"wyatt?" wyatt's drunken dad, doug, had called across the empty house.
wyatt sighed heavily as he stood from his old bed. the wooden frame of the bed was old and creaky. it was very loud, especially when it didn't need to be.
he stepped his way around empty beer bottles that littered the floor. they begged to be stepped on and get wyatt slapped. begged to make his dad angry. begged to make wyatt's life a living hell.
"yes?" he asked. "are you giving me attitude?" doug practically yelled.
wyatt scoffed under his breath. "no," he responded tiredly. his dad stood up and staggered towards him. wyatt stepped back a little, his broad shoulders pressing against the wall.
"good. you better not," he slurred, pressing his sausage shaped finger into wyatt's chest with a great amount of force. "okay, dad," wyatt said as he nodded slowly. wyatt's face snapped to the side quickly. he was a bit confused at first.
he felt the sting and understood. "don't contradict me, boy," he shouted into wyatt's face. wyatt fought back tears, refusing to cry in front of his dad. he nodded as doug stumbled back into his easy chair to retire his mean, drunken state for a grumpy, sober state a few hours later.
just a normal day in the oleff house.