bun, dressed in her pajamas, grinning like an idiot.
"Yeah?" I ask.
"Who's she?" She asks.
"My girlfriend." I say.
"Do you love her?"
I nod. "A lot."
My mother chucks the framed picture at the floor, where it shatters.
"What the hell?!" I ask, raising my tone slightly.
"When I got pregnant with you, your father beat me senseless, well mostly."
"How is this my fault?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "You were a mistake."
"Why are you even here?" I ask.
"I saw you on a magazine." She says. "Then I saw your name on a bunch of books."
"So you barge into my house and destroy pictures of my girlfriend?"
"Love isn't real." She says. "The magazine article was about her. She doesn't love you, she's probably cheating on you with September."
"She's twenty-one! September is fifteen!" I yell in reply.
Mother keeps her cool, reaching down and picking up the photo. "Your girlfriend, Estelle Smithson, she's really cute." My mother says.
The magazine came up with a last name when I wouldn't give it to them.
"Thanks?" I ask.
"Anyway, you've inherited your father's way of expressing things." She says.
"I haven't." I murmur. "I won't ever hit my family."
"Thats what he said." She replies. "Then I was beat up, crying on the bathroom floor, begging my baby had survived."
"Then why'd you leave. Do you not love me?"
"I did, darling, just not enough." She smiles down at the photo of Estelle.
"What are you doing?" I ask. "If you here to assult me with questions, this is not the time."
"I'm not here to assult you with questions." She says. "I'm here to check up."
"Your girlfriend is adorable." Mother says, looking up at me. "Don't ever get her pregnant, she wouldn't look good with a black eye." She rips the photo in half, dropping the remains in the broken glass.
My brain switches modes, and all of a sudden I realize, the walls I have built up were cracking and my mother was like a wrecking ball.
"God, you even look like him when you're thinking." She says. "Except his eyes were blue."
"I don't care." I murmur.
"Darling, you should know what you'll turn into." She says.
"I am nothing like my dad." I say. "I didn't grow up with him, I got adopted."
"That's not your family, darling, family is in your blood." She says.
"You wish."
"You can't help the fact that there are little mes and your fathers swimming in your blood." She smirks.
"I got a better family, with three sisters, a better mother, and a dad." I say.
"You mean, you've lived with five strangers and called then family?"
"They've been more family than you've been." I snarl.
"They aren't part of your DNA, we are."
"Rage isn't inherited." I say.
She shakes her head. "You've never really been a victim of his rage."
I bite my lip and stay quiet, memories of the past flashing in front of my face.
"Oh yes, I see." She smirks.
The front door unlocks and opens, and Estelle walks in arms full of bags.
"I'm home!" She calls, her voice dimming when she sees my face.
"I should go." My mother says, then the she-devil leaves the house.