Forming Unwanted Distnace

Wrote this partially for myself and partially for a writing assignment for school enjoy~

You open the door and the first thing you see is him sitting on the couch, arms crossed, holding his legs to his chest, and glaring at the wall across from him.  This is no surprise to you because he is sitting in the same position every day when you get home.  You shut and re lock the door, pull off your shoes and walk into the living room.  You come to a stop behind your large couch and the sullen teen sitting on it and lean forward, your head nearly resting on his shoulder.

"I'm home." You whisper, you had stopped yelling the phrase a while ago.  As usual the teen is unresponsive, too wrapped up in his thoughts to hear.  You sigh and hop over the back of the couch, landing next to him, not drawing any response from the boy.  After months of the same routine you should be used to the repetitive cycle you live in but the truth is that every day you hope for the ritual to break, for every habit built over the span of three months, to shatter, for life to become unpredictable again.  You reach over and grab his right arm and pry it off his legs, holding it in your lap.  The movement alerts the other teen of your presence and he responds with a groan.

"Hi there." You say forcing a smile back onto your face.

"Hi." He mumbles.  Your smile falters but stays on your face nonetheless.  He moves his legs to the floor and grabs your hand with the hand you trapped in your lap, "How was your day?" he asks.

"Normal.  Nothing exciting ever happens." You sigh, knowing that it is the truth.  Ever since you moved out of your dad's house and into this one the monotony of your life has been strangling you.  In the beginning it was refreshing, never needing to guess what would happen, but then it started to worry you, how you would get home every day to have the same chain of events happen, and it still does.

"Oh." He sighs, shoulders slumping forward.

"Please tell me what's wrong." You say even though you know what he will say, because you have the same argument every day.

"Nothing is wrong!  God, you always think that something is f*****g wrong!" He yells.  Always the same response.

"Please, I can't take this anymore.  I hate coming home to the same s**t every day!" you yell back, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"God f*****g d****t, nothing is wrong!" he yells, standing up and yanking his hand from yours.  He storms into the bedroom you share with him, slamming the door.

"No…" you whisper after him.  You bury your head in the couch cushions and let the tears fall.