𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎

𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗' 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

Notes: 

TW: violence, explicit language

. . . . . . . . .

David sighs as he walks down the stairs, looking down at his worn-in Converse as they make light thumps with each new step. I need new shoes, he thinks, mine are too old-

A door swings open and David snaps his head forward, he reaches the bottom of the stairs and his eyes come to his father, stumbling through the door. David doesn't need to ask to know that he's drunk, he reeks of alcohol, and his eyes are heavy and agitated, rimmed red with loathsome. David doesn't want to deal with this, he can't deal with this, he has places to be. He hopes that he can ignore his father, and walk by him without notice, but he knows that's wishful thinking.

"Whe... where ya think you're going?" William slurs, fumbling forward, his shirt is missing a button and he ambles like his limbs can't keep up with his body.

"I'm going out, Dad," David says, quietly, his head cowers to the floor, he can't look him in the eyes.

"Where? you... you can't just be running around."

"I'm seeing a friend," He replied, cleanly, smoothly, through unclogged airways.

David tries to walk past, hoping his father is too drunk to pry, he wants to be left alone tonight.

"Who," his father spits, although he already knows.

"Exer," David says, "I'm seeing Exer,"

And he wishes he had just lied and given him a false name, because his father's face contorts into a look of disgust, "No- no, you're not gonna go with that kid, he's a bad influence, he... he is uh corrupting ya," David stares at him numbly, "next thing I know you'll be quitting football too, ya already wear those girly buttoned shirts. You're not going."

"Dad, he's picking me up, he'll be here any minute. I'm going." David is set on this, he wants to go, badly, and he refuses to cower to his father any longer, but despite David's efforts, William Miller still loves a good fight.

"No..." He says, stepping forwards, David retracts, he can smell the bear on him so clearly now, sweat lines his father's forehead. His skin is pale and cracked yellow, he looks sick.

"I don't want you seeing that... that... boy, you're no longer allowed over there," he scoffs, "You're my son, you do as I say,"

"I wish I wasn't,'' David whispers. He knows he shouldn't provoke him, not in a state like this, but David is tired, and tonight he feels like fighting back.

"What did ya say to me!" His father yells, and he clutches onto David's coller, "Speak boy,"

David wants to scramble away, he wants to throw up because his dad disgusts him, and he knows that his father feels the same. Mutual hatred and sadness, swirled together as one fucked up family, David thinks.

"I said, I wish I wasn't," David raises his voice.

"What?"

"I wish I wasn't your son!" He yells in his face, feeling a wave of satisfaction cross over him as his father's eyes widen in surprise, but the look quickly changes to anger, "I want nothing to do with you-"

David's father sneers as he lets go of his son's collar, he fumbles backward and pulls his right arm back before punching David right in the face. David falls backward, gasping, clutching his nose. His body hits the floor.

. . . . . . . . .

The steering wheel is cool beneath Exer's touch, he grips it, waiting. It's been 5 minutes, and no sign of David. Exer is parked outside the house, he debates honking but decides against it, he doesn't want to cause a scene. He can see William Miller's car parked in the driveway and he doesn't want to make him hate him more than he already does.