a mistake you'll never forgive : killian priesley.

[Noir City]

[ friday night risotto : part I ]
"You think she's okay, Frank?" Marilyn asked from the kitchen, cleaning the shellfish at the sink.

"She's fine." Her lazy husband was awkwardly sprawled on the couch, mostly channel surfing (lingering on various programs with attractive looking women for longer intervals of time).

"I called her this morning, told her that I'm cooking her favorite risotto."

"That was Anna's favorite."

"No. It was Killian's. You don't think I know my own daughter?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Marilyn," he muttered, wondering if there was any Bud left in the fridge, "Although I don't have a fuckin' clue why you're making so much damn food when it's us and your fag kid."

"Don't talk about him like that. He's your son too. He might not be of your blood, but you've been the only father he's known since he was six. And anyway, his boyfriend is coming over for dinner."

"Oh great. A whole house of fags."

"You're in no place to judge anyone."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean." The crab almost cut her deep in the palm.

"Well, if I did, Marilyn, I wouldn't be askin'."

"Scott Clark." She turned the heat down on the stove, making sure it was coming down to a simmer.

Frank turned off the television and stormed right into the kitchen. Marilyn was caught between the stove and her husband's angry snarl. "You listen to me. You never bring up that son of a bitch's name in this house ever again. You don't know what went on. You don't know nothing."

[Noir City]

[ friday night risotto : part II ]
"Get out of my kitchen, Frank. Get out!" Marilyn defensively (awkwardly) held her forearm up.

"What you think I'm going to do?" He grinned, taking a couple steps backward. He was furious. "You think I'm gonna hit you, woman?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." She carefully said, still pressed against the stove. She wouldn't be making any quick or sudden movements.

He smirked, yanking open the fridge to pull out a Bud. The snap and release of aluminum and carbonation. He gulped down half the can, eyes fixed on her for a long hard moment before he went back to sit on the couch.

Marilyn sighed in her hands, panicked to stir the sizzling contents in the pot. She began to think about the time that Frank and her had an argument about his drinking. The memory was fuzzy somewhere between her falling back into the table, dishes crashing, silverware clattering in a startling song. I fucking raise your children, pay the fucking bills. You have no place woman to -- Killian was screaming from the doorway. She was six, her eyes so glossy with tears it was hard to believe that she could even see. She mouthed something, or maybe she didn't mouth it at all. Marilyn could only hear Frank shouting, Frank cussing, Frank raising his hand up threateningly before following through with the quick strikes. One after the other.

[Noir City]

She was alone again.

As quick as it came, it was

Gone.

He disappeared. All of them,

like seasons passing,

smearing into one another.

"I'm leaving town."

He said.

To chase a dream.

Burke was the biggest

disappointment,

and as soon as they came,

the dandelions were dead.

And Killian was here to

pick up the pieces.