Let’s meet our contestants
BCJ
”Lauretta, mia cara, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean…kid’s giving me a headache with the amount of times he’s hit that symbol.” Crouch sr mumbled, rubbing his temples.
Ever since he and Lauretta had gifted Barty a drum kit for his 10th birthday, that’s all he’d do. Play. Attempting to make music.
“Oh, hush up you. He’s happy isn’t he? I mean look at that smile, hasn’t left his face since we gave him it. Has it?” Lauretta swatted him playfully.
“Yes I kn—“
”There’s plenty of paracetamol in the cupboard if you’re going to be a mizog, now off you pop!” She tried to shoo him towards the kitchen, but he stayed rooted in place.
Bartemius considered it for a second, only then taking a second to marvel at his wife. Clad in a stunning floral print dress, with a mesh corset top, laced at the back with white string.
“On second thought…I think I’ll stay here.” He whispered lowly in her ear.
“Oh? What changed your mind…hm?” She smirked at him, him swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.
“You…looking incredibly gorgeous in that dress of yours, although, I think it’d suit the bedroom floor even more.” He winked, hands trailing to rest on her hips.
My…my…Mr. Crouch are you flirting with me?” Pretending to fan her face, dramatically.
“I believe I am, Mrs. Crouch. What do you say?” Brushing their lips together before capturing hers in a kiss.
Well, that was until there was a disgusted shout of protest.
“Mummm! Daddd!”
Startled by the shout the two broke apart, gazes resting on a disgusted looking Barty.
“Ugh—Can you two stop kissing for five minutes.” Barty grumbled, looking at both of his parents.
“Sorry son, As you get older you’ll understand when you have a wife as gorgeous as your dear mum is, it’s hard to stay away.” He gave a playful wink which earns him a light whack from Lauretta.
“Sorry, B, darling, I have to agree when you have a partner as dashing as your father it’s a near impossible ask.
“Well…could you please try to stop, so I can show you what I’ve been trying to learn?”
Lauretta smiled “Of course B, I’m excited to hear it.”
That was two years ago.
Barty had always hated hospitals. Something about them. How absurdly clean they appeared to be or how a sterile smell always clogged his nostrils. The sound of snapping gloves against wrists. The sounds of people distressed in the waiting room. The sounds of beeping machines and monitors. The sounds of a code blue alarm. The sounds of doctors rushing into the room. The sounds of scuffling feet as you were hurried out of said room. The sounds of wheels rolling across the polished floor. The sounds of someone ‘crashing.’ The sounds of defibrillators trying to shock someone back into life. The sounds of someone flat-
Lining up in long queues for shitty coffee whilst you wait, wait and wait for news. The sounds of the little room you’re crammed into when given the news. The sounds of complete silence.
Barty hated it.
Possibly, because he was one of the most messy and or loud people known to man or possibly because he had quite the fear of hospitals. It was definitely because he was messy and loud.
Barty remembers sitting by his mothers bed in the ward and found himself praying to God. A God he didn’t believe in nonetheless—but he found himself praying anyway.
The alarms of a ‘code blue’ swirl about his ears. The sound is about as pleasant as nails being scraped on a chalkboard. Distinctively remembering the doctors shooing him out of his mother’s room, the sound of paddles buzzing with electricity faintly in the distance.
He remembers his father’s hand on his shoulder as he’s by his mothers side once more. Her hand in his iron grip. The doctor telling them she’d flat-lined but were able to get her heart pumping again.
It made Barty feel strange, he pondered on the thought for quite a while. Why did they call it flat-lining? Was it because there was no words left for the person’s story, simply just a flat line on the paper or was it because in death much like in life there is a path for everyone, life’s path may be bumpy and filled with twists, turns and curveballs. Yet, with death there is only one path, there’s no more life within the path to give it all the bumps and spikes of a beating heart. It’s just a path. A line. What if—
“B? Darling is that you?” Barty gripped into his mother’s hand even tighter, maybe if he held her tight enough she wouldn’t go. She’d be okay.
“It’s me mum.” his voice came out all wobbly, as tears prickled his eyes.
She tutted gently, pulling him off of his chair so he was curled into her side. “Why are you crying? Silly boy.” Lauretta brushed a few tears off her son’s blotchy cheeks.
“Mum, I can’t do this without you…” More tears clouded his bright blue eyes, coating his eyelashes in tears as he tried to blink them away.
“B, darling I did not raise you if not to be independent. I so wished I could’ve had more time with my favourite boys but I can’t—I’ve—I’ve come to peace with that. That’s just the way life works.” Her voice was stern, yet so full of love.
Barty sat confused, it was like his mother was talking to him as if she was dying. Yes, her having heart failure wasn’t exactly a good thing but doctors had reassured him and his father that she was okay.
“Well, let’s not dwell on things like that, how about you play me that song I like?”
She grinned and Barty reached for his guitar. Still taken aback by his mother’s earlier words.
“What are we up to in here?” Barty glanced over at his father’s head poked around the white door frame.
“Barty’s playing that song I like, uh-what’s it called? Up—Uptown girl! That’s the one.”
“You’re my uptown girl, my love.” Crouch snr glanced at his wife, eyes filled with love.
“Will you guys please stop being mushy for a minute so I can play?”
There was a chorus of ‘Yes’s and Sorry’s’ before Barty began strumming his guitar, the lyrics rolling off his tongue, purely by muscle memory; due to the amount his mother would ask him to sing it for her.
Barty finished the song with a flourish, his mother cheering quietly, with whatever her strained voice would allow, his father clapping gently. Barty gave an over-dramatic bow and ‘thank you’s’
There was a rapping at the door and a nurse stepped into the room, she wore a soft, tired smile. Her mousy brown hair in a loose plait, blue eyes a little sunken.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are over and I need to check Mrs Crouch’s vitals.”
”Denise, I’ve told you to call me Lauretta. No need for formalities.”
Barty chuckled, pressing a kiss to his mother’s knuckles than her forehead.
“we’ll see you on Sunday mum,
I love you, so much.”
“Ti amo di più tesoro, puoi fare tutto ciò a cui pensi, non accontentarti di meno su qualcosa di meno di quello che vali. Ricordalo.” Barty nodded, turning his back, walking toward the door, hoping the shield the brewing tears away from his mother’s prying eyes.
She was going to be okay.
She was going to be okay.
He repeated in his head like a mantra.
“Prenditi cura di lui per me, anche per te stesso.”
“Amerò. Non dimenticare mai quanto ti amo Laur.”
“Allo stesso modo caro.”
Barty was so lost in his own head, it took him a few moments to register his father’s arm draped over his shoulder as they walked towards the car park, silence enveloping them in an embrace.
⭐️⭐️
Barty gazed out the window, watching as the trees and shrubs rolled by.
In his clutch, Lauretta’s favourite muffins. Blueberry.
Barty never quite understood how you could be at peace when you have willingly putting fruit in a muffin on your conscience, but he smiled nonetheless, knowing how much his mother loved them.
She always says “Blueberry muffins are the key to my heart.”
He smiled at the thought.
“—yes, we’ll be there right away.”
The car jolted with a sudden speed, as Crouch snr weaved through the busy streets, the hospital ending closer in his view.
Barty tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
Something was wrong.
The pair rushed through the hospital, slamming open the doors to the waiting room, Barty wringing his hands while his father spoke to the receptionist.
A doctor with shaggy blonde hair and green eyes appeared in front of them. An unreadable expression on his pale skin.
“Gentlemen this way please.” The guy by the name of ‘Dr. Michelson’ gestured with his hand and the pair followed with so much as a sound.
“It is with deepest regret I inform you that Lauretta Crouch has passed away.”
Barty’s heart sunk into a pit in his stomach, then sprang back up, like bile shooting up his throat.
“No…no, no, no—no! How?” Barty demanded, feeling like with his anger and despair alone he could set the hospital ablaze.
“She had stage three leukaemia…that’s what caused the multiple heart failures and in turn her passing. Did either of you ever know about this?” The doctor glanced between the two, eyebrows slightly raised.
“No—What—No! Barty trailed off glancing at his father who was oddly quiet. Crouch snr must have seen the gears whirling and turning in his son’s head, as he shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair…well, uncomfortably.
You…You—knew. You knew, You bloody well knew! And you didn’t tell me! I…I…”
“Barty—wait. Let’s talk about this.” Crouch tried to reason, the crease in his brow deepening.
“No. No I won’t—I can’t…I can’t even look at you right now!” The door flung open and shut with a large bang.
Barty was gone.
He needed air, the air in that hospital didn’t feel breathable, stuffed with sterile products and chemicals and the absence of his mother.
Barty was going to choke if he wasn’t careful.
⭐️⭐️
1 year ago.
Barty almost choked on pleasure as Hayden’s lips and tongue met his mouth once more
“Mmm…come here.” Barty latched his arms around Hayden’s neck.
Hayden pushed Barty onto his back, him meeting the mattress below as Hayden crawled over him, hands pinning the latter’s arms above his head as he deepened the kiss.
There was a loud crack and both the boys startled, the pair sitting beside each other on Barty’s bed.
“Barts, we need to be careful…Your dad could come back at any moment.” His hands resting lightly on the latter’s hips.
“Ugh, who cares about him? And he won’t be back for a while, he went to some convention at the church.” Barty spat, leaning in once more.
Hayden turned away, emotions flying across his face.
“I care! I know you couldn’t give a toss, but I do. I won’t be some toy that you throw away after you’re finished with it because you’re grieving your dead mum and you’re angry at your dad for not telling you he knew she was dying. So you’re actively trying to piss him off, by sleeping around with whoever you can get with.”
“Don’t you dare—“
“I’m right though aren’t I? I’m just a game to you right? Well Barty I hate to break it to you but you’ve won! It’s time for you to pack it up. I’m leaving, I’m not having you fuck around anymore because you’re angry at the world and have a vendetta against your dad. Goodbye Barty.”
Hayden left with the slam of a door.
“Barty who in God’s name was that hooligan? Huh? Answer me!” The door swung open again and this time he was met with his father. Slightly drunk nonetheless, his words a little slurred.
“That was my boyfriend! Well ex-boyfriend but that doesn’t concern you.” Barty folded his arms, looking away from his father’s brooding eyes.
“That’s the 5th boy who has came by here and left those filthy marks all over your neck! It’s disgusting and utterly unacceptable Barty. It’s sin, you will repent and beg for The Lord’s forgiveness!” Crouch snr boomed, a lot had changed since his mother’s death.
“I will do no such thing! Having a boyfriend is not a sin! Mum would’ve wanted me to be happy with whom ever I chose!” Barty yelled, rage boiling deep within.
“Your mother isn’t here! I am your guardian and you will listen to me.” Barty felt a pull on his wrist as he was dragged and shoved into the car.
Barty grimaced as the large church door was pushed open.
“Why should I repent? I haven’t done anything wrong!” Barty began, looking at his father.
“You have committed a sin! Being ‘queer’ is sinful and shameful, God would be ashamed and you shall be sent straight to hell on your judgment day.” He replied, the word ‘queer’ sounding like a foul taste on his tongue.
“If God is all-loving, then why does he hate people who are different, like those who are LGBTQ? If God is all-powerful, then why does he allow suffering in the world when he could easily prevent it, If God is all-knowing wouldn’t he know that Adam and Eve were going to disobey him? And he still chose to punish them, despite him being supposedly all-loving. Riddle me that! This bullshit makes no sense-“
He was cut off by a harsh slap against his cheek. “Fuck you dad, Fuck you. I hate you, and I hate how I just have you as parent. I hate that mum’s dead. I wish it had been you.”