Freshly Squeezed, Please

A/N
dont forget i have a tumblr where you can ask me anything!! my url is also pluckypikachu225 over there :P)

END A/N

Orville remembers his father more than one might think he does.

He... wasn't the best person.

There was never much yelling or many threats... none of that. No, Orville's father didn't like making a fuss physically.

What Senior 'Ville did like however, was mind games.

Orville remembers the way his father would look at him sometimes. There were things deeply hidden within his gaze. So, so many things that Orville could not even begin to understand at his young age.

But he sees them. He sees the horrors which this man is capable of in his eyes. Eyes that pierce through his very soul.

But more than that, Orville remembers the horrible games of mind chess he'd play with his Ma.

So, so often would they have to squeak by his room as he snored loudly, a simple creak in the floorboards enough to alert him. And even then, he would wake and look at his Mom and she'd stare back. And Orville would look between them. And though useless, unmeaning words were said aloud, the real battle was between their faces.

And time after time, Orville would watch his Mom's face fall in a slightly different way.

And she would lose that day's game.

+++

Strict was not quite the right word for Senior 'Ville. He wouldn't pitch a fit should something leave his favor. He wouldn't throw or hit or anything drastic. But he would put a soft hand on your shoulder sometimes. He would do such an act of kindness, only to squeeze. The worse the misstep, the harsher the grip.

Sometimes it was hard enough to leave Orvilles's shoulder sore for a week.

He knew his Mom was no stranger to the vice grips as well, what with her not so subtly rolling her shoulders every so often, trying to get the feeling back into the connected muscles.

It hurt, God did it hurt, but Orville never said anything. His Ma went through enough. His father may hurt her more. It wasn't worth the risk.

It was never worth the risk.

+++

So vividly does Orville remember his first blow up.

It was already a bad day. School had been horrendous, what with the kids seemingly all deciding today was a great day to mock him for his speech patterns, not to mention lunch. They hadn't served a single thing he liked, and it was a rare day where his Ma hadn't had the chance to pack him one. This had left him hungry as well.

So when he bumps into his father and drops his glass and milk goes flying everywhere and glass shards litter the ground and there's a very damp spot on his dad's brand new suit...

Orville screams.

He screams and he cries and he feels the pressure of his father's eyes judging him.

He offers no help and only backs up a bit.

"Look at what you've done," he says, tone bland, just like always. "The dry cleaner's not cheap, you know."

Orville cannot respond, though. Because he's collapsed into a heap on the floor, still screaming, still crying, side now drenched in milk.