BRANCE + RINNEY

clinging to the ruins of a broken home

warning: childhood trauma/abuse and self-depreciation.
in other words, the childhood of vance hopper and so on.
-

The toy car skidded to a stop abruptly, having slammed into the wall with such impact that it had resulted in the formation of a dent along the worn concrete. Small fingers traced the surface of the wounded area, covering it up quickly when feet sunk into the carpet and bounded towards his bedroom door.

"What are you doing in here?" The voice was rough, rage leaking through it like the burning flames of hell. The scent of whiskey and something along the lines of rusted metal traveled through the small bedroom, lingering in the air as the man in the doorway drew in deep breaths. The young boy in the room didn't respond to the question, trembling near the wall as his blonde hair fell in front of his watery eyes.

"Boy! I've asked you a question and I expect a goddamn answer, you hear me?" The man was yelling, tone strained as his eyes blew wide and his fists scrunched up near his hips. The young boy sat near the wall nodded his head, ignoring the throbbing that came from it as he looked at his father with glossed over vision. "I accidentally hit the wall with c-car." His words were choppy, having not had enough education yet to form exact proper sentences. The older man in front of him tilted his head to the side, disregarding the boy that so desperately tried to cover the dent in the wall.

"Did you fuck up my wall?" The calmness in his voice provided no comfort, words hung over the young boy's head as he couldn't help but nod in compliance to the question.

The father of the young boy said nothing, hands running over the waistline of his jeans as he undid his belt. "You're supposed to be a good boy. Be a good boy for your dad and you would never be punished. You don't like being punished do you doll?" The young boy slowly shook his head, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as his throat clenched up. The man in front of him sighed, belt now hanging from his palms in a tight grasp. "Maybe after this one, you'll finally learn. Maybe you'll be a good boy from now on. I'll even let you have a piece of candy before bed if you're quiet."

Vance was only five, mind fragile and filled with what he believed to be an okay childhood.

He always resented his father for taking everything from him.

He took away so many firsts, and for all the wrong reasons.
-

The morning sun pepper-kissed the paleness on Vance's face, turning the whitened skin a shade of pink as warmth spread throughout the boy. His breathing was even, eyelashes fluttering softly as the pupils behind his eyelids moved around slowly.

After a few seconds, the boy's eyes opened. The blue of his pupils drowned in the orange hues of the sun, making him seem much more alive than he felt. He yawned, neck popping as he tilted his head side to side.

As he turned his head to the left, he caught sight of the picture on his beside table. There he stood, arms crossed with a smile as a woman with short curly blonde hair stood beside him, arms in a flexing motion as she grinned wide.

Vance stared at the picture for a moment before sniffling and placing it face down on the the wooden surface. Ignore, ignore, ignore. It's what he was good at anyway.

Vance had lived by himself for quite some time now, ever since the incident with his father. He was fourteen at the time, and he had sobbed the remainder of the day after everything had went down. If he thought about it too much, too hard, he would believe he could faintly still feel the scratches on his back and the warm breath that sank into his collarbone.