Five

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TW!!
CONTAINS ABUSE, SLURS, SELF HARM.

THIS CONTENT IS RATED 13+, AND IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES.

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

———

Finney woke up at 5:00 am sharp, since his dad wanted me home early. He couldn't remember how early though.

'Wait.. Didn't he say to come home at 3:00am?
Shit. Well he can't just expect me to stay up that late just to walk home at 3.' Finney mentally rolled his eyes.

He tried to move out of Vance's arms, but he was holding him too tight. Finney grabbed Vance's arm and put it to the side, but he just groans, holding him even tighter.
"Vance.." Finney whispered.

"Mh.." he grunts.

"Vance, I need to go home.." Finney whispered.

"Five more minutes.."

Finney sighed, smiling. He eventually gave up, snuggling back into his arms. He drifts back off to sleep.

———

He wakes up again, to the sound of giggling and a snap of a camera. Vance's arm comes off of him, and he sits up on the couch.
"What the fuck."

Finney sat up also, looking at griffin who was holding a camera. "Griffin.. delete that right now."

"No can do! Also my mom says breakfast is ready." Says griffin, giggling.

"Breakfast? What time is it?" Finney asked.

"Uhhh- I think it's 10:30? Why-" He cut off griffin by tumbling off the couch, and racing upstairs.

"Finn?" Vance calls after him, and they both run up the stairs after him.

Finney reached the top of the stairs, seeing billy and robin sitting on the couch talking.

"Finn, where are you going??" Asks griffin.

"I gotta get home. It was nice seeing you guys though! Thank you so much for having me, miss stagg!" Finney say to marie, who's mixing a bowl of pancake mix.

"Of course, Finney. It was lovely meeting you!"

He got on his shoes, and raced out the door.
He felt rude for leaving like that, but he needed to get home.

"Finn! Let me at least drive you home." Says Vance, walking out the door with his keys.

"Oh— I-I don't wanna bother you, I'll just wa-"
Vance cuts him off.

"Finn, get your ass in the truck." Says Vance, unlocking his vehicle and getting in the front seat.

Finney sighed, and got into the passengers seat. Vance started the engine, pulling out of griffins driveway.

"How come you need to get home so quickly?" 
Vance asked.

"Oh, uh. My d-dad wanted to have breakfast with me. Yeah, thats it." Finney lied. Vance could literally read him like an open book, but he chose not to say anything. He drove finn home quickly, and he got out.

"Bye Vance! Thank you for driving me!" He yelled, going to his front door.

"Whatever. See ya, finn." He says, driving off.

He waited until Vance drove away before unlocking the door.

[WARNING!! ABUSE, AND SELF HARM AHEAD!
Skip to the end if i dont want to read it.]

As soon as he stepped inside, a bottle was thrown at him. Luckily, he dodged it just in time. "Where the fuck have you been, Finney?!" Yells his father.

"At a friends hou-"

"No! I said curfew's at 3:00!! And you know what?! You came at fucking 10:45!!"

Finney flinched whenever he said one word.
He steps closer, and Finney backed up.
"D-dad please. You have to understand this isn't m-my fault.. p-please.."
before he could say anything else, he takes off his belt.

"You fucking deserve whatever happens to you. You and your faggot friends. Why can't you just be— fucking normal.." he rants, folding the belt.

"D-dad please.." Finney pleaded, mentally preparing for what will happen next.

He ignores his pleads, and slaps him across the face. Finneys body hit the ground, and his eyes well up with tears. His face burned, and He touches his cheek.

His body flinches with every hit. Finney chokes out ugly sobs. His hands cover my face, and terrance keeps hitting him. Finneys starting to think he's a sadist, as a grin forms on his face.

He hits him one last time, before stopping and staring at him. Breaking down on the floor.

With every tear that falls from finneys face, Terrance's smile widens.

tears fall to the ground, and he can't even look at his father. "Do you.. enjoy watching me suffer?" He asked him. Terrance goes silent, and his smile falls. He drops the belt, and backs away.

"No.." he pauses.

"No. Y-you made me d-do this. Y-you did this to yourself." He tries to convince himself.
"I-I'm not a bad person. You made me do this."

And with that, he walks away.

Lying there, Finney processed what had just happened. He blames finney for what he does.

'This is my fault.
I did this to him.
I made him like this.
He was happy, until I came into his life.
I ruined everything.
It's my fault Gwen left.
My fault.'

Finney got up, and walked into the bathroom.
He got a pencil sharpener, for 'emergency's.'

He breaks the plastic, and the blade falls out.
He locked the door in the bathroom, and looked into the mirror.

'I'm so ugly when I cry.' He thought, glaring at his very own reflection.

He picked up the blade, and positioned it on his forearm. His hands shake, and he looked back to the mirror. Bruises all over his face were more than enough evidence kf his father hating him.

'It's not his fault. I could never blame my father for the things he has done. He's gone through so much.'

Ever since finneys mom had died, he's been struggling with a drinking problem.

'It's not his fault.

Gwen left, just like mom.

It's not his fault.'

He gripped the small blade in his hand, and glided it against his skin. Blood forms in small dots around the cut, and it drips down onto his hand. A feeling rises in his stomach.

Feeling of relief. A coping mechanism. An u healthy one.

He cut another line, and another.
Just to feel the cold blade on his skin.
His wrist filled with small cuts.

'What am I doing.'

He dropped the blade in horror.

'What have I done?..'

He backed into the wall.
The image of the blood floods his mind, and he couldn't escape it.

"No, no, no, no, no...."

The red liquid drips onto the bathroom tiles, and he sits in the corner.

'How am I going to explain this to my friends if they find out.'

———

If you are struggling with abuse or self harm, don't be afraid to reach out for help or to a trusted adult.
There are multiple hotlines that you can call, and text to. You are not alone.

———

1100+ words

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 / 𝘧𝘪𝘹-𝘪𝘵! 𝘢𝘶 Where stories live. Discover now