Taken In

Chapter 5

Breo's POV

Checking the clock on the kitchen oven I look at the time again, it's 7:50pm and Nathan isn't home yet.

Exiting the kitchen I resume pacing up and down the hallway in front of the door, anticipating his return. The constant pacing doesn't help the racing in my chest but at least it's alleviating the sick feeling forming in my stomach.

When he comes home late that means he's drunk, or most of the time it does.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock cause me to snap out of my thoughts, and I hastily make my way to the front door, opening it so he can come in.

I maintain minimal eye contact as he enters, watching him sit on the staircase close to the door while I lock the door behind him.

He sits there patiently before I make my way over to him, removing his shoes and taking his bag from him to place it at the side of the staircase, like I do everyday.

"Dinner is in the m-microwave, should I get it?"

I question, growing frustrated with myself for stuttering. He hates when I do that.

I stand in front him with my head down after speaking, waiting for further instruction while my nerves cause a burning heat to spread throughout my face. It's better to do things this way- I don't want to make him angry by accident. He can be really nice when he's not drunk too, I miss when he's not drunk.

"So you finally decide to talk?" He questions in a flat tone, hindering me from being able to sense his emotion through his voice. His words are however slurred together. He's been drinking a lot.

"Sorry." I respond, head still down. I find myself being unable to speak when I'm nervous or feeling any intense emotion, which is frustrating for Nathan so I speak as much as I can. I want to be normal for him, he'd like me more if I was normal.

Relaxing into the stairs a little he leans back, running right hand through his shoulder length locs,
lowering hand while grazing his tan, tawny skin to scratch his trimmed beard.

"What did you make?" He questions again, standing up slowly as he does so. I step back slightly to give him room and realise I've done something wrong.

"Y-You said to order you pizz-" Before I can finish my sentence a sharp pain hits my cheek, I stumble backwards in response, resisting the urge to reach for it, since that'll only make it worse.

"It's Wednesday, when the fuck do I ever order take out on a Wednesday."

"We get take out on Wednesdays, we did last w-"

Another sharp pain hits my face and I begin to feel angry at myself for opening my mouth in the first place. I deserve this.

"I'm sorry." Is all I can manage to say while trying to blink away the tears from my eyes, wishing I could do things over tonight and get it right.

"I don't want your fucking apology." His deep voice echoes through the hallway as he turns to walk up the stairs, entering his room not long after. I follow him sheepishly and begin his night routine once I close the door behind me.

Taking off his clothes slowly I start at his trousers and he takes off his socks, while I fold his work clothes ready for laundry tomorrow. Turning back I assist him in unbuttoning his shirt, trying my best to concentrate on each loop so I don't make any mistakes. After a moment of struggling he sighs, pushing me away frustratedly.

"You're 22 years old and you still can't undo buttons." He says harshly. "Fucking retard." He continues under his breath. I try to ignore his words, but they sting as much as the pain in my cheek, resulting in me having to blink away tears once again. If there's one thing I shouldn't do, it's cry.