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No Way Home	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 2161 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Loud House nor will I profit in any way from this story

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Luya sat in the passenger seat of her mother's car, her arms wrapped protectively around her chest and her wet eyes pointed directly ahead. The atmosphere was tense and silent between them; neither spoke on the long ride home. Mom smoked endlessly, and in the flickering illumination of passing headlights, her face was wan and drawn, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes pooled with darkness. Her father's words echoed through her head, and when she remembered the detestation on his face, fresh tears welled in her eyes.
When they pulled into the driveway, Mom killed the engine, neither moving to get out. Luya wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and looked at her mother's sharp profile; her hands clutched the wheel in a white-knuckled death grip and her throat worked furiously as though she were trying to form words but struggling.
Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Luya turned to the dashboard, away from the sight of her mother. "Is it true?" she asked, hating how small and fragile her voice sounded. Desperation clawed at her and she found herself hoping Mom would tell her that it wasn't.
Instead, she sighed, and when she spoke, her voice was a washed out whisper. "Yes," she said, and for some reason Luya couldn't name, her stomach clutched and her heart ached. "He's not your father."
Every time she'd ever called him Daddy or Dad, every time she ever crawled into his lap or asked him to read her a bedtime story, and every time he turned his back on her after Mom kicked him out came back to her in a flash, and she felt so stupid. It was a lie, and she had no fucking clue. She wasn't his daughter, she was…
She was nothing to him.
No wonder he treated her the way he did, no wonder he stopped coming around and hid when she went over to his trailer. She saw herself at ten, walking through lumpy yards between single-wides, ducking under clotheslines and sidestepping meter boxes, happy and hopeful because she was going to see her Dad, and him seeing her out the window. Here comes that pitiful little girl again. She thinks I'm her father. LMAO!
Her cheeks burned in shame and she blinked her eyes. I really wish you weren't my father she said, but she was wrong; she wished he was and she wished he loved her.
Suddenly, she wished she hadn't said anything, that she accepted him and fell for the lies, because him walking out again wouldn't have hurt nearly as bad as finding out her whole life was a lie. She was such a fuck-up; if she just went with it, she wouldn't be here now, and if she'd been a better daughter, proved to him that she deserved to be loved like she was his own, things would be different. They would have to be.
"Were you a prostitute?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"Yes, Luya, I was a prostitute, okay?" Mom asked impatiently, and Luya squeezed her eyes closed against a crop of tears not because of the admission, but because of her mother's tone - like she was talking to a burden and a mistake, not her child. "I didn't have shit, I was on heroin, your grandfather kicked me out long before he kicked Lemy out, I was sleeping on the street, and I…" she trailed off, the fire draining from her voice and her head bowing a little over the wheel. "I hooked. I didn't like it but I needed the money."
Luya stared down at her lap and tried to process this new and hurtful information, but couldn't; she was suddenly exhausted, and all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until she forgot all about her fake father and hooker mother. She started to ask if Mom really didn't know who her father was, but realized she didn't give a shit. He wouldn't want her either - he probably already had a family, kids he loved and spent time with, just like her f...Lemy...had Meagan and Lucas.
And that was fine.
She didn't want him either.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she got out and went inside, not turning on any lights as she went to her room; the floor creaked under her feet and the stench of mold and mildew pinched her nose. Mice thumped in the walls, and her door rattled loosely as she went in. At the edge of her bed, she kicked her shoes off and dropped on, her face burrowing protectively in the unwashed pillow and her arms hugging her chest.
Her mind turned to the kitchen knife shoved between the mattress and the box spring. She took it from the drawer a few months ago when she felt suicidal and sat with the blade pressed against her wrist for an hour before chickening out.
Could she do it this time?
She didn't like to hurt...she didn't want to hurt...and she didn't want to cut her wrists, but she didn't want to feel like this anymore. She wanted it to be over, everything from the big stuff like Mom and D...Lemy...to the small stuff like never having clean laundry. She hated it all, and the little things were just as bad as the big things; it's like getting burned in a house fire, then having a lighter held to the wound. You're already in pain, and that teensy weensy spark, so inconsequential on its own, makes it so much worse.
Rolling onto her side and sniffing wetly, she reached over the edge, slipped her fingers between, and brushed them back and forth until she felt the handle. She closed them around and pulled it out like a sword from a sheath. A stray beam of moonlight fell through the window and glinted coldly on the edge; Luya's heartbeat sped up and her stomach twisted sickly. Even so, she jutted her left arm out over the edge, tightened her grip on the handle, and reached until chilly steel lay across her skin. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. It would hurt, but only for a little while, she told herself. After that, it would all go away, and nothing else could ever bother her again, no more tiny flames licking her third degree burns, no more anything, just...blackness.
That thought greatly appealed to her.
But it also scared her so badly she shook.
She swallowed around a lump in her throat and blinked her tearful eyes. It would only hurt for a little while, she told herself again as she bit the serrated metal into her flesh; stinging pain streaked up her arm and she clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. All she had to do now was flick her wrist; one quick jerk and she would be okay.
She couldn't do it, though; she was weak and afraid.
Trembling, she took the knife away from her wrist in defeat and laid it on the pillow next to her, then gazed into the darkness, her mind blank and her eyes drying. At some point, sleep stole over her, and in her slumber, she laid her palm on the knife like a little girl snuggling with a teddy bear to ward away the monsters.
And like that, Luya Loud passed the night.
Leia found Lemy sitting on the edge of her bed, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed in a posture of abject misery. In the faint glow of the bedside lamp, his features were dark and sharp, pooled with shadows, and his eyes puddles of rheumy inebriation. Her gaze went to the bottle in his hand even as he threw his head back and brought it to his lips, and a bomb blast of searing rage detonated in her chest.
When she was a little girl, she fell in love with Lemy. She didn't know when exactly and she didn't know why, but she did, and from the time she was eleven-years-old, she wanted a family with him. She wanted other things...lots of other things, in fact, but while those things changed as she grew and changed herself, her desire to be Lemy's wife did not; no matter if she looked ahead at twelve or fifteen or eighteen, she always saw Lemy. One day they might be living in California with her as a famous movie star, beloved by millions, and the next they might be in Paris, but no matter the background she imagined, no matter her occupation, it was always they and never her.
Then he fucking ruined it with his drinking.
She ground her teeth together as she watched him guzzling that awful shit like it was water, as though it were nourishing him instead of slowly killing him and everything around him. Once upon a time, she looked at him and saw potential. He was smart, witty, and with a little hard work, he could have been something; they could own a home right now and make good money, they could have a pool for Meagan to play in and go to PTA meetings and work in their rose garden on the weekends. Instead, she lived with her parents and worked a dead end job because he held her back. He was a fundamentally lazy and selfish person, and though she tried so fucking hard over the years to whip him into shape, like a drill sergeant, he kept fucking up, and she was stupid enough to stay with him, to keep taking him back, to sneak out of the house and see him when everyone else turned their backs. She was stupid enough to let him drag her down with him, and their daughter too.
Her hands balled into tight fists and her eyes burned red with hatred.
I know how you feel about him, Dad told her once. But you have to stop. He's not doing you or Meagan any favors; he's hurting both of you. She remembered that conversation so clearly that she might as well have been watching it happen again in front of her. It was early morning, feeble light streaming through the window over the sink, and she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of her and her phone in her hand. Lemy was texting her about coming to see him, and Dad, being the nosy bastard he was, saw over her shoulder. You need to worry about your daughter, Leia; Lemy's an adult and he's made his choices. Meagan's a child and she didn't choose any of this.
Leia nodded, said "Umhm" and then completely blew off his advice.
Like a fucking moron.
She should have listened to him, but she listened to her heart instead, and her heart lead her astray, just like it always had. She loved Lemy in the way a starry-eyed little girl loved the teen heartthrob on her bedroom wall, she loved him with everything she had, which is why she wasted her life trying to turn him around. She wouldn't have bothered if she didn't care; she'd have kicked him away like a piece of garbage, like everyone else did.
Like he deserved to be.
Ditching his sorry, no good ass would have been the smart thing to do, but apparently she was a fool.
Guzzle. Guzzle. Amber liquid sloshed down his throat with an obscene gurgling sound, like a life, and a love, swirling down the drain.
This was his chance to change, to break with the past and become the man she and Meagan needed, but he smashed it against the floor and gleefully danced on its broken shards like Snoopy in a Peanuts strip.
And the stupid fucker probably didn't even realize it. He'd wake up tomorrow morning and huh? Why is everyone mad at me?
She wasn't here for what he did to Luya, but Meagan told her all about it, and coupled with him being drunk like this, there was no way in hell Dad would let him stay. He was going to make him leave, and it was all his fault.
Breaking, she stalked over and slapped the bottle out of his hand; it hit the wall with a thunk and fell to the carpet. Lemy looked up at her in confusion, and the dumb, hazy, faraway look in his eyes fueled her anger like gasoline to fire. Baring her teeth, she drew back her hand and smacked him in the head, then with the other. "You fucking bastard," she hissed, slapping him harder, looking for all the world like a grotesque parody of a woman playing the bongos. Lemy threw up his arms to protect himself and fell back, but saved himself, a wordless series of drunken grunts bursting from his throat and enraging Leia even more. "Stupid fucking prick," she growled, punctuating each word with a slap.
Coming alive, he pushed her back, and she stumbled, her nostrils flaring and her clear eyes wide with frenzied madness. "Fuck is your problem?" he slurred, his voice thick with intoxication.
The sound of it went through Leia like broken glass, and she bent forward, her delicate face red with fury. "You," she said and jabbed her finger at him, "you've always been my problem. Every fucking thing that's ever gone wrong in my life is your fault. You. You ruined everything. You piece of shit, no good son of a bitch, fucking wino. Look at you, so drunk you can barely sit up." Her lips twisted in sour disdain. Lemy swayed from side to side like a palm in a hurricane. A dark shadow ran across his face, and his jaw clenched.
That only pissed her off more. How dare he get angry. How fucking dare he feel even the slightest hint of righteous indignation after all he'd done over the years. How many times did he drink up his paycheck and leave her to pay the bills alone? How many times did the power get cut off because she couldn't do it on her own? How many nights did she lay awake in bed waiting for him to come home, only for him to stumble through the door at four in the morning, so drunk he crashed into everything and sang at the top of his lungs, waking Meagan up and scaring her? Too many for him to look at her like he was a poor-pity-me victim and she some kind of monster.
"Leave me alone," he grumbled, "I'm not in the mood."
"I'm not in the mood for this," she said gestured wildly with his hands, "but I got it anyway. You had one chance to come back and be a man but you blew it just like you blow everything. You fucking loser. I hate your guts." Tears filled her eyes and she didn't know if they were of anger, sadness, or both.
Lemy brows lowered and his lips peeled away from his teeth. "Fuck you, bitch," he said. "You -"
"I hope you die."
"YOU act like you never did anything wrong," he said, raising his voice. "You treated me like shit our WHOLE time together."
Leia couldn't have stopped the retort even if she wanted to. "Because you are shit. Being with you was like having another fucking child. You said you wanted to be a father, but you can't even take care of yourself. You're dirty, you stink, you're a fucking bum and I wish you never came back."
Lemy started to get up, and acting on instinct, Leia snatched a bottle of nail polish from her dresser and flung it at him; it hit his shoulder, and his butt dropped back to the bed. Savage satisfaction filled her; she grabbed a bottle of perfume and threw that too. It hit his chest and he flailed his arms. "Get out of my room, you fucking retard. Get out of my life."
"FUCK YOU!" he screamed.
She grabbed a compact and threw it, missing and hitting the wall. He looked around for something to throw back.
"M-Mom?"
Neither saw Meagan in the doorway, her face pale and slack with fear and her hands balled against her chest.
"I HATE YOU!" Leia shrieked. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
Lemy spotted something on the nightstand, a piece of wood glued to a rock. He leaned over, picked it up, and threw it; it sailed past Leia and smashed against the closet door, breaking into two pieces and landing on the floor.
Flashing, Leia threw herself at him, pulling back her hands and battering his head with a flurry of slaps.
"Mom!"
WIth a wordless cry, Lemy grabbed her by the front of her blouse and shoved back with all his might; she lost her balance and fell hard on her ass, the breath leaving her lungs in a rush. He got to his feet and staggered toward the door; Meagan's heart burst in terror, and in that moment, she was sure he was coming for her next. She drew sharply away from the door, and her father came out, her mother hot on his heels, her normally pretty face contorted in hatred. She slapped the back of his head and his shoulders, driving him forward; he almost fell, but shot out his arms and splayed his hands on the wall. A high-pitched stream of obscenities spewed from her mother's mouth like noxious gas. "You fucking motherfucker cocksuckerbastardnodickhavingbitch!"
Lemy snapped. Spinning, he grabbed her throat in both hands and squeezed, his eyes three times their normal size and his teeth bared. "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" he shouted, his voice filling the house like thunder. Leia's cheeks puffed out and her eyes bulged from their sockets. She slapped him with both hands, and he slammed the back of her head against the doorframe, a moan of pain knocking from her throat.
Meagan started to cry.
Leia lashed out and kicked Lemy in the shin, her nails raking across his forehead and drawing blood.
Suddenly Lincoln was there, yelling and prying them apart. "Let go!" he roared and slammed his fist into Lemy's chest. Lemy's hands released and he staggered back a step; Leia sucked a lungful of burning air and started toward him. "Bastard."
She cried out when Dad arced shoved her back. "GET IN YOUR FUCKING ROOM!" He turned on Lemy and pointed toward the stairwell. "GO DOWNSTAIRS!"
For the first time, Leia became aware of her daughter's sobbing, and her heart clutched. She looked around and saw her by the bathroom, Mom on her knees and holding her, one hand stroking comfortingly up and down the little girls arm. Meagan's head was bowed, her teeth clamping her lower lip and big, fat tears streaming down her red face.
"She started it," Lemy slurred.
"GO DOWNSTAIRS!"
Lemy looked him up and down with a sneer, then he did as he was told, his steps lumbering and uneven. "This fucking place is stupid," he threw over his shoulder, his voice cracking and garbled, the words sounding as though they came hard.
When he was gone, Dad turned to her, and the tight expression on his face told her she was in deep shit. "Go in your room," he said, tasting the words as though they were foul.
He glanced at Meagan; Mom held her from behind now and whispered into her ear, her fingers running through her granddaughter's hair. A shiver ran through Meagan's body, and her chest started to rapidly rise and fall, a breathless wheeze bursting from her throat. Mom's face scrunched in worry, and she looked up. "She's having an asthma attack," Mom said, the words coming out in a fearful rush. Leia's heart sank and she started for the inhaler in Meagan's room, but Lucas appeared from seemingly nowhere and handed it to her mother. Mom took it and gave it to Meagan, who held it to her lips and drew a deep breath.
Dad turned to her, and the wrath in his eyes made her falter.
"I'm s -"
"Go. In. Your. Room." He pronounced each word slowly and with a menace that stirred fear in her stomach.
Nodding and casting one final, longing look at her daughter, she went into her room and closed the door. She was crying before she even reached the bed, and she didn't stop for a long, long time.
- 9
- 10
- 11
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No Way Home