In which you've got textbook daddy issues and when your tool of a younger brother brings a sweet doe eyed girlfriend home for Thanksgiving and you end up offering her a ride home, you meet just the man to fix them.
Warning: smut, daddy kink, age gap...
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A/N: Trigger warning- mentions of nonconsensual sex (not between main characters), mentions of recreational drug use, substance abuse
Owning a car had proven to be quite useful. Your mother had somehow convinced your father to loan you the money for a second hand car when you'd moved out, but you knew it was just so that he could control this aspect of your life. Having a car meant not being able to skip any holidays or family events, especially one that you'd not technically paid for. Because after this Christmas, when you'd be finally paying off your loan, you'd not be visiting for a long, looong time.
You'd told yourself you'd stop going home after uni, but you couldn't get yourself to do it until you got a job, saved up enough to be able to pay your father back, so that he'd not have anything to guilt trip you with.
So this was it. Finally, you'd saved up enough to pay your third and final instalment. You were giddy just thinking about it. Maybe you'd even move to another state. The world was your oyster now. As it was, you only lived 2 hours away from your hometown, and that was a little too close for your liking. No, you needed to be far away, as to not be able to "make it in time" for any other future family stuff. You were ready to cut all ties.
You contemplated this as you were driving to the airport, your brother was flying in from uni for Christmas holidays and you were the one designated to go collect him as it was "on your way home, anyway". Of course he got to go study at a better university, in a better state, doing something he actually enjoyed, while you'd been forced to pick something "realistic", as your parents had insisted. He could chase after his dreams, but not you. Typical.
Just 3 more days. That's it. Literally 3 more days, and then you could pretend like all of this had been just a fever dream. Your father had never beaten you growing up, you'd never seen your mother black and blue, you'd never been made to feel like you weren't worth a dime and everything was going to heal perfectly, no scars left to show for it. Which was utter bullshit of course, and you knew it, but you liked to pretend that running from your problems was actually going to solve them. Because at this point, there was little less you hadn't tried.
Your therapist was great, all of the ones you'd gone through had been in fact. But you just couldn't let this go, the trauma was there, ever present, like an eerie lingering feeling that you couldn't quite shake off. You'd tried the conventional methods-therapy, medication, self care, yoga, meditation, kickboxing... you name it; and then you'd tried the more unorthodox approaches that people desperate enough resort to in order to escape the reality of their lives and get out of their own heads even if just for a few hours at a time- your typical recreational drugs (nothing too crazy), meaningless casual sex, heavy drinking (typically alone at night while watching endless reruns of The Office), and maybe you'd begun abusively using sleeping pills at one point (never mixing with alcohol though), but you'd caught yourself right before it would've most likely begun to be a real problem. You were on the mend now though, you hadn't done any of that in a long while actually. You were even trying to give up smoking, a vice you'd had since you were 16 and that your parents still didn't know about. Mostly due to their own ignorance, you hadn't even tried hard enough to hide it.
