Unbroken {Solangelo}

chapter 20.

tw// homophobia and mention of abuse

.:Will POV:.

I close the door carefully, as not to disrupt my mum. It's nearly two a.m., and I just got home after staying at the hospital with Nico. I had to. I couldn't left him alone, with his thoughts.

My thoughts, however, are overflowing with the boy. The glimmer in his dark eyes when he smiles, and then him attempting to hide those smiles. The way he pushes me back them pulls away, like he can't make up his mind, when he kisses me--we've only kissed twice, and I've already picked up on his little techniques. His lips, both times, have been chapped and rough against mine and I love it.

I find myself grinning like a dork at the thought of it--at the thought of him--when I notice something's off. The lights are on, and the smoke waving around the room seems slightly more controlled, as if mum didn't fall asleep with a cigarette in her fingers, letting the smoke come off of it and fill the room, like she usually does. My smile drops and curls into a wary frown.

Then I see Mum, dressed in only a robe with her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head and a scowl twisted across her face, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Her eyes narrow at the sight of me as she flicks ash off the end of her ever-present cigarette.

"Look who's finally home." She sneers. She doesn't slur, she must be somewhat sober. I've always preferred the drunken Mum to the sober Mum. Even though the intoxicated Mum beat me around, it's all she really did, her brain too jumbled with alcohol and drugs to register what her body is inflicting on me. Sober Mum, however, knows what she's doing and can snake through my mind, manipulate it, coil around it and squeeze whatever she wants out of me. "Where were you?"

"I-I had to drive my friend to the hospital." I answer honestly, wringing my fingers.

Mum scoffs. "Serves that little shit good." She knows about Nico, because I'd been coming home later and happier, so she knew something was up and managed to mangle the truth out of me.

I don't correct her. I don't say that I had to take him to see his injured sister, that he's not actually in the hospital himself. That way, she would know that I stayed with Nico longer than necessary, that I could've come home earlier but no, I'd wanted to be with him, and she would end it.

"You can't hang around with that - that fag anymore. Look what he's done to you." She takes a drag, blowing the smoke out through her nose.

"He's not a fag, Mum." I mumble.

Her head snaps toward me, eyes sharp. "Yes, he is. You were raised better than this. Those gays are faggots, Will. Disgusting. And I will not have my son around one. He'll try and turn you into one, and we just got that fixed up."

Images flash through my mind, taking over my vision, like a tape playing. They're memories.

I'd just come out to my mum as bisexual. She was outraged. She went on about how it was to ruin my future, it disgraced the family, that I was lucky I could be "cured" or else I'd be pushed to live on the streets. That night was the first night she hit me: slapped me across the face and shoved me backwards into the wall so hard that the bruises took almost two weeks to fade. That night was the first night she'd gotten so drunk that she couldn't walk, I'd had to help her to her room and she was cursing me the entire time. I have hardly seen her sober since that night.

Four years ago.

Mum takes a deep breath and rubs her fingers in a circle at her temple, as if I've given her a headache. She buries her face in her hands and I take it as an opportunity to stumble up the stairs and onto my room, falling backward onto my bed. Tears prick my eyes.

I slide my phone out of my pocket, scrolling through the contacts. I lay eyes on one I haven't had the need to call yet. Now I need to. I dial the number and push call, tucking one arm under my head as it rings.

"Hello?" A familiar voice picks up and I automatically calm down, peacefulness shooting through my veins.

"Nico?"