Gasoline - Ranboo Angst

Chapter 3

Ranboo's POV

TW: Drunk, abuse, yelling, swearing, destruction of belongings, thinking no one cares (if you think that I can promise you it isn't true <3 )

After several minutes of trying to recover Tommy's memory so he could tell us about his dream we all gave up. "Well guys I should probably get to bed. It's getting late now." I wished I didn't have to. But if my Dad found out there were people I could tell about my current situation, Tommy, Tubbo and their families would be dead in a week. Anything to keep my sexuality and pronouns a secret. "Okay. Bye Boss Man!" I tried to disguise my flinch as a shiver. "Bye Ranboo!" I could tell by Tommy's focussed expression that he was still trying to remember his dream. "Bye Big T's!" I then left the call. And double checked that I definitely had then breathed out a sigh of relief.

They were safe. For now at least.

A few minutes later I heard the door rattle and open. "WHERE ARE YOU BOY?!" I heard my Dad's voice yell, slightly slurred. He was drunk. As always. "Coming!" I wiped the last of my tears away, making sure I didn't look too relieved or too scared. Any emotions I showed could be used against me. "What's in your room." He asked as soon as I got down the stairs. "What do you mean?" I saw his face fill with rage. He brought his palm into contact with my cheeks making me stumble back. "THE FUCKING COMPUTER BOY. THE ONE YOU USE TO STREAM." My eyes widened. How did he know I streamed?

I saw an evil grin slide onto his face. "You thought you could hide it from me didn't you? WELL NO LONGER. I forbid you from streaming and to make sure you don't I am going to destroy your equipment." He pushed me away and grabbed a bat out of the closet. No- no he couldn't do this- Tubbo- Tommy- everybody- my fans- none of them will know what happened to me. I can't say bye. I can't do- anything- even if I was constantly misgendered by them it wasn't their fault- it was my safe space- I cried. "No- god no-"

I collapsed on the floor shaking and screaming. "SHUT UP BOY!" He yelled from upstairs. I flinched at the masculine term. I heard the collision of wood and plastic and glass. "OH SO YOU HAVE A PHONE BEHIND MY BACK?! NOT ANYMORE BITCH!" He yelled through manically laughing. I pulled my hoodie up to my face and screamed. This couldn't be happening- suddenly my Dad pulled me to me feet. "Clean it up dumbass." He spat in my face then walked to the kitchen to grab a bottle of vodka. Or at least I assumed it was vodka. That seemed to be his favourite at the moment. I forced myself to move up the stairs. The door was closed. I felt my hands shake as I began to turn the door knob.

All of my equipment was everywhere. My computer was in pieces. My headset was broken in half. My mic was bashed to bits. My phone had a hole in the middle of the screen. I could see through it. Nothing was repairable. It was all gone for good. My hands frantically tried to pick all the pieces up before I was beat again. I was shaking as I rushed to put all the scattered pieces in the bin. What would everyone think? 

Would they be mad? 

No. They'll be glad I'm gone.