Ship: Peterick (kinda)
February 9, 2017
TW: Abuse
Pete slipped on his hoodie, grabbed his bag, and went outside to wait for Patrick so they could walk to school together. He looked at his arm and swore under his breath as he saw the broken face of his watch.
He snatched it off and threw it into the open kitchen window where he was sure someone would see it. Patrick walked up to Pete five minutes later. He adorned a worried look upon seeing Pete. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Normal shit."
Patrick sighed. "I'm sorry."
"No. You didn't do anything to be sorry for. It's them who should be sorry!" He pointed forcefully at the house, wincing at the pain in his arm at the sharp movement.
"Come here, let me see your arm." Pete looked anxious, but obliged. Patrick's face screwed up in an expression of rage and worry. He touched the already forming bruise lightly. "That wasn't there yesterday. When did it happen?"
"This morning."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Queen Cunt and Captain Fuckface decided I wasn't eating cereal correctly."
"... Um... What is the proper way to eat cereal?"
"Fuck if I know."
"Oh. Well, why don't we just get to school and I'm coming to your house after."
"Okay. I fuckin' love it when someone's over. They don't try to murder me."
Pete and Patrick walked down the sidewalk, turning at the end of the street and walking the rest of the way to the school.
"See you in third." Patrick said as he hugged Pete and went to his first class. Pete nodded in response and turned down the hallway that led to English class that he hadn't studied for.
He spent the rest of the day lying to his "friends" and listening to death threats directed at his parents from his friends. Until gym. That last period class had to be his least favourite. Especially when he had bruises. Normally, it fucking sucked, but once some of the dumbasses saw his bruises they'd poke and prod, laughing and making fun of him.
He walked into the locker rooms where, lucky him, changing was mandatory and the school didn't think that stalls were a necessity. He looked around, hoping he got in first, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he saw only one other person trying to hide in a corner.
He pulled off his shirt so quickly that tears welled in his eyes and put his other shirt on just as fast. His slightly more complicated and a hell of a lot tighter jeans took longer to get out of. He easily slipped on the disgusting blue shorts the school made all the boys get because "Go Knights."
He walked out just as the largest dumbass in the school walked in. Pete closed his eyes to a squint, bracing himself for the inevitable punch or shove that always came along with him.
"Move out of the fucking way." Pete was shoved and almost lost his balance, arms flailing. He took a deep breath and walked out into the gym. Now that that was over all he had to endure was the state mandated physical torture.
Pete blinked away the sunlight and shifted his bookbag on his shoulder. He walked with Patrick back to his house, unlocking the door and immediately going to his room.
He glanced at the time, wondering why his parents weren't home yet. He dismissed it as them staying later than usual at work and turned to Patrick. "Food?"
"Food." Patrick nodded and set his bag down next to Pete's on the floor. They walked to the kitchen and made sandwiches. Pete grabbed a bag of chips and two drinks from the stash he kept hidden in a cabinet. Pete walked back to his room dumping the food onto a table. Patrick set his own food beside Pete's and sat on the bed while Pete went out to grab something.
When Pete came back, they ate their food and watched whatever show came on TV. Pete went back and threw the random trash away, stumbling as he heard someone unlocking the door. He ran back up to his room, closing the door and sitting next to Patrick as if he never left his room. He cast worried glances at the door as he heard someone walking down the hallway towards his room.
"What's wrong, Pe-..." Patrick was cut off by Pete's door being slammed open and the shrill pitch of his mother's voice.
"I TOLD YOU TO DO YOUR CHORES AS SOON AS YOU GOT HOME!"
"But Patrick's here and I'm going to do them after he's gone..."
"I DON'T CARE IF JESUS CHRIST WAS HERE!"
"Patrick's more important than Jesus." The small smile on Patrick's face faded as Pete's mother walked over, grabbing Pete by the arm.
Pete tried to mask a wince and tried to keep up as his mother nearly dragged him down the stairs. "You will not, I repeat, not, say such blasphemy while you are in my house!" She hit him once, on the same arm that his latest bruise was on. Pete bit his cheek to hold back a yelp and words he knew would only get him hit again. "And if I find out that the boy up there is more than just your 'friend' I will do more than show you the right way."
Pete flinched at the thought and nodded. "Yeah, I get it." He tried to move out of her grip, but it only tightened. "I got it... just... let me go back to my room."
Pete held back a sigh of relief as he felt the pressure on his arm leave and walked back to his room. Patrick was pacing and almost fell trying to get to Pete as he walked in the door. "Are you okay?"
"Fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Not at all."
Patrick hugged him and Pete collapsed into Patrick's arms. Patrick sat on the bed and comforted him as best he could and Pete buried his face into Patrick's shoulder. "You don't need this." Patrick said.
"Hm?"
"This," he gestured around him. "This is a bad environment."
"I know. But in a couple years, I can leave and everything will be okay and I won't have to pretend I'm straight and not an atheist and that I love my parents."
Patrick sighed. "A couple years is a long time to be hit every other day."
Pete sniffled a couple times. "I know."
Patrick hugged Pete, trying to at least somewhat counter all of the horrible things Pete had to endure on a daily basis.
They stayed like that for a while, but eventually Pete looked at Patrick. "Have you done the homework already?"
Patrick nodded and grabbed his bag. "Yeah."
"You should let me see it."
"That's cheating, Pete."
"Pleeeease?" Pete poked out his lip and made begging eyes at Patrick.
Patrick sighed, "Alright, fine." He unwillingly handed the papers to Pete and Pete scribbled the answers, changing them when necessary even though he knew the teachers wouldn't check.
"Thanks, Pattycakes."
"That's not my name."
"Thanks, Not Pattycakes."
Patrick sighed once more, getting up from his spot on the bed and looking at the time. "Holy Smokes."
"What?" Pete looked at Patrick, slightly wide-eyed with anxiety. "Did I do something?"
"No. It's later than I thought. My mom wants me home soon. Crap."
"It's okay. Go home before you worry your mom."
Patrick hugged Pete again and grabbed his things. "Call if you need anything, Pete."
"I will."
Patrick left and Pete stayed on his bed, waiting for his mother to scream at him again to do his chores. Pete closed his eyes, hoping to get rid of the headache he felt was about to become a migraine.
Pete woke up suddenly, confused. He didn't remember falling asleep and all he knew was that his mom was yelling and he scrambled to get downstairs.
"Hands on the wall."
Pete froze. She had a belt, the belt. He put shaky hands on the wall, bitten down nails digging into the paint.
He tensed up, the first hit was always the worst. The belt came down on his back. He winced.
"I love you, Pete."
"Et mon cul, c'est du poulet."
"What did you say?!"
"I love you too, mom."
"Lies!" She hit Pete again, his back arching.
He screwed his face up in pain, wishing for either him or his mom to drop dead. He lost count, zoning out and going numb after six. He snapped back when his mom yelled something at him and pushed him toward the kitchen.
He stumbled in. The pain he was initially numb to came back. He walked over to the window, but stopped when his foot hit something. His broken watch glinted as the sun hit it.
Pete grabbed the watch and took it back to his room, evidence that it wasn't his fault.
Damn I've been productive.