Shouts echoed through the Afton household.
William and Clara were fighting again, and the shell of a home didn't feel safe for anyone within.
The couple stood in the living room, the once small argument having escalated into a screaming match, accusations spilling from Clara's lips, trying to get under his skin.
And it was working, as there were always remnants of the pain that had occurred in the house.
Most of all, from William and his son.
"You always do this, William!" Clara shouted. "You constantly turn simple issues about you!"
William took a step back, scared of what he could do to Clara. He'd already hurt so many people, and he wouldn't make his wife one of them.
Then he remembered the jab and yelled back, closing his eyes. "Can you just calm down, Clara? What about Micheal?"
The woman laughed incredulously at William's attempt at settling the argument.
"And why the fuck would I? Hell, how could I having to deal with your constant bullshit every damn day?" She snapped, glaring at her husband.
He sent a glowering look at her in return. "My bullshit? Oh, sure, and that's exactly why you're making an argument about dinner of all things into a huge fight, right?"
"Oh, spare me. You know damn well this is your fault." She snarled back, taking a step forward to keep the initial distance.
William glared at her, taking a step forward as well and getting in her face. "What the hell is your problem?" William asked, his anger clear in his tone. He didn't raise his voice, but his tone was simmering with his irritation
"You're my damn problem!" She shouted, looking at him as if he was the scum of the Earth.
"Why can't you just be quiet! We have a son trying to sleep, and here you are, starting shit." He snapped, leveling a hate filled look at the woman.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't killed Elizabeth, we wouldn't be fighting!" His once caring and kind wife had shouted, shooting down any hopes the argument would deescalate.
That simple accusation that he had knew was true felt like a knife to the gut.
He knew she was right, though.
"I know it's my fault, and I'm sorry!" He couldn't help the broken sob that had ripped through his tight throat at the resignation, "but I was busy doing my damndest to provide for this family! I trusted you to look after them and you failed!" William curled in on himself, but not before Clara punched him in the face.
Pain twisted in his stomach, and he just wanted it to be over. For this entire situation to be a bad dream and for him not to have made all of the mistakes he did.
He stumbled to his feet and took a few steps away from the woman, a blank look plastered on his face.
"So that's it? That's what finally gets you to shut your mouth?" She spat, taking a few heavy steps forward.
He glared at her, a cold look in his silver eyes.
"If you take one more step towards me, I'll-" He was cut off by a laugh.
It was short, bitter, and nothing like what he remembered his wife sounding like.
It lacked all humor and sounded a bit hysterical, even.
"What? Are you gonna kill me like you killed her?" She sneered.
Air caught in his throat as he stared at the woman he once loved so dearly, in shock, in pain.
He could hardly get a thought in his head, let alone a response through his lips.
He just sat there, dumbfounded.
He whipped around as he heard steps in the shadowed hallway behind him.
A light flicked on, illuminating the space to see his son, Micheal, standing in the doorway, looking disheveled.
"Mom? Dad?" The boy asked, his voice gravelly.
He looked so young, standing there and looking between his parents.
"Micheal," he breathed out, finally being able to speak, for his son, if nothing else. "Go back to bed, kiddo. Everything is okay."
He gathered his resolve, pulling himself up from his once doubled over position.
He glared down Clara as she tried to speak up, and, for once, she actually backed down.
He turned to look at his son, who was leaning against the door frame.
The boy, thankfully, didn't comment on the blood dripping down his face, but he swiped it off with his sleeve nonetheless.
Placing a gentle hand on the boy's face, he spoke. "C'mon kid. Back to bed."
Mike grinned, though he looked tired and sad. "Fine dad, but I'm not a little kid anymore."
William let a smile of his own stretch across his face. "Sure, sure. Now, go lay down."
He sent the boy off to bed, muttering a soft "I love you," as the boy laid down.
He closed the door and turned to walk to his own room.
As he made his way to the master bedroom, he heard the front door open and close with a slam.
Clara must have left to stay at a friend's house or hotel for the night.
It didn't make any difference to him, though, as most days she'd sleep in the guest room anyway.
He sighed and pulled the soft gray door open, closing it and sitting on the king-sized bed up against the wall.
He went to a drawer in his bedside table and fumbled for his bottle of whisky.
It was a rich flavor, well aged and expensive, but he didn't really care for taste at this point.
He brought the bottle to his lips, taking a sip with a grimace.
At this point, he felt like he was drowning in his own emotions. Like his lungs were slowly filling with water, killing him bit by bit, and making it hurt.
He didn't feel alive, nor did he feel human. He felt hollow.
Yet he just kept drinking his pain away. He knew it was slowly putting him in the grave, but he didn't care. He had hardly anything to live for.
He slipped a carton of smokes out of his pocket and put one in between his lips, grabbing a lighter from his side table and pulling the ashtray on top closer.
He took a long drag, and with a huff, let it out.
He didn't know how much longer he could take this.
𝕿𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖊𝖉...
YOU ARE READING
You're My Drug ♡ ... (William Afton x Reader) ... (Being Rewritten)
FanfictionWilliam's mental state wasn't the best.. His wife was abusive and manipulative. His two youngest kids were dead, and he was sure everyone else also hated him. Until you came along. You made him feel loved and cared about, even if you two were jus...
