Who Knew?

Chapter 15:

A/N

Warning: There is explicit sexual content between two male figures in the next two chapters. If you don't feel comfortable reading, please skip the parts you feel uncomfortable reading or I would understand if you don't continue reading. Thank you!

POV- Wyatt 

Ten minutes go by. Then fifteen. Then twenty five. A half hour is a little more time than necessary to pack an overnight bag in my opinion, and I'm starting to get worried. I eye the black truck sitting in the driveway, an uneasy feeling blazing to life in the pit of my stomach. Ruben's been in there for too long. 

I'm leaning forward in my seat to yank my keys out of the ignition and storm in there when the front door opens and slams shut. I look up to see Ruben stalking down the pathway with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, an angry red mark on his face, and a bleeding scrape on his forehead. My stomach plummets at the expression on his face. 

The front door opens and a salt and peppered haired guy steps out onto the stoop. He's visibly drunk with a glass of whiskey hanging from his hand. He yells something unintelligible at Ruben, but Ruben doesn't turn, clenching his teeth. He slides into the passenger seat and I get a better look at him. Beside the cut and red mark, there are new bruises developing around his throat in the shape of fingers. His breathing is slightly ragged. 

"Oh hell no." I yank my door open in the mindset to launch myself across the yard at the motherfucking dickheaded son of a bitch, but Ruben catches my arm and hauls me back into my seat. My head snaps toward him. "What the fuck are you doing Ruben?! He could have fucking killed you! Let me get up there and bash his motherfucking head in!" 

Ruben shakes his head. "No. He didn't hurt me, he was just trying to get a rise out of me. Let's just go." 

"The hell he didn't hurt you," I growl. "Have you seen yourself lately? Ever single day you show up to school with new bruises or cuts or broken fucking bones. I will not let that happen again." 

His eyes start to tear up and my whole being softens. "I'm sorry Wy, I can't. I just can't. He's my dad." 

"Oh baby." A tear slides down my cheek and I rest my forehead against his. I sigh heavily. "God, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that this is happening . . . that I can't protect you from it." 

He shakes his head. "It's not your job to protect me. I can take care of myself." He smirks. "I'm still alive aren't I?"

I glare at him. "That is so not fucking funny. Why haven't you called the police?" 

"I can't. He may be a shitty dad, but he's all I've got family wise. He didn't leave." 

The torture in his eyes pratically kills me, but I understand, in a sick and twisted way. I would probably feel the same way if I were in Ruben's position. But I'm not. 

He leans away and sits back in his seat, doing everything he can to not look at his father who is still leaning against the door, whiskey in hand. "Can we go now?"

I nod, and move the gearshift. I look back at Ruben's dad, who sneers at me. "I swear to god, if he ever lays a finger on you again, I'll kill him myself." 

Ruben just slumps against the window. "Let's just go." 

I flip the older man the bird as I pull out of the driveway. It doesn't take long to get to my house. I take Ruben's bag and pull him inside, heading directly to the downstairs bathroom. I sit him down on the closed toilet and take a med kit out of the mirror/cupboard over the sink. 

I wet a wash cloth and gently clean off the small cut on Ruben's forehead. The wound isn't deep, and won't need stitches which I'm relieved about. "Tell me what happened," I whisper as I rub in some ointment.