His latest meal with Kostya had him thinking of home.

Home was rarely ever a positive memory in his mind. So much bad had happened there, so many negative and emotional memories washed out many small moments where he was happy. But small trickles of simple moments peeked their heads within his memories. Saturdays with his grandfather; picnics and playing with the dog. Most good memories were of his grandfather. Warm, bright memories filled with smiles and sunshine.

Most memories he held of his mother usually had her ignoring his cries for attention, or simply being too busy to deal with him. However, there was one memory that came to him simply because a song brought it back to him.

It was a song his mother often played on repeat when her husband was on a rare trip away from home. Days like that, the house seemed brighter, lighter and happier. Days like that, he could hear her singing out loud in the kitchen as she cleaned. Days like that were ones she liked to spend focusing on herself.
But one of those days, her eyes caught Otto's as he watched her from the other room. A bright smile warmed her face as she approached him, picking up the small boy and balancing him on her hip.

"Mama's dancin' with baby on her shoulder~
The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky~"

She sang to him, holding his little hand in hers, as if dancing with the boy in her arms. Summer sunlight shone through the large window in the living room, spotlighting the mother and son as they bobbed up and down to the song. Her voice was a little raspy, like a blues star. Otto gripped her shoulder with his free hand, smiling ear to ear.

"The boy could sing, knew how to move, everything~
Always wanting more, he'd leave you longing for~"

He loved it when she sang. She somehow seemed human again when she sang. Not a mask that often lead funeral processions, not the mask of professionalism she wore for clients, and not the scowl of a stressed out mother with no time focus on her little one's every whim.

She sang, she smiled, and she was focusing on him again. Otto loved this song, because every time he heard it, he remembered this moment. He could remember that rare warmth he got from an otherwise cold home. He remembered singing along with her, usually only to the chorus, because at the time it was the only part he knew.

"Black velvet and that little boy's smile~
Black velvet with that slow southern style~
A new religion that'll bring ya to your knees~
Black velvet if you please~"

The teen was brought back from his memories as his phone buzzed, likely more antics from Twitter. He chose to snuff out the phone with a stray pillow, burying it beneath. He wanted to stay in this memory just a little bit longer.

He could pretend he was in that living room, warm and safe in his mother's arms; not in the empty apartment, lying upside down on the couch, singing all alone.

But that buzzing ruined it. Now all he could remember were the tougher times, even as the song played in the background. The Saturdays when she still didn't have time for him, even if it was a client-less day. When all she wanted was a day for herself. Looking back now, it was understandable. She was a working woman, running a funeral home with her husband, and having to homeschool her son at the same time. The rare day off, all she wanted was to rest.

But back then? To him? It just seemed as if no one wanted him around. He was in the way. He was always in trouble. Too needy. He had no one else to talk to but her, but what could he do? If he whined, cried, complained; he was sent to his room. Or sent outside. Sent anywhere but around her. He often yelled that he wished he could live with grandpa instead. That just made her even angrier.
And she wasn't even the scary one. If he spoke like that to his father, he'd be screamed at forever. His dad never seemed to get tired from yelling so much. He was a picture perfect gentlemen for grieving families that used the home, so how come he couldn't do that for him too?

It was obvious to Otto back then; they simply didn't love him.

But now it was so complicated. With what he knew now, having grown up a bit at Deus, he could see why. It didn't excuse a good number of other memories that were much too dark to recall. But he could understand. Somewhat.

He still wouldn't go back. This life wasn't any easier, but he at least had someone to talk to here. He had friends. People who would listen, or simply be company to enjoy.
Family, to Otto, meant pain. It meant loneliness. It meant isolation and imprisonment. A house that trapped him, kept him from the world, and forced him to try and be someone he wasn't. They crushed his dreams before they could even bud. He truly believed he had no future aside from what they laid out for him. He truly believed he'd have nothing to live for but that miserable life running a Funeral Home, catering to families he didn't even know.

Home had been poison. Slowly killing him, bit by bit, and driving him mad.

Otto suddenly turned off the stereo. He didn't want to remember anymore. It wasn't important anyway. Like all things he cherished, it too was tarnished. A mother who never had time for him, his first girlfriend who was driven away from him, his grandfather who died when he was little, Eva whom he'd come to fall in love with but found her to grow ever more distant with time, Sam who betrayed him... Clerise... Nevada...

Everyone left. He remembered them all. He would always remember. With every person he grew attached to, life found a way to tear them away from him. He felt cursed. Dark, tainted. His heart hurt, heavy with burdens that didn't seem to lift. It was bad now, and it would only get worse. He was running low on hope. These small moments where he was happy were the only thing keeping him afloat; the supper with Kostya, the nights he spent with Nevada. How long would any of them last? After all, Nevada was dying, and quickly falling apart. He knew he needed to stop himself now, or it would hurt even more when she faded away.

But he was greedy. Selfish. He needed her. He needed small moments where he was happy. Because being along was getting harder to do.