calling up rebellion [brance]

chapter nine: cycle through the puddles

TW; mentions of alcoholism throughout

VANCE HOPPER STOOD infront of bruce, his eyes streaming with blood red tears as he begged for him to stay. His hands clasped together as he fell to his knees, an annoyed bruce standing tall above him. He tried to look into his eyes, to see any sort of compassion or worry, but all he saw is black. His eyes weren't the beauty he had witnessed before but now deep black holes, like dark paint on a canvas.

Waking up with sweat beading down his face he found himself laying on his bed, his shirt halfway up his chest and his hair disarrayed across his face. The many people on his posters staring down at him, it almost felt as if they were judging him. Raising his head slightly to scan the room finding nothing more than the old mess that had always been there. Flinging his head back down against his pillow, watching his popcorn ceiling as two posters he'd attempted to stick up there had finally begun peeling.

Vance needed to get up, if he wanted to leave the house before his mother had awoken then he'd have to get up now. It was like a routine, wake up before your mother does and get out the house. But he didn't want to move, he felt like he was super glued to his bed. His legs ached, his arms ached, his head ached, his heart ached. Vance felt as if he was stuck staring at his boring ceiling for all eternity as Bruce's harsh words rounded his head like a moving train on a looped train track. The annoying whistle as it arrived going off nonstop, as if it was taunting him.

(This section contains abuse, mentions of suicide, manipulation. Scroll down until you see another one of these notes telling you it is no longer talking about these things if you'd like to skip. Thank you!)

Vance Hopper wasn't scared of anything, or anybody for that matter. Except his mother. Sometimes he'd mistake this fear for love, because no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't hate her. He couldn't hate his pathetic failure of a mother, and every time he tried his mind just travelled back to that day. The day they'd screamed at eachother at the top of their lungs, and how his mother had told him that if Vance ever left like his father she'd kill herself.

That was the day vance was given his scar, the scar that was forever the imprint of his mother across his back. Forever reminding him that he was none other than a creation of hers, he is nothing more than a monster like her. Just like Bruce had said, he was a disgusting monster.

Sometimes he'd feel the pain of the day he'd received that scar, he'd recall his screams and the way his mother shouted at him. Crying and sobbing and begging him not to leave her, to stay with her forever. He had pleaded over and over for her to stop, promising he'd stay by her side and never leave her. She stopped after awhile, but his back had a long red cut along the top of his left shoulder to the right side of his waist. It bled for awhile, but his mother had bandaged him up. He had asked to go to the hospital, scared it might get infected, maybe even doing some damage to his walking. But his mother just denied, telling him it'd cost too much.

Clearly his mom had some experience in dealing with cuts, large ones at that, because she had it cleaned and bandaged in less than 3 hours. Holding Vance close to her chest as she apologised profusely, telling him she didn't know what came over her. Begging him not to hate her, to not leave her and to keep being her sweet little boy. Stroking his head, kissing his forehead and rocking him back and forth in her arms.

He didn't want to forgive her, no he shouldn't have. He wanted to hate her, with his tear stained cheeks and tired eyes he should've never forgiven her. But he did, he always ended up forgiving her for all the pain she caused. Sometimes he felt as if she was twisting his mind, corrupting him slowly everyday and drowning him with pain just to pull him back out of the water.