A Safe Place II SBI (on hiatus)

Chapter 31: A Sense of Belonging

Bruh, I'm so glad I had enough space on my computer to save this T^T. For some reason, I am uber proud of this art :3

"Why did you have to look like her!? Why did I get cursed to see you every day!"

The shriek of a drunk. HER voice. Her malice-lined words thrown at a small 13 year old. Yells thrown to what she always presumed to be deaf ears, that she presumed to be a good-for-nothing burden. The same boy she would scream at with every ounce of fury, anger, and sadness in her heart. And every bit of it in the broken bottle of wine she held.

"She wouldn't have left us if you were just f*ucking out of our lives! My life!!!"

Ah, Wilbur could remember it distinctly now. People joked about how his memory was so photographic. But he just couldn't really see why he instinctually picked up on things so fast. Or rather, he wished he didn't know why.

All that he knew is that everything that went...no, that IS wrong with him clicked at the same moment altogether, like a lined-up set of legos. It was instantaneous. That day...

He was cleaning her house, One of the sole reasons why his Aunt hadn't left him to die in the streets (other than the money being sent in monthly from the government to foster him). He should be thankful.

Thankful.

He honestly couldn't believe why his child self should have been thankful. He's been shown what true 'love' and 'respect' is and what he had back then shouldn't have been seen as love...

Yet he still has a bit of it seething in his blood. That want to be seen as good, as not a burden. That view that he deserved all of the mistreatment for being a monster because he believed it.

A monster for surviving that horrific accident he caused.

On this specific day, He hadn't talked for months, wine all over the ground, thick and starchy as if though left for days hidden and untouched by her.

It was another day of his Aunt being outside again, disappearing with...someone...and not coming back until the dusk of sunrise, her makeup in full disarray like every other night. Yet this time, it was different. This time, she came back just before 3 am. Her red-painted hair had been out of its bun that she put on just minutes before she left. Her small round purse was hanging by her arm, barely being held up correctly, and her red lipstick was washed away, not smeared. Her eyeliner though had melted down to her cheeks in waves as silent tears washed her face.

Within just seconds of her entering, he could distinctly remember the sudden rush she took at him, and with one punch to the face, he was on the ground, a distinct taste of iron filling his mouth.

"It's your fault. it's because of you I won't ever see my sister again".

Her words flared every single inch of his mind that screamed to run, to stay away, yet he couldn't. Because a small part of his brain told him to stay, that he was bad, that he deserved whatever this was.

"You've ruined my life! You're nothing to me! You should fucking rot for all I care!"

He felt unable to move like he'd just been awoken with a bucket of water splashing upon his head. He could only think of how many times she had said that to him, yet this just felt different. It felt genuine, her drunk slurry of words felt sober, like she just wanted him to die, to disappear right that second.

He couldn't move from that spot on the ground. All he could do was stare, to take the scene in, unable to do anything else but mutely become her stress dummy, her punching bag.