Always

51| Flashback

THREE YEARS AGO...

Trigger warning
⚠️ Abuse ⚠️

Greyson

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes you better be ready," Kevin says. "You know Lexi drives pretty fast, so hurry."

"Kev my hair's not slicking right!" Jacob shouts.

"Sigh, duty calls. See you in fifteen."

"But I don't wanna go," I whine.

"And I wanna wear a black choker instead of a green one. Boo-hoo. You promised already, so get your butt in a tux and be ready in fifteen."

"I hate you."

"Yeah yeah, I love you too."

I really don't want to go to this stupid dance but I absolutely have to. However I pushed the thought of this dance so far in the back of my mind that I forgot it was this soon.

I have to make sure dad eats something before I leave or else he'll starve. I still have this morning's bed hair, I have no idea where my suit is, and I'm going with Samatha of all people to this stupid dance.

The only reason I'm going is to make sure no one tries anything funny tonight with Allison. There were some other freshmen and a few sophomores on the football team that I overheard in the locker rooms were coming to the dance solely for girls. I don't change in there with everyone else, but I just happened to walk in and heard everything. They're great football players, but really shitty people that I don't want anywhere near Allison, or any girl for that matter. I just hope—

"GREYSON," my dad yelled.

Shit.

"Yes sir." I shout already walking down the hall to his room. "Yes dad."

I open his door to find his room in shambles. It's normally pretty messy, which I'm used to cleaning, but the entire room was flipped upside down. Every drawer was pulled out and emptied. The clothes that once filled them were scattered all over the floor. His mattress was ripped open with a knife and the stuffing spewed out. The curtains were torn down and the lamp was broken.

And there my father stood in the midst of all the madness with his eyes wide in distress chest huffing in fatigue. I barely recognized him anymore, but the look on his face was so familiar.

"I didn't take it, I swear." I say putting my hands up in surrender.

It was so use and too late. Once his mind's made up no one can change it. He has no proof that I took whatever drugs he's looking for, but if he can't find it, who else's there to take it?

I didn't this time, but I made this mistake once. I was seven years old and tired of watching my dad throw his life away for drugs. So I snuck in his room, took a bag of cocaine he hid in his emergency stash and flushed it.

It was the biggest mistake of my life. One of the few times my dad would hit me started with one bag of white compulsive powder. I know he loves me, and that he doesn't want to hit me. He's just frustrated, so I just let him.

"I really didn't take it," I plead as he gripped me by my collar and slapped me hard enough to leave a bruise.

"THEN WHERE IS IT BOY?"

"I don't know. I was in my room getting ready for the dance. I didn't take it I swear."

"Bullshit. Take your clothes off."

"B-but I have somewhere to be in..."

"Boy if you don't take your clothes off right now I will beat the living shit out of you. You won't be able to go to that damned dance if YOU KEEP BACK TALKING ME. NOW STRIP."

In no time at all I take everything but my underwear off. The power behind his threat is nothing to take lightly. The last time I got a whooping I had to sit in a tub of ice afterwards.

"Downstairs!"

I rush downstairs and run straight in the bathroom. I stand under the cold shower and step out once I'm soaked. This was the custom every time he hit me. I had to be wet so that every slap, punch, kick or slash I got stung a little more that it would if I was dry.

I wonder which I'd get this time.