The Baker's Sons

Broken Family (1)

Warning: There is abuse in this. It might not be very accurate to actual situations. Only the first 2 or so chapters has this.
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Wilbur sat at the kitchen table, his head low and muscles tense. A heavy tension hung in the air. His parents sat across the table silently. The silence seemed to consume his mind, taking his body captive. He was scared to even breathe wrong.

His mother looked stressed as well, sitting just as tense as he was. Wilbur knew they both noticed the shift in his father's mood when he caught his son playing the guitar again. The old man wasn't even a couple steps into the door when he heard the strumming coming from downstairs. There was no conversation about it yet, just disappointed looks and a badly hidden anger raging in his father's eyes. He knew it was coming though.

"Wilbur." The stone cold voice made him freeze. "What did we say about the guitar, Wilbur?" His father asked him. The calm of his voice was a warning. Panic seized Wilbur and causes him to sink lower, eyes boring into the kitchen table.

"Wilbur Soot." The voice said louder. It was more stern, the anger creeping into the edges. "You better answer me boy or we're gonna have issues."

Wilbur swallowed and pushed the words out of his mouth, "You said not to play it anymore because it was a girly thing."

"Thats right." Wilbur could hear the sick enjoyment coming from him. "So, why did you go and play it?" The old man asked. Wilbur didn't have a response to that, at least not one that wouldn't get him yelled at. There were a few long moments where he desperately searched his mind for words. His father loudly put his fist on the table, not quite slamming but enough to get a point across.

"Because I enjoy it!" Wilbur blurted out. There was nothing else for him to say that would get him any less of a punishment. He stiffened as his father moved out of his chair and toward him, placing a hand on Wilbur's shoulder. Fingers dug into his skin.

"What did you just say?"

Wilbur took a shaky breath in, considering his response. Anger welled up in his veins from his father's hand on his shoulder. How dare this man touch him. "I enjoy it and it makes me happy. I don't see why you hate it so much." That made the touches get rougher. Hands grabbed his face, forcing him to look up at the cruel guy.

"Boy you are asking for it right now." The final warning came before Wilbur was ripped from his chair. Hands grabbed his shirt and arm and dragged him away toward his room. He could hear his mother call after them, voice pleading for his release. Before he knew it he was being thrown onto the floor of his room, a kick landing in his side. He gasped in pain.

"BOY I WARNED YOU MANY TIMES BEFORE SO CONSIDER THIS YOUR LAST!" Screamed his father, standing over the boy he was supposed to love. A foot came down on his chest. "That guitar playing is pussy shit and I won't be having a son doing that under my roof. I hear you play that thing one more time and thats it for you. You'll be lucky if i don't kill ya." It said to him. The weight on his chest disappeared then the door slammed shut, leaving him to lay on the floor.

Wilbur curled himself into a ball, clutching his stomach. Tears seeped out of his eyes onto the floor as he choked on pain. He didn't expect it to get that bad. It wasn't uncommon that Wilbur received words or a hit, but he had pushed it too far.

The pain receded enough for him to push himself up and fall into his bed, a simple mattress on the floor. He laid face up and cried. Despite everything, it wasn't often he cried. Holding it in until last minute seemed to work for him. Majority of the time the set off was situations like this.

He didn't quite understand his home life. Kids at school always spoke about their parents with light in their eyes and pride. They spoke of them as if they were best friends. Sometimes the students or even the teachers would ask him questions about his own parents and all he could respond with was a dull 'They're okay' or a 'They're really nice'. As the abuse got worse over the years, it turned into a smile or an excuse. Now he was twelve and it was no response at all.

Occasionally he would be in a bad mood and let something concerning slip, earning him disturbed looks or a note from the counsellor. He never let enough out to be cps worthy, though he didn't know why he didn't. Part of him would give anything to be out of the house and away from a father that seemed to hate him so badly. But after years of people looking disturbed at the hints or his mother's terrified looks he learned to keep it a secret. He had even made up an entire new dad in his head in case students forced answers out of him. A nice caring father that helped him with homework and played ball. Your stereotypical father.

Sometimes thinking about it would make him hurt. Dreaming of a life he would likely go without, one where he wasn't hit or hated. One where his own father didn't remind him of how disappointing he was every single day. One where his mother didn't live in fear of the monster she married.

Wilbur shut off the idea of it in his mind. It was starting to make him cry harder. He rolled to his side and looked out of the window well in his room. He looked up at the night sky and imagined what it was like up there. Freeing, maybe.

He cried himself to sleep.