Just Wanted Milk... [Cameron]

"Because our choices are largely based on survival." ~Neale Donald Walsch

Crap! Out of milk again? Dammit, this household wouldn’t even survive if I wasn’t around. What the hell are they going to do when I move out of here? Starve? Knowing them, probably. A slam followed the thought, the annoyance elevated by that sudden sound. It rang throughout the silent house, an indicator that no one was home save the young man at the kitchen. But that wasn’t entirely true. Off in one room, there was a snoring man in his mid-40s. He had been passed out for quite a while, after taking his morning bottle. Anyone in the same room as that man would have smelled the stench that could only be an indicator of an alcoholic. The empty bottles that were scattered around the chair were another indicator, a mess the young man in the kitchen would have to clean up.

Off to a different room was an exhausted woman, around her late-30s. Although she was quite young, grey hairs started to show against the dark strands plastered to her head. Had anyone checked in on her, they would have found her comatose, in pure oblivion. It was a very rare occasion that she should get some sleep, something she could only have imagined for the past near 20 years.

Wyatt Manderson finally left the kitchen, grumbling in an undertone. It was up to him to bring money into the family, feed the family, and make sure his parents survived. It had been that way for several years now; Wyatt had learned not to be dependent on either his mother or father as they were busy off in their own world. The deficiency in food was a major clue. He snatched the what-once-was-working grocery list and grunted. He always hated going to the grocery store; it involved human interaction and actually being out in the public. As if he didn’t have enough troubles already.

The brown jacket rustled as Wyatt grabbed it from the chair he always left his items on. It was the only place he was sure neither of his parents could reach; it was simply too far from their comfort zone. Once his arms slipped through the sleeves, his right hand fumbled around in his pocket to search for—a cigarette. It wasn’t lighted, and Wyatt didn’t bother looking for a lighter. He just needed that damn cigarette there. Others would call it an addiction; he called it a habit.

As he made his way into the street, he kept his eyes lowered, hoping that the shadow from his brow would cover his eyes. He might have recognised a few people on the street, but he didn’t want them to recognise him. They always wanted to have such trite conversations with him, to bother him with their life and their family and the business he couldn’t give a damn about. And all of them were like that, down to the last child. It was the main reason he avoided people; they were just annoying with all the crap they went on and on and on about. Seriously, like they think I give a f--- about that.

The familiar strange scent that could only be the grocery store wafted into Wyatt’s face, causing him to pause in his steps as he recollected himself. Although it was familiar, the scent still stopped Wyatt in his tracks when he first smelled it. That was never going to die. He eyed the store warily, hoping that it wasn’t too crowded. Not that he had much of a choice on whether he should enter or not, seeing as how if he waited another day, his and several other stomachs would be complaining. With a reluctant sigh, Wyatt marched into the dreaded place.

The store wasn’t that crowded, but it was enough to keep Wyatt cautious about where he was stepping. The last thing he needed was a confrontation while in the store; that would have made his life even more awkward. He ducked into an empty aisle to check his list, trying to figure out a game plan to get in and out. It was all about strategy…and the motivation to get out of a hellhole. Broth…he would get broth first.

Weaving through the aisles and keeping his eyes trained on the floor, Wyatt finally made it to the soup aisle. This aisle too was empty, a relief for Wyatt has he finally raised his eyes to examine what he needed to get. His hand reached for one that he figured would suffice, when a clattering sound rang through the aisle. It did not come from the one he was in; rather, the sound had the resonance as if it was a little bit away, possibly the next aisle over. It was enough to draw his attention though, as Wyatt retracted that hand and looked around with a frown on his face. The frown grew as he saw that he was not the only one there; there was also a girl. At least it wasn’t a girl he knew. Wyatt turned back to the broth in front of him, trying to get back into the shopping mode.