Woso Imagines

Glass Child

When you got the offer to play at a big youth academy, you just ran home to tell your parents, purely by a combination of hope and excitement. It was in your excitement that you completely forgot who they were.

"MUM! DAD! I got into an academy in the city!" You shouted as soon as the door closed behind you, football bag with only the essentials in it dropping to the floor loudly.

"What is this ruckus Y/n. You know better than to interrupt Lila's sleeping time. Pick your bag up and go to your room right this second young lady." Despite her shouting louder than you had, you were still the one who got in trouble.

"But I just wanted to tell you-" The words come out defeated, your parents not once being happy for you taking a toll on your entire being.

"But nothing." She says sternly, pointing to the stairs. Head pointing towards the floor, you don't let her see the salty tears forming in the corners of your eyes. She wouldn't care anyway, not when her precious Lila still existed.

The walls shook with the amount of force you used to slam the door closed, the shouts of your mother lighting up the corridors like fireworks. The tears finally escaped when you were in the comfort of your own room, throwing your bag down to the floor harshly.

The bag wasn't your source of frustration but once again it didn't have any feelings either, it couldn't see or feel, neither could it gain consciousness. So, it was the best thing to take out all your frustrations on.

But no matter how much you kicked and punched, no matter how many bruised knuckles you got from the hard materials inside the bag, it still didn't get better.

Your parents weren't going to magically start to care for you just because of some bruises, not when you had come home with far worse and they still hadn't cared. You didn't exist to them, their lives only revolved around Lila, the sun to their earths.

Picking up a plastic figurine from the ratty old desk you had inherited from your brother, you launch it across the room and directly into the wall. With a pop, the head of the Captain America figurine separates from the body, rolling across the hardwood floor almost mockingly.

When the realization of what you'd done hit, you dropped down to your knees with a thud. Picking up the scratched and broken toy off the floor, you clutch the parts to your chest tightly like they would disappear if you loosened your hold ever so slightly.

How could you break the only thing your brother had ever given you? 'Keep it safe for me, yeah?' He told you when he left the house you grew up in the last time, he had said that he didn't need it where he was going. You knew in the back of your mind that he wouldn't care about the broken state of the toy, but the overwhelming and conflicting feelings waging a war inside you amplified your emotions tenfold.

You weren't used to this, crying. No, it was much easier to compartmentalize your feelings, to experience your feelings rationally and not as emotionally as you just had.

But it seems like the feelings were far too strong this time, creating an earthquake of sorts in your mind that opened all the drawers of the imaginative dresser where you stored all your emotions. And so they hit you all at once, all the negative emotions and thoughts crashing into you like powerful waves.

Eventually there were no tears left to fall, empty sobs escaping your mouth every now and then, face buried in your knees with your back up against the wall. Breathing in deeply, you lean your head back against the colorless wall, wishing you could be anywhere but there at that moment.

Bringing your hands up to your face, they slowly fall back down to your sides, your muscles relaxing for the first time since you had come home. There was no point in just sitting there and sulking, the pitch not too far from your house calling your name.