Danger in the Kitchen (Eyeball's sister)

702 4 12
                                        

A/N: Reader's age is between Chris and Eyeball in this.




You should have known better.

The phrase repeated in your head over and over again.

You should have known better.
Should have known it was a stupid idea to enter the kitchen when it was almost midnight and your Dad was bound to be drunk.

But the house had been quiet, so you'd assumed he wasn't there, that he was at Sukey's Tavern with the other drunks, and that you'd therefore be able to grab a glass of water from the kitchen without incidents. Your Mom was usually asleep at this time, getting as much sleep as she could before the baby woke her up again—her, and everyone else, because the house was small and the walls were thin.

You would have managed to sneak to the kitchen and back to the room you shared with two of your brothers without waking her up.

It would have been so easy.

If only your Dad hadn't been home.

But there he was, sat at the kitchen table with a half-empty bottle in his hand, the bottles he'd already emptied strewn around him.

When you saw him you stopped dead in your tracks, and moved to turn back around, hoping you'd make it back to your room without being noticed, but it was already too late.

"What do we have here," he slurred. "Brat comin' to steal the food from the kitchen thinking everyone's asleep, eh?"

You quickly shook your head. "N-no, Dad. I just wanted to get some water."

"Water."

You couldn't tell if it was a question or not, but one thing was for sure: he didn't believe you.

"Yes, Dad, water. I'm sorry I distur–"

"Shut your stupid mouth! All you fucking kids ever do is lie and steal." He rose from his chair, taking an unsteady step toward you. "No respect for your own parents!"

"I'm sorry, Dad, I really didn't–"

"I told you to shut your fucking mouth, girl!"

He raised his fist and you squeezed your eyes shut in expectance of a hit, but it didn't come.

After a few seconds you warily opened your eyes, and saw why.

Your brother had entered the kitchen without you noticing and stood in front of you now, shielding you from your father's wrath. Eyeball must have heard him raise his voice, put two and two together because you had yet to come back from your quest for water, and come to save you.

"Wha', you too? Ain't one insolent kid bad 'nough for one night?" your Dad complained and pushed Richie to the ground.

You worried he would kick him and seriously injure him—it wouldn't be the first time, and certainly not the last—but it seemed he'd already had so much to drink he wasn't even capable of that anymore. You watched him sway on his feet, holding onto the edge of the table to keep his balance, and used the chance to pull your brother up from the floor.

Eyeball ignored your father, took you by the hand and led you out of the kitchen; without the water you had meant to get.

As you followed him back to your shared room with tears welling in your eyes you asked, "Why does he hate me so much, Richie?"

"He doesn't hate you. He's just an asshole, is all," he said, closing the door behind you. You were alone in the room; Chris was spending the night at a friend's house.

"Yes he does. Him and Mom both."

"That's not true, Baby. You're the perfect little daughter Mom and Dad wanted in hopes of fixing their marriage," Eyeball said, and squished your cheeks between his hands, but you slapped them away.

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