Revelations (Part I) || Kyle & Michael
It was one of the few moments Kyle was sober. He was still in the goddamn penthouse Michael put him in but he was in the process of packing.. again. He’d changed his mind about fifty thousand times in the duration of the last day and a half. He wanted to pack up and check out, stop Michael from wasting money on a last cause. On the other hand he wanted to cling onto this hope that Michael cared, but what the hell did it matter if it wasn’t the kind of care he wanted anyway? What the hell did it matter if he wasn’t planning on acting on it? What the hell did it matter now that Michael had Philip? So he fluctuated, with one foot inside and the other out the door. He knew what he SHOULD do. He knew what the RIGHT thing to do would be in the perfect world. In any damn utopia, he’d leave and let Michael build some sort of a normal life now he had that chance but Kyle wasn’t that selfless. Or that mature.
He zipped his bag and dropped it on the floor, sitting down on the bed and hiding his face in his hands. Why was it so hard for him to walk away? Perhaps because this time he didn’t have Michael to shout at him to do it. Perhaps because this was the first time he was sober in weeks and he could feel the toll the drugs were taking on him. Maybe he was scared of feeling that cold, that deathly, deathly cold again. He was no fool, he knew where he was heading if he continued down this path. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to go out like that yet. He knew there would be no Diana Andersons on the other end, giving him another chance at life. You didn’t get third chances. He was lucky to have gotten a second one.
There was a knock at the door. He glanced up. Who could it be? It was too late for room service. And Michael would probably still be in school (even if he wasn’t, what business did he have coming here?). With a frown, he got up and slowly made his way over.
"Wha-…" He swung the door open only to face… no one. The corridor was empty. He leaned out and looked right and left. No one, just the bing of the elevator. Annoyed he leaned back and was about to shut the door - loudly, to underline his point of being irritated - when he heard a tiny, quiet hiccup. He looked down slowly and his eyes locked on a small bundle, made up of blankets, a hat, a baby and some papers lying on top.
"Hey! Who the fuck left Harry Potter at my doorstep? Do I look like fucking Aunt Petunia?!" He hollered down the hall, already feeling panic rising within his chest. What THE FUCK?! He crouched down and picked up the letters, careful not to touch the baby - as if it might burn him or cause some other physical, serious harm. He turned the letter over, there was no name of the sender. Just his name, clear as day, Kyle Devore, on the front. When he looked up there was an older woman passing, she glanced up from the baby and looked directly at him. "What the fuck are you staring at?" He barked, shoving the letter into his pocket and reaching down for the baby.
He put on a mean face but he had no fucking clue how to handle a baby. He was supposed to support its head, right? It looked like it might fucking roll off if he didn’t. He kicked the door closed… and the baby opened its eyes and suddenly looked very upset. “Shit, shit…” He muttered, rocking the baby awkwardly and almost running over to the bed. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, stop that.” He spoke to the baby as if it could understand him. The boy started making little sounds of displeasure but was not fully crying. Kyle could handle that. He put the child on his huge king-sized bed, right in the middle because what if he rolled over, fell and died?! If someone was playing a practical joke on him he was going to fucking kill them.
He sat down on the end of the bed again, fishing out the letters and tearing it apart. He didn’t need to live in this fucking suspense. The sooner he found out what the fuck this was, the sooner he could find a goddamn fucking solution. The child let out a sob. “Be quiet.” Kyle retorted and unfolded the letter. There was a bunch of other things in there but this piece of paper had actual handwriting on it. It seemed to be the first thing he should read.
I won’t say ‘Dear’ because you were never one for terms of endearment and I don’t think the situation calls for it. Far from it.
I know what you’re thinking. No, no, I do know. Who the fuck, why the fuck and what the fuck? Unless you’ve magically changed over the last year or so. Highly doubtful but, I guess, possible.
Anyway, enough with the bullshit…”
"Yeah, cut the fucking crap. What the fuck…" He muttered, reading on.
"That little slobbering, crying mess is your son, Maddox Ezra Devore."
Kyle froze, unable to read on for a long, long moment. He whirled around, his eyes locking on the baby that now lay on its side. HIS? SON? A what? He glanced back down at the letter, willing it to give him all the damn answers he was searching for in that moment.
"He’s five months old but I know you’re not fond of maths so let me save you the trouble. If you haven’t figured it out, this is Leila writing. You know, the Geography teacher you screwed twice? Yeah so I was not planning on telling you about Maddox seeing as there is probably nothing you’re less interested in than taking care of a baby. I didn’t care about money either, I had enough to provide for both of us.
But the time has come, my dearest Kyle, to know the truth and do with it what you desire. I do hope you will do the right thing though. Tragically, I will be unable to continue taking care of Maddox and you are the only living biological relative. What better place for a child to be than with its father, huh? Whoever thought of that has definitely never met you.”
"Hey, fuck you. Judgmental bitch." He snapped, annoyed. Who the fuck was she to fucking judge him? Just because she was right didn’t give her the right to judge.
"All his documents are there. Kyle, I’m sorry for putting you in this situation. If I didn’t have to I wouldn’t be doing this. If you are certain you cannot take care of a child, please make sure he ends up someplace nice with good people who WILL provide for him and love him. That’s all I ask of you. Just make sure he’s okay. I didn’t have enough time for a plan B so I’m trusting you, as insane as that is. Please, when you’re making a decision, consider the fact that he is your son too.
Kyle sat there for a long, long, long time. Eventually he dropped all of the papers and the letter to the ground and climbed further onto the bed. He sat, cross legged, a good distance away from Maddox and observed him. Like a damn hawk, not taking his eyes off for even a second.
With shaky hands, he dialed Michael’s number.
What the fuck was he going to fucking do?! He was a fucking heroine addict, struggling to take care of himself, let alone another goddamn fucking human being. He got Michael’s voicemail. His voice shook as he left a message.
"M-Mikey… I… I really fucking need your help."