𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔 // 𝙰𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚣𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗

Chapter 5 - Hard

~ Author's Note ~

Just a random warning concerning this chapter. I decided, for story building and plot purposes, to give Antoine a family life kind of different thing that is different from reality. Luckily, though, that shouldn't be too upsetting for me readers, hopefully, because I obviously am already taking a lot of creative license and matter like those into my own hands. I understand that in real life, Antoine's home life and family was a lot different from this. I even changed the amount of siblings and their names and genders, just to simply make clear that this is in no way trying to be based off of his childhood family, and is simpy this way for plot purposes. This is a very fiction fanfiction, so please just enjoy, and don't get upset about things that may not be accurate to real life. Thank you!

𝑨𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔?

Antoine's Perspective

When I get to my father's home that night from school, my father is at the small kitchen table, smoking through a whole pack. I try to avoid eye contact with him, and attempt to get to my room without having to communicate with him. That goal doesn't go very well for me.

"Antoine," my father snaps.

I stop in my tracks, looking to him, before saying with a sigh. "Yes?"

"Why were you home late today, huh?" he stops to cough a few times, before continuing with, "You had responsibilities."

Suddenly, anxiety rushes in through my stomach and spreads out into my whole body. "What did I forget to do?"

"You didn't forget to do anything, but you didn't get home, kid, to do something that I'm making you do."

"What?" I feel my body exhausting of any previous energy I had before.

"I'm havin' some friends over tonight. I need you to get to the gas station and pick me up some beer for us. You know what I like. Then you're going to have to leave with your sibling tonight."

I swallow. "Sometime soon the people at the gas station are going to question me."

"You're seventeen, Antoine, for God's sake! No one knows you're not an adult, and you look older! You're just trying to get your lazy a** out of doing this for your father once again, because you could care less! I do so much for you kids, Antoine, and do you think I want to?! Do you think I want to? Well, I don't! So you should, for once, get off your lazy a** and do something good with yourself, unlike every other point of your existence!"

I swallow again, simply trying to convince myself that it's not that bad. That's the only comfort I can find. It's not that bad. It's really not. "Can I have money to get the beer, then...?" I ask softly.

"God, no! You pay for it yourself, you ungrateful brat! I wish you were never born, and you're not even willing to help your father out?! Get out of my house, right now, Antoine!" my father screams. "Out! Now! And don't forget the beer!"

I walk out of that house, shaken up, and get into my car. I lean on the wheel for a few seconds, just taking it all in, gathering my thoughts and emotions into a little bag, sealing it up tight, to worry about later, and get driving to the gas station. I walk in, keeping my head down, and walk to the back of the store, where the beer fridges are. It's really too bad that I've had to do this enough times that I know exactly what to get and where to get it.

I grab as much as the money I have can pay for. Not because I want to, at all. Because I need to. Because knowing how wasted my father and his friends are likely getting tonight, if he doesn't have enough, he'll get really angry with me. Even more than he already is.

Then I look up at the girl at the counter, and both of our eyes widen, mouths speechless, as Reese Mallory's eyes meet mine.

I slip on a smirk, as easily as someone might slip on a mask, and I say, "So, you're working in a dingy place like this, huh? Not surprising, for a girl like you." Maybe it's good she's here. A chance to put myself up again. I might have a sucky life, but at least it's not as trashy and failing as this girl's, right?

I actually think my life is worse, but I deal with it better, which makes me feel so awesome.

I like Reese Mallory because she makes me seem so much better than I am. Because in comparison to her, I'm practically God.

I push her in the shoulder, before saying, "Let me buy this beer, or you'll be sorry later. And don't you dare tell a soul. Got it?"

She bites her lips, before muttering, "Sure, yeah."

I push her pack harder, and she hits the cigarette wall behind her. "You swear you won't tell anyone?!"

"Yes, I swear!" she shouts back, putting her hand out to take my money. I put it in her hand, grab the beer, and get out of there as fast as I can.

I feel smug, dreading, proud, nervous, and depressed, all at the same time.

That's like the story of my life, though.

I speed back home, seeing how late it already is getting, and jog inside, bringing the beer to the couch where my father is now. "Here," I say simply.

"You were way to slow," he says, slapping my hand. "Shame on you, lazy boy. Now get you and your brother out of here. You're going to have to get a hotel for tonight. You can go to your mom's tomorrow morning. Tell her I had a business trip. Okay?"

I hate lying about those sorts of things, but I nod. "Yes. I will do that. Is Louis in his room?"

"I don't know, and I don't give a damn! You figure that out! And make it quick, because my men will be coming soon!"

I nod, quickly walking to me and Louis's shared room at this house. I knock on the door. "Louis?" I say gently. "It's Antoine."

After a few seconds, Louis opens the door. He is my brother, two years younger than me, with a clean short hair cut and light brown hair. He looks very neat, despite the large bags under his eyes. "I heard you getting yelled at through my headphones earlier," he says very softly.

I nod. "We need to go. He's having friends over tonight."

Louis nods, understanding right away, grabs a spare outfit for each of us to change into tomorrow morning, and follows me through the front door, saying, "Bye, Papa. I love you," before he leaves.

Once we're in the car and driving, I ask him, "Why do you tell him you love him? It's wrong, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But it's for brownie points." Louis has always had a strange, dry sense of humor. In a way, it's charming.

"Do you have money?" I ask him.

"Some. Not enough, though. You'll have to put in on your credit card."

I hate doing that when I don't have to, but I suppose it's hard to go to a hotel and not use your credit card.

We get a room for the night at a budget hotel for fifty euro. We just have to sincerely hope that there are no bedbugs, I suppose.