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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
- 10
- 11
Lyrics to Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve (1997)
Lemy came slowly and groggily awake, his mind swimming up from the depths and consciousness creeping into his brain like the spreading rays of the morning sun. The first thing he was aware of was the sick, nauseous rolling in his stomach. Next was the hot, throbbing pain in the center of his skull. Third was the awful taste in his mouth, like ass and vomit mixed together and warmed in the microwave.
He winced and and stirred, a hiss of pain escaping his lips at the stiffness in his neck. Clear, white brilliance colored his eyelids and he tried to flee back into the recesses of sleep, but something loomed from the shadows, something big and insistent, a cresting revelation that he somehow knew he had to scurry from, like a sinner away from God's vengeance. It began to take form, and his heartbeat sped up. No, he thought in drawing horror. No.
A memory broke from the shadows. Luya's face twisting in shock and pain. I'm not your father.
He didn't do that. Couldn't have done that. Jesus fucking God, tell him he didn't do that to her! It was a dream, that's all.
Only he knew it wasn't - more details rose from the mire, details too fine to be had in any dream: The anger he felt, the hurt, the sense of rejection, the self-hatred because that girl needed a father just as badly as his own daughter, and he made it a point to be that father...only to bomb so fucking hard it made Hiroshima look like a firecracker in a tin can. The night Lupa told him she was pregnant, they were sitting on the back porch under the stars and sharing a cigarette because nether could afford their own pack, so they pooled their money and bought one. It was November, the night was frosty, and their breath puffed in front of them in a ghost-like mist. They weren't together, but they had sex occasionally, and Lemy cared for her as deeply as a man can for a woman.
I don't know who it is, she said, a single tear sliding down her cheek. She lifted the cigarette to her lips, sucked, and blew out a jagged plume of smoke. And it doesn't matter. I-I can't have a baby. I can't even have myself. She laughed mirthlessly and shook her head.
What are you going to do? He asked.
She didn't reply for a long time. Have an abortion, I guess.
Lemy's heart sank. God, no, don't do that, he said quickly.
What am I gonna do then? I'm a fucking hooker and I live in a motel room. What kind of life can I give this baby? It doesn't even have a father.
Lemy took the cigarette and drew a long drag as he thought. Yes it does, he finally said, and Lupa looked at him funny. It has me.
She rolled her eyes. Lemy, you're not -
Yes I am, he said firmly. He closed his hand over hers and squeezed, his thumb brushing hers. And I'll always be its father.
Only that was a lie. When Lupa broke up with him years later, he stopped being Luya's father. She isn't mine, he told Lupa once over the phone, she's yours, you worry about her. For years, he and Leia lived two streets over from her in the same trailer park, and he went out of his way to avoid seeing her. When she came over, he'd pretend he wasn't there - he clearly remembered one time she kept knocking and knocking and knocking, and he sat there staring at the wall and taking pulls from a bottle of Jack. I'm not your daddy, go away.
Maybe he was young and cruel, maybe it was the stress of his life, but he it wasn't until years later that he realized how awful that was, how fucking terrible. He was there from the moment she was born to her first year in school, he held her and kissed her goodnight and slept with her when she was afraid of monsters under the bed, and when he came home from work, her eyes lit up and a smile crossed her face. Hi, Daddy!
That made him her father.
He didn't see it that way until it was too late.
And now…
Groaning at the soreness radiating from his every joint, he sat up and pressed one shaky hand to his fevered forehead, the couch sighing wearily under his weight. Dizziness overcame him, and he felt like he was going to be sick.
Another memory bubbled up, and his blood turned cold.
His hands wrapping around Leia's soft throat, her eyes straining from her head and her lips mushing together. They were fighting, he thought, and...she hit him or threw something at him, and he responded by…
Bile rose in the back of his throat and he swallowed it down.
In all the years he'd been with Leia, and in all the fights they had, he never once put his hands on her, not once. Last night, though, he did, he closed them around her neck and slammed her head against the wall, the soft, pained gasp tearing from her throat like blood in the snout of a shark. I'll fucking show her, he thought, I'll show her two can play at that game, she can hit me, well, I can hit her too.
That was true...if a woman can hit a man, a man can hit back...but he didn't want to hit her, even when he did. She was a nag and a bitch and a hypocrite and a whole lot of other things, but he loved her, and the thought of hurting her made him sick to his stomach. During their worst arguments, when he really wanted to do it, he stopped, looked at her face, and imagined it covered in black bruises, her wounded eyes swollen shut and her lips split; the wrath always drained from him and he backed down.
He couldn't do that to her.
He couldn't break something so precious and ethereal.
Last night, though, he didn't give it a second thought, and as he remembered more of the fight, he was horrified to find himself thinking she deserved it. He was disgusted by his lack of disgust. She hit him so much over the years that it was about damn time she got a taste of her own medicine.
Meagan's hysterical, hitching sobs came back to him then, and maybe it was a false memory, but didn't she look at him as he staggered away, her eyes filled with fright and confusion? She watched her father strangle her mother. Lemy let that sink in for a moment, imagined the terror she must have felt, and tears filled his eyes.
You blew it, Leia said, and she was right. He really fucking blew it, blew it so spectacularly that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to put the pieces back together again.
He buried his face in his hands and fought back the urge to cry. He didn't deserve to cry; this was all his fault. He saw that now like a man seeing his sins on his deathbed, the veil of the past torn asunder by an angel of wrath. He was wrong about one thing, though. He thought once that he was the same as he had always been, but he wasn't. He did, in fact, change.
For the worst.
"Lemy."
His name, sharp and bitter. His heart skipped a beat and he looked over his shoulder. Dad stood at the bottom of the stairs in a white polo shirt tucked into black pants, his face set in stone, the creases of age seeming wider than they were before, darker...and more plentiful.
Without another word, Dad turned and went into his office, leaving Lemy alone. I wish you were dead, Leia said. I wish you weren't my father, Luya told him. Meagan watched him with fear and revulsion.
I wish you never came back….get out of my life.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Lemy went around the couch and into his father's office. Dad sat at the desk, his posture tense and his face hard. Lemy's eyes darted to the sheet of paper, and his heart skipped a beat. Sometimes, someone once told him, doing the right thing feels wrong, and as he crossed to the desk, the sense of wrongness was so strong it made him dizzy.
Dad didn't meet his eyes; he picked up a pen and slapped it onto the form, his expression strained. Lemy swallowed and looked down it, making out the word ADOPTION. He hesitated, but the memory of Meagan's tears, and the knowledge that he couldn't promise he wouldn't do the same thing to Leia again, decided him.
Bending, he picked up the pen, found the line with FATHER'S SIGNATURE underneath, and touched the tip to the page, his hand shaking. Dad stared off into space, crazily reminding Lemy of an English palace guard.
This was it.
Pursing his lips, Lemy signed his name and sat the pen down. Dad glanced at it then away. "You can leave now," he said, and it was clear that he didn't mean the office.
Lemy nodded, his vision starting to blur. "Can I see my kids before I go?" he asked, his voice breaking with desperation.
"No," Dad said, "you've done enough damage already. Just go."
For a moment Lemy stood where he was, head hung and shoulders slumped, then he muttered a weak, "Okay." He turned around and walked out, his gaze downcast. He looked up, and Lori stood at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed and a stern expression on her face. Lemy sighed, looked back down at his feet, and went to the front door.
Everyone always said he was self-centered, and they were right, but not this time. He would leave quietly and without protest. His children would miss him for a while, but they'd get over it and one day, they'd have happy lives and kids of their own.
Just so long as he didn't fuck them up the way he fucked everything else up.
He thought of Luya, and regret squeezed his chest in a vise grip. It was probably too late for her...for five years, maybe six, he'd been hurting her nonstop. At least Meagan and Lucas had a fighting chance.
At the door, he turned the knob and opened it, a cold gust of wind washing over his face and plastering his sweaty hair to his forehead. His father spoke behind him, and he turned; water stood in Dad's eyes, but his face was unmoving as marble, his mind made up now and forever more. He held something out and dropped it into Lemy's palm; a smooth stone covered in multicolored stripes, splintery bits of wood stuck to dried glue on its face. Meagan's present. The one he broke.
Lemy closed his hand around it.
Dad held something else out.
Two one hundred dollar bills fluttered in the wind.
Lemy started to tell him to keep them, but took them and shoved them into his pocket instead, a blush of shame creeping across his cheeks.
"Please don't come back," Dad said, and something like pain seemed to flicker across his features.
Then he shut the door in Lemy's face.
Luya sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest and her eyes puddled with tears she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried. She felt stupid and melodramatic, but she couldn't help that either. She woke early that morning from a nightmare she couldn't remember, voices echoing through her head like peals of distant thunder. She lay awake for a long time staring at the water splotched ceiling before it started coming back to her, resolving like an image from the shadows. Her father, or the man she thought was her father, looming over her, his face twisted in hatred. He yelled and her heart caved in on itself - she didn't know what she did, but she made him stop loving her, stop even tolerating her, something that went back further than the previous night, some transgression that she could not name.
Sitting up now and staring blankly at the dark TV screen, Luya knew vaguely that she did nothing wrong - she wasn't his daughter, so why would he treat her like she was? It was simple...a little sad, but simple nonetheless. In her heart, however, like a malignant tumor, she wondered if he might not feel differently if she tried harder. If her own mother would feel differently.
She took a deep, watery breath and let it out in a jagged rush. In the light of day, everything was clear to her, clearer than it had ever been before, and her false father was the least of her pain, the least of the fires licking her already burn-scorched heart. She thought of her grandmother - always flat, emotionless, her tone never rising or falling and her face never twitching in the slightest display of feeling.
Did she hate her too? Was she embarrassed by her the way Mom was? Did she think she was a mistake too? Grandma rarely hugged her, rarely kissed her. That's how she was, everyone said, but knowing what she knew now, she wondered.
On some level, Luya always suspected that she was unwanted, that she was only here because her father didn't pull out, or the condom broke, but she could deal with that. A lot of people owe their existence to an accident. But with the dreadful circumstances sharp in her mind, she understood just what a blunder she really was. At least thinking Lemy was her father, she could console herself with the fact that her parents were together and loved each other, but now she didn't even have that; her mother didn't want her, didn't even want the sex that produced her...she just wanted to make a little money and get high.
Tears welled and blurred her vision. She wiped them away with her shirtsleeve and sighed. Moping around wasn't going to help anything. Her mother always told her to suck it up, and that's what she was going to do. Being a sullen drama queen annoyed Mom, and she was surprised to find that she didn't want to annoy her.
She wanted to make her happy.
Not that she ever could. How could she when her very existence was an inconvenience?
Her mind turned to the knife under her mattress. She couldn't...she wasn't brave enough to cut herself open and face death. She didn't want to die, she wanted to be happy, like Meagan. Every time Luya saw her, she was smiling and bouncy like she didn't have a care in the world; she rolled her eyes at it, but she wanted the same thing for herself.
She hugged her legs tight and rested the side of her wet face against her knee, her dark, pain-filled eyes pointed sightlessly at the door. It didn't close all the way; it hung wrong in the frame. She was sure there was a metaphor to be had there, but she didn't care to find it, didn't care to do anything but sit here and be alone, like a caterpillar in its chrysalis. One day she was going to come out and be something else...a butterfly, she hoped, light and happy and free, flitting through the warm spring air, its growing pains forgotten as it danced among the flowers. That image was nice, and she wished for it to be so. She wasn't sure it ever would be, though. She wasn't sure of anything anymore; she was fraught, overwhelmed, and just wanted to be loved. Was that so much to ask? To just know that one person really and truly cared about her? She neither needed nor wanted to be coddled or doted upon, just...to know. That's all.
Just to know.
Presently, the door opened and her mother came in; she wore pink scrubs and looked tired, her face sunken and dark bags under her eyes. Luya could never remember her smiling, couldn't recall her eyes twinkling with light. She was dull, glum, and dead.
Now she knew why.
"We gotta go," she mumbled.
Her nightmare came back to her, and her heart skipped a staggering beat. She couldn't go back there and face...him...not after yesterday, not knowing how stupid she acted over the years. She swallowed around a lump in her throat and lifted her head, her eyes wide with alarm. "I don't want to," she said, "please don't make me."
Mom sighed heavily. "Are you really gonna do this? I do not have the patience right now, not after what happened last night."
"I know," Luya said, her voice a breaking whisper. She turned her gaze to her knees and sniffed; her lips were starting to quiver and tears filled her eyes.
Mom opened her mouth to continue, but her features softened a little. She sighed again and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folding in her lap. "I'm sorry he did that to you," she said. "I didn't want you to ever find out, I wanted...I wanted you to have a good father, and a long time ago, Lemy was a good man. He told me he would always be your father and I believed him." She looked down at her hands.
"I understand," Luya said. She felt herself starting to break and tried to stop it, but couldn't. "And I know why you don't love me now."
All of the pain, bitterness, self-loathing, sorrow, and regret came out in a rush; she buried her face in her knees and gave into the sobs, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth twisting in a parted-lip grimace.
A look of shock flickered across Lupa's features, and her jaw went slack. The kneen, sou-tearing sound of her daughter's ripped through her heart like a thousand blades and made her blink. Luya hugged herself and trembled with the power of her lament, her shoulders shaking and her back rapidly rising and falling.
Did she really think that?
That she didn't love her?
Lupa's paralysis broke and she reached out her hand. "Luya, I…" her words cut off as she remembered all the times she'd been impatient with her, all the days she looked at her and wished Lemy took her with him, all the fights they had because she was tired and Luya was acting like a brat. Looking at her daughter now, hunched in misery and hitching desperate, broken sobs, it occured to Lupa that she rarely even hugged her. Her stomach clutched and her own tears sprang to her eyes.
She didn't mean it. She did love Luya, she just...she was too caught up in her own problems to show it, to realize that a child needs love and affection the way a flower needs water and sunlight.
In an instant, she knew just how badly she fumbled, and it was like being gutted. She snaked her arm around Luya's shoulder and drew her close; she resisted at first, but gave in and let herself be guided, her cheek pressing into Lupa's chest.
Lupa fought back the urge to cry as she stroked her fingers lovingly through her daughter's hair, soft whispers leaving her lips. Luya's tears soaked through the fabric of her uniform top and her tiny frame trembled against Lupa's breast. She had no idea she was hurting her daughter like that, and that she did made her hate herself more than anything else she'd ever done in her life.
"I'm sorry," she said and slipped a little, tears streaming down her face. She kissed Luya's fevered forehead and stroked her hair. "I'm so sorry, Luya. I didn't mean to."
Luya sniffled, her crying stilled, and Lupa held her closer, rocking her back and forth like she didn't when she was a baby. "I'm so sorry. I love you...I don't show it but I love you so much, honey."
"I love you too, Mom," Luya whispered, "I'm sorry for being such a terrible daughter."
"You're not," Lupa said and broke down. "You're not a terrible daughter."
Luya sniffled and took a deep breath. "Yes I am. I'll be better. I promise."
"No, I'll be better," Lupa vowed and hugged her closer.
Luya closed her eyes and let herself sink into her mother's warm embrace; she took Mom's hand in hers and threaded their fingers together, clutching desperately to the promise she made like a girl clinging to a life raft. Mom rocked her back and forth, stopping only to take out her phone and make a call. "Debbie, it's Lupa. I won't be in today." She hit END, tossed it aside, and went back to holding her.
Cause it's a bittersweet symphony this life
Trying to make ends meet, you're a slave to the money then you die.
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet,
Lemy stood on the platform, his shoulders stooped and his gaze locked firmly on the cracked pavement. His eyes were red and tears made wet trails on his face. It was cold and windy, the bleak sky a deep, leaden gray that threatened cold November rain, and dead brown leaves swirled against the breeze. The stench of diesel and exhaust fumes choked the crisp air, and a symphony of idling engines formed a rumbling cacophony that filled his ears but did little to drown out the demons in his head.
When a bus pulled up to the curb, his lifted his head. A big white 86 was painted over the accordian door. The ticket clutched in his hand bore the same number, only in bold, blaring black. He couldn't remember where the bus would take him, and he didn't care. It was all the same.
No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
but I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
But I'm a million different people from one day to the next
Lemy stepped onto the bus and threw one final look over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on the station's brick facade, the main doors flanked by the ticket window on one side and a battered Coke machine on the other. This was the closest he'd ever come to seeing his children ever again, he realized.
Turning away with pursing lips, he handed the driver his ticket, then shuffled down the aisle, passing a gallery of apathetic faces, his steps heavy. He spotted a seat by the window and took it, his eyes staring beyond the grimey pane...at what could have been, at what may have been.
He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the stone, its body a mishmash of colors. A melancholy smile touched his lips and he clutched it tight. He didn't have a picture of his daughter, but he had the memory of her giving it to him, and that would have to last him.
I can't change my mold, no, no, no, no
He slipped it back into his pocket, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a fresh bottle of Jack. He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink as the bus pulled away from the platform and began its journey to nowhere.
Well I never pray,
But tonight I'm on my knees, yeah.
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah.
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now.
But the airwaves are clean and there's nobody singing to me now.
Meagan sat on the top step of the back porch and hugged herself against the cold wind. Golden sunlight painted the dead grass a bright, heatless yellow and the branches of the tree knocked forlornly together, reminding her of skeletons.
Less than a week ago, she, Lucas, and her father played pirates in this very yard, and she was happier than she'd been in a long, long time. When her mother told her that her dad left all those years ago, she remembered being sad, but not like this, because this time...this time she was happy too.
The memory of watching him choke Mom and slam her head into the wall came back to her like a nasty rash, and her stomach twisted. She didn't tell Mom because she didn't want to sound like a baby, but she dreamed about it sometimes, and when she woke up, her heart slammed and a scream of terror burst in the confines of her throat. In the days since Dad left, she made it a point to be extra nice to Mom because she deserved it.
Even so...she wished he said goodbye.
The back door opened, and she looked over her shoulder as Luya came over, her eyes down and her lips arranged in a sad frown. She didn't come over much this week; her mom took a lot of time off work and they did things together or something. Meagan wasn't sure.
Luya sat next to her and rested her forearms on her knees, her face pointed straight ahead and inscrutable. Meagan felt a little nervous, and was thinking about getting up and going inside when her cousin spoke. "Do you miss him?"
The question caught her off-guard, and the earnest sobriety in her tone took her aback. Luya never talked to her unless it was to be mean. She considered her response, her brain telling her to lie but her heart wanting her to tell the truth. "Sometimes," she admitted, and was surprised when Luya didn't make fun of her or call her stupid but simply nodded sympathetically. "He was fun and...and I missed him. But you were right. He's selfish and he doesn't care about us."
Luya bowed her head slightly and sighed.
Meagan didn't mean to open up to the older girl, but she found herself doing it anyway, releasing all of the thoughts she'd been nursing since she woke up that day and found out he left again. "I love him but I don't think he loves me. I keep thinking about that dumb thing I gave him. Me and Lucas worked really hard on it and...and he threw it away like it didn't mean anything."
"Like you didn't mean anything?" Luya asked.
Tearing up, Meagan nodded. "Like he didn't even care." She hung her head and squeezed her eyes closed against the coming storm, winning but just barely.
When she felt Luya's arm around her, she stiffened and looked up at her. Luya flashed a wan smile, and in her eyes, Meagan saw gentle understanding. For a moment Meagan stared at her with uncertainty...then rested her head against her cousin's chest, seeking and finding the comfort that comes only with commiseration.
They sat that way as the sun sank behind the rim of the earth and twilight took its place, alone save for each other...and the wind.
No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
But I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
And I'm a million different people from one day to the next
I can't change my mold, no, no, no,
Lizy pulled on her pink uniform, ran her fingers through her tangled blonde hair, and then tied her waist apron around her hips. Grabbing her purse, she slung it over her shoulder, snapped the bedroom light off, and went downstairs, passing Leia on the steps. Their rooms were next door to one another, and on her days off, when she was actually home at night, she heard the muffled sound of her sister crying through the wall. Lizy naturally loved her, but she couldn't lie: She was a fucking retard for being hung up on Lemy the way she was. He was a no good piece of shit, and everyone saw that a long time ago except for her.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a mug from the cabinet over the sink and filled it with coffee from the pot. She was running late and didn't have time to sit and enjoy it; she'd have to drink it on the go, just like she did everything else. She turned, and her eyes fell on Lucas; he sat at the table, hunched over a sheet of paper and scribbling, an assortment of Crayons fanned out on his right, close enough for easy access but far enough away that he didn't bump into them. Love and pride welled up inside of her and she sighed in contentment. If one good thing ever came out of her brother, it was that little boy; he was going to be an artist one day, Lizy just knew it. He was already good...give it time and he'd be the best.
When Lemy left, she was worried it would affect Lucas, but unlike his aunt Leia, he came to terms and snapped back like a weed. It was almost like he never even met Lemy...which was just as well.
Taking a sip, she went over, gave the top of his head a hurried kiss, and mussed his hair. "Gotta go. Love you. And please be good for auntie Leni."
He looked up at her with an intensity far beyond his years. "I will, Mom," he said, "love you too." With that, he returned his attention to his work, and Lizy smiled. He got her last nerve sometimes, but he was a good kid...if only he wasn't so goddamn hyperactive.
Clutching the mug, she rushed out of the room, leaving Lucas alone with his drawing. He'd been working on it for a long time and he really wanted it to be good.
He picked up a brown Crayon and went back to it.
On the page: A painstaking and hyper-realistic depiction of his father.
Cause it's a bittersweet symphony this life.
Trying to make ends meet, trying to find some money then you die.
I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet,
Lincoln sat at his desk three weeks before Christmas, reading glasses perched on his nose and light snow falling outside the window. Before him was the certificate of adoption; it arrived that afternoon in the mail, and henceforth, he was officially the legal guardian of Luya, Lucas, and Meagan. In a way, it was a victory...but it didn't feel like one.
He looked up at the frosty pane and wondered, as he had a million times over the past month, where his son was...what he was doing...and if he was okay.
No matter how many times he told himself it was for the best, it hurt like hell, and even if he lived to be a thousand, he would never forget the hurt, stricken, scared, and lost expression on Lemy's face as he closed the door in it.
It was for the best, though. Not for Lemy...not for Leia...not even for him...but for the kids.
Even so, his mood was sour, and he stared down at the paper with a mixture of sadness and shame. He didn't hear the knocking, didn't know he wasn't alone until Leia's voice spoke, a cracking whisper. "Daddy?"
He looked up, and she stood at his left hand, her head hung and tears brimming in her clear eyes. She looked like a repentant little girl who'd committed an unforgivable sin, and the plainative way she spoke that single, uncharacteristic word - Daddy...
She reached one shaking hand out and laid something on the desk.
A pregnancy test.
And it was positive.
No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
but I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
But I'm a million different people from one day to the next
I can't change my mold, no, no, no,
Drops like sparkling diamonds slid down her cheeks, and she cast her eyes shamefully to her feet. Lincoln looked at the test...then away again.
"Okay," he said.
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah.
No change, I can't change, I can't change, I can't change,
but I'm here in my mold, I am here in my mold.
December 2063, the far and monochrome future. Light, ashen snow fell from a churning gray sky and dusted the cracked pavement. Two Chicago PD officers in black coats and hats stood on the body of a vagrant in tattered clothes. His face was hidden behind a ratty gray beard and an empty bottle of rum sat beside him, the only mourner at the end of his life.
He was huddled for warmth and covered with newspaper. He’d been dead roughly twelve hours
One of the cops bent down to examine him, and noticed that something was clutched in one hand like a religious artifact in the grip of a dying Catholic begging God’s forgiveness in his final moments. The cop leaned over to get a better look and frowned.
It was a small stone dotted with fleck of faded, time worn paint.
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