Hopelessly Helpful

Mark woke up to the sun assaulting his eyes. 

He blinked against the piercing rays of light, rose, and stretched his arms high. 

Even after leaving the bed, fatigue wouldn't leave him no matter how hard he tried. 

So he peered at the vibrant world through his small window and sighed. 

He didn't want to go back to work. He didn't want to work with the Hounds at all. Yet there was no other option. 

His eyes listlessly hovered over the despairing people on the streets. They all stared at the ground, their faces like dead fish. 

Among them, one figure moved with unwavering vitality. Mark's attention was caught along with the gazes of everyone else on the street. 

A rough-looking man strode along the stone-laden road. Stern like a stone he was, a trait remarkable to him alone. 

'What the hell is Anton doing here!? Was I traced back?' 

Mark didn't hesitate to crouch below the window. He will be fine if he stays out of sight... right? 

Taking a few breaths to calm down, he waited for a few silent minutes- until he was certain the army man would be gone. 

Hearing nothing, he slowly, tentatively, rose his head to peek out of the window. Confidence filled his spirit as he slowly moved up. But before he rose to the window, he stopped. 

Scratching his head, he withdrew from the window and prepared to go downstairs. 

'If he isn't here anymore then there's no need to check.' 

He opened the door to his room and prepared to go downstairs and make some coffee. The day was going to be a long one, and the only thing that would keep him going was that black sludge of caffeine 

A knock sounded from the front door. 

'Wha- what the hell?' 

Mark refused to believe that his aunt was here so early. No, she was not going to come back until she was sure he had some money. 

But who else would come here?

The answer was dreadfully apparent. 

He stood still in the opening of the door. To his side were the stairs that led down to the living room and kitchen. The knocking persisted, relentlessly sending menacing bangs with each impact. 

'Should I answer it?'

Mark disregarded the thought, but it came up again. 

'What if he comes in anyway? Maybe it would be better if I just go to him with honest intentions?'

 Nervousness crawled through his skin and into his mind. Climbing, rising with utter potency, and running back into his veins. 

Before he knew it, his arms and legs were trembling, breaking from the control of his rationality and threatening to move. 

'No- no! Get a grip!' 

Yet no matter how much he tried, the shaking wouldn't soften, let alone stop. 

It truly felt like his body was no longer his own. 

Animalistic instinct had taken over the reins and was threatening to ride him into a chasm. 

"Ugh..."

Mark blinked. 

Down through the doorway, below the stairs, amidst the cacophony of violence against the poor wooden door, a faint noise reached his ears. 

An annoyed groan of a lifeless soul. 

His mother was stirring. 

Mark's eye twitched. 

There already was enough going on at the moment. He didn't need more madness to add to this terrible morning. 

He looked back at the window. Maybe it could be used as some sort of escape route. 

The knocking persisted, but the nervousness was replaced with annoyance. 

Now that his mother was awake, Mark didn't need, nor want to go down. 

His room was a perfectly fine place to stay. 

Bottles fell to the floor, some shattered. Heavy, unkempt footsteps rolled through the living room below and approached the source of the unpleasant sound. 

"Who the fuck is it!? Who the fuck makes all this ruckus so early in the morning!? Damned-" 

The door opened and she fell silent. 

A cold, stern voice echoed through the household. 

"Good morning, ma'am." 

Silence. 

Anton must have been looking through the room, abhorred or admired by how unkempt it was. 

Mark hadn't gotten to cleaning the house yet, so one could imagine how a soulless husk could trash up the place with months to kill. 

Anton eventually spoke again.

"Is there anyone living with you?" 

Mark took a sharp breath.

His mother was too unreliable. 

"Anyone living with me? Do you see anyone around here!? It's only my sister that comes around here every few days." 

Anton sighed. His dissatisfaction was apparent- somewhat justifiable too. 

He must have seen Mark last night, the timing was too close. 

That made his mother seem not only as an ill-tempered scoundrel of a person but also as a deceitful liar. 

"In that case, do you know where your son might be?" 

Mark twiddled his fingers while his mother tapped her foot on the ground impatiently.

"My son? Oh, Mark."

She must have thought for a bit. 

"No, I haven't. The last time I saw him was months ago. Never appeared again. Might be dead for all that I know."

Anton remained silent- whether in disbelief or exasperation. 

"I... see." 

Mark held his breath. 

The house remained silent- save for the aggressive tapping of his mother's impatient foot.

"Well? Are you planning on leaving or are you just going to stay there for the rest of the day?" 

Anton wavered, then ultimately decided to step back. 

"No. That will be all. I wish you a day full of joy." 

The door slammed behind his words. 

"Goddamned asshole! Doesn't know the basic rules of proper respect."

Mark stayed above the stairs, uncertain if it was safe to pass by his mother while she was so aggravated. 

He was slightly thankful that her indifference for once paid off in his life. Kind of like the way one would suddenly realize that a useless trinket has great importance. 

'Thank you for being such a terrible mother. I'll still regret the fact that I need you alive to have this house. But oh well, that's life.