Post by Garrett Speelers on Feb 24, 2007 15:21:33 GMT -5
Garrett had gone into the boy's bathroom to assess his damage. Sure last night it had looked pretty bad, but today was so much worse. He had to quick think of an excuse. He had hit his head on his head board. . .he woke up in the middle of a dream and hit his head on the wooden frame. That sounded about right. If you didn't know something was there you moved with full force and often times injured yourself far worse.
God, why couldn't his dumbass father have aimed for his chest or some place he could easily cover up? Why his face? He gingerly touched the skin around his right eye and cheek bone and winced.
((since umm his dad doesn't exist. . I decided not to try and post the events of the previous night separately. . .but put them in here instead.))
He walked into the house at 5:40, having stalled out back for a bit. He hadn't tried to smoke again so his father wouldn't catch the smell of smoke on him. It would just give him something else to berate him for. He came in through the back, screen door and hoped to make it up to his room without running into his father.
However, he had to go through the living room to get to the stairwell, and as his luck would have it, his father was eating chinese food out of a box on his reclining chair.
"Well look who finally decided to drag his sorry ass back here," he commented. "I hear you've been shacking up with a bunch of queers. . ."
He rolled his eyes, but kept his hands in his pockets, heat emitting from his face as he felt his silent rage beginning.
"That's none of your business," he said in an abnormally quiet voice compared to his usual tones. "I only came here because Pat can't afford to keep me at his place anymore."
His father put down his rice box and stood up. Garrett felt himself shrinking back towards the wall out of habit. His father gave his usual warning, dangerous grin.
"Don't you talk back to me," he said, grabbing Garrett's hair and hitting his head into the wall. "So after your little fag dinner you just thought you'd drop in on your worthless piece of shit brother?"
Garrett's hands went for his hair, but when they did, his father back handed him hard enough to formerly have made him cry. He dropped to the floor and got to his feet quickly.
"He's not worthless," he said, his face turning bright red in a hand print shape.
"Shut the hell up," his father said, hitting his head into the wall again and again and again. "Now you don't like that do you? You're not gonna speak again unless I ask you a question, are you?. . . .ARE YOU!?!"
Garrett could feel his eyes welling up slightly and his face shaking wiht a looming outburst of tears. ..when he spoke. .. there was a bit of spit in his mouth.
"No!" he shouted.
"Good, now get the hell up into your room. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night," he said, letting go of Garrett's neck.
He'd been holding onto it to hit his head against the wall. He backhanded him once more and once he was down, he gave him a swift kick to the gut. Once Garrett had scrambled to his feet, he went to his room, feeling tears leak out of his eyes and down his face.
He wished he could move in with one of his brothers. He knew they wouldn't win a custody battle over his dad. Patrick had tried once: it had taken up all the money their foster mother had left them and he still hadn't won. For now he just had to suck it up and be a man.
God, why couldn't his dumbass father have aimed for his chest or some place he could easily cover up? Why his face? He gingerly touched the skin around his right eye and cheek bone and winced.
((since umm his dad doesn't exist. . I decided not to try and post the events of the previous night separately. . .but put them in here instead.))
He walked into the house at 5:40, having stalled out back for a bit. He hadn't tried to smoke again so his father wouldn't catch the smell of smoke on him. It would just give him something else to berate him for. He came in through the back, screen door and hoped to make it up to his room without running into his father.
However, he had to go through the living room to get to the stairwell, and as his luck would have it, his father was eating chinese food out of a box on his reclining chair.
"Well look who finally decided to drag his sorry ass back here," he commented. "I hear you've been shacking up with a bunch of queers. . ."
He rolled his eyes, but kept his hands in his pockets, heat emitting from his face as he felt his silent rage beginning.
"That's none of your business," he said in an abnormally quiet voice compared to his usual tones. "I only came here because Pat can't afford to keep me at his place anymore."
His father put down his rice box and stood up. Garrett felt himself shrinking back towards the wall out of habit. His father gave his usual warning, dangerous grin.
"Don't you talk back to me," he said, grabbing Garrett's hair and hitting his head into the wall. "So after your little fag dinner you just thought you'd drop in on your worthless piece of shit brother?"
Garrett's hands went for his hair, but when they did, his father back handed him hard enough to formerly have made him cry. He dropped to the floor and got to his feet quickly.
"He's not worthless," he said, his face turning bright red in a hand print shape.
"Shut the hell up," his father said, hitting his head into the wall again and again and again. "Now you don't like that do you? You're not gonna speak again unless I ask you a question, are you?. . . .ARE YOU!?!"
Garrett could feel his eyes welling up slightly and his face shaking wiht a looming outburst of tears. ..when he spoke. .. there was a bit of spit in his mouth.
"No!" he shouted.
"Good, now get the hell up into your room. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night," he said, letting go of Garrett's neck.
He'd been holding onto it to hit his head against the wall. He backhanded him once more and once he was down, he gave him a swift kick to the gut. Once Garrett had scrambled to his feet, he went to his room, feeling tears leak out of his eyes and down his face.
He wished he could move in with one of his brothers. He knew they wouldn't win a custody battle over his dad. Patrick had tried once: it had taken up all the money their foster mother had left them and he still hadn't won. For now he just had to suck it up and be a man.
