A/N: Hey sorry for keeping you all waiting for so long, but here it is, finally, chapter two, from Peter's POV. I hope it was worth the late because I've got lots planned for this story. Anyway, happy reading!
I'm failing, Peter thought miserably, reaching down into his jean pocket to feel the crumpled report card he'd stuffed away from his parent's prying eyes.
He tromped up the stairs into the bedroom he shared with Greg and Bobby, grateful that Greg and Bobby were nowhere to be found. He climbed up the ladder to his bunk bed and flopped down on his pillow, staring at the ceiling.
Boy, if Greg and Bobby were here, they'd give me hell about it. And Bobby'd go yodeling down the hallway blabbing to Dad. A grin played at Peter's lips, though he didn't know why. Failing was never a good thing. Besides, he'd be grounded. Maybe they'd even make him call off his date with Iola Martin this week, and nothing was worth it without girls.
The Cs and Ds practically burned a whole through his pocket. His mind wandered, scanning his brain for excuses, something to tell Dad. Something to tell Carol.
I miss Mom. His thoughts shifted. It had been easier not to be so perfect around her. She hadn't minded Bs, or even Cs and Ds. She hadn't minded him saying "ain't" She hadn't minded him playing ball in the house, and in turn he didn't mind that maybe she wasn't the very best mother.
But she was, Peter reflected admiringly. She was perfect, but sort of a different kind of perfect. Not fake. Not sugary. A blunt sort of perfect. Not very perfect at all. More like…real.
"Perfect. Perfect. Everything has to be perfect when you're a Brady. Nothing is too perfect for the Bradys." His voice was high- pitched, cynical and it almost surprised him. He grabbed ahold of the side of his bed and swung himself down to the ground with a thud.
"Peter, are you okay up there?" Carol called upstairs, startled by the thump of Peter hitting the ground.
"Yeah, fine." Peter muttered, turning to face his bedroom mirror. He studied his reflection intently, shoving his fingers through his mussed, curly hair, trying to tame it. His anxiety shone through in his eyes, no longer were they sparkling and deep brown, but dull, empty, hollow. He hated looking into his own eyes, and he hated that he hated it. He felt a stab of grief and guilt every time he passed a mirror, and it sunk him, for it was like part of her owned him still. Yet on him they were tired, lonely. On her they'd been complex, loving, shining, enthusiastic. He couldn't live up to those eyes.
They were his mother's eyes.
He heaved a weary sigh. He'd have to go down now, have to face up to his report card. It wasn't even the grades that bothered him, it was his parents. He ducked into clean tee- shirt, pulled it over his head and headed down stairs.
Peter shoved his report card into his Dad's hands and looked to the floor, avoiding his dad's critical eyes. "Hi Dad, hi…"Peter's lips formed the 'm' of Mom, but the words stopped dry in his throat, his mouth frozen. "Hi, Carol." He managed to choke the words out, his throat tight. "I got my report card today."
Carol's eyes widened. "Carol? You never called me Carol before."
Mike gave Peter a stern look. "Now Peter, remember what I told Greg about calling us by our first names. It goes for you too. I don't care how cool it is to call us 'Mike' and 'Carol'. We're Mom and Dad to you kids." He wrapped his arm around Carol and planted a quick kiss on her cheek, which she gladly returned. Peter shifted uncomfortably. He hated when they kissed in front of him.
"Oh,brother." Peter mumbled under his breath, fidgeting anxiously, his nervous energy taking a hold of him.
"What's that, son?" Mike asked ignorantly, slightly annoyed at his kiss being interrupted.
"Stop it!" Peter said boldly, his voice cracking rashly. "Stop making out in front of me! I hate it! I hate it, all of it, stop it!"
Mike looked at him, puzzled. He tilted his head. "Is this about your report card, Peter, because frankly, I am very disappointed in you and I don't think…"
"No!" Peter rashly jumped in. "No, it's about you. No. No. No. Mom. It's about Mom. You and Mom. Why aren't you kissing Mom? How can you just stand here and make out with Carol and pretend like none of it…ever happened….how can you live with yourself?"
"Son, I don't what's gotten into you…Carol is your mother. Your only mother. There was never anybody else." Mike shook his head thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I don't understand, are you talking about?"
"Shut up!" Peter screamed hoarsely, his voice cracking. "Shut up! You hated her! You know you hated her!" Tears streamed down his face and his lips cracked as he bit down on it furiously. Blood oozed out of his lip and ran down his chin, upsetting him even more. He hated blood. "She wasn't perfect enough for you! But yet-"
At this point he whirled around violently towards his family, his hair mussed, his eyes wild. " But yet she was so much better than you!" He finally crumpled into an exhausted heap on the floor, limp, peering up into the eyes of his family, his vision blurred by tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He apologized meekly, suddenly weak. "I don't know…I'm sorry."
Carol clung to Mike, her fingernails digging into his shoulder. "Oh, what other woman? Make it stop Mike!" She begged weakly, rather than attending to her traumatized children. Mike himself was shaking with fear, his hands trembling.
Cindy was sobbing uncontrollably, and Bobby looked as if he had just witnessed a massacre. Marcia's eyes were wide and frightened, and a confused Greg wrapped his arm around her, attempting to comfort her. Anger didn't exist in their world.
Only Jan didn't flinch as she sat in the corner, observing the whole affair with a certain degree of interest. Perhaps even pleasure and amusement. Her expression remained unchanged. "You remember your real parents, too?" She inquired softly, genuinely curious.
Too stunned to speak, Peter nodded wordlessly.
That's it! Thanks for reading Chapter Two and I swear I'll update soon, with the next chapter is Jan's POV...Until then...Have a nice day:)