Mr Bodyguard

|24|

- Lucifer -

Flashback:

I've finally come home after a long shift at the garage. It might not seem like a complicated job but fuck me fixing cars is the most complex thing ever, especially when I know nothing about cars. I'm completely covered in grease and dust, my white shirt now stained and a musty grey colour. My hands are painted with blisters from working with metals constantly. They've been bruised for days now but I haven't had the time to treat them properly. 

At least the job pays well. 

It makes the pain somewhat tolerable. 

I washed my hand thoroughly under the cold water, causing it to sting a little, then drying it with a paper towel. I hissed at the uncomfortable feeling, shaking my hair out of my face. 

"Why are you home? Your shift ends at 9."

I heard my least favourite voice question from the door of the kitchen. I immediately tensed up in discomfort, my hands clenching as I cracked my knuckles.

I looked at the clock which read 8:04. 

I wanted to roll my eyes so badly. 

"There was nothing left to do, so they let me go early."

My father looked at my suspiciously, looking me up and down skeptically. I let out a long sigh, waiting for his response which I already know is negative. 

"The last thing we need right now, is for you to have time off work. The bills need to be paid Kennan," he spat at me, pointing his finger at the multiple letters on the circular dining table. 

"They are being paid. By me."

I replied, not scared of him and his constant threats. 

Even though I was terrified of him as a kid, I grew out of that. I'm not stronger than him at all, but his hands don't hurt me anymore. I've gotten used to it, so much so that it no longer affects me. 

"I need you to be up earlier than normal tomorrow. Stan contacted me and said you were late to your morning shift-"

"By 10 minutes."

"Don't interrupt me boy. You may be turning 18 tomorrow but you're still a fucking child to me."

Yes, I am turning 18. 

And I will be up early tomorrow. 

Not for work though, I'm heading to the train station and getting far away from you bastards. 

"Yes father."

He scoffed at my weak tone.

"Disrespectful bitch. I didn't raise you to be like this."

He inched towards me in a threatening manner, his footsteps loud and heavy as his face turned red in rage. One thing about my father is that he has a quick temper. He has little to no patience. He grabbed my wrist, his fingers wrapping around my thin arms fully, his hold on my tightening with each second that passed. I refused to show any sign of pain, not letting him know he's hurting me. 

I won't give him that satisfaction. 

"You understand me, boy?"

"I understand."

He grunted, shoving my hand away from him and making me take a few steps back. 

"Pathetic. Get out of my sight."