How I adopted my best friends | benchtrio

1. Dumbass 🐝

Tubbo's POV 🐝

Tw: alcohol, swearing, homophobia, mention of suicide, abuse

"You idiot, you were meant to be home hours ago!" My father screamed at me from the kitchen. I'd tried so hard to sneak in quietly without him noticing. That hadn't exactly gone to plan.

I stop on my way to the stairs, trying to keep my backpack on despite my shoulders shaking.
My sneakers squeaked horribly loudly on the filthy floor. I don't know the last time it was hoovered. Or mopped. Or even swepped.

I heard my dad stumble from the kitchen to the living room, where I was standing. I had a few seconds to run to my bedroom, but my feet were glued to the ground.

Dad burst in, beer bottle in hand. The bottle still contained about a quarter of the foul drink that was slowly killing him. I remember when I was young I used to beg my dad to stop drinking, but he never listened, often telling me to piss off and do something useful for a change.

Dad leered over me, his horrible breath too close to my face.
"Where were you? I know you were out with those little friends of yours. They're no good for you, you're all just little f@gs who make the world a worse place."

I could already feel tears beginning to form at the corners of my eyes. This wasn't fair. None of this was ever fair.

"And you know it as well. You think making those fucking YouTube videos will ever make you popular, or make you rich, but all they're doing is drawing all my money. Have you payed a single penny for any of it? A SINGLE PENNY?  ANSWER ME!"

I shook my head out of instinct, even though I had only used my own money for funding my videos. It wasn't like they had a super high budget anyway. I could only afford a microphone and a monitor.

"That's what I thought. You know, you're the reason your mum topped herself. You told her you were one of those proud people, then one week later, she's hanging from a rope in the bathroom. One week later. ONE WEEK! You're just a dumbass."

I felt tears falling down my face. 'Dumbass' was my least favourite word, and I hated being called it. I'd rather take the physical pain that that one petty word.

I shut my eyes tight because I knew what was coming.

I sensed dad raising his hand and felt the excruciating pain coursing through me and the beer bottle smashed on my head. It was like a burning fire was coursing through my veins, reaching to the end of my fingertips and the roots of my hair. But most of all I felt it in my face.

I somehow managed to escape.

I just scrambled up the stairs, clutching my backpack to my chest. I charged into my room and bolted the door; I wasn't allowed a proper lock.

Trembling, I dropped my bag on the floor and unzipped it. I rootled around and pulled out two items: a firstaid kit and an ancient flip phone.

I clicked open the first aid kit and grabbed the antiseptic like it was my life's purpose. After that I got the plasters and a long roll of bandages. After I'd applied it all, I flipped open my phone that barely worked.

Dad didn't know about my secret phone. I'd been allowed to have a smartphone when mum was alive but I seldom used it on account of the fact that dad checked it all the time and would delete any contacts he didn't like the look of.

With shaking hands, I dialed a number, one I'd wanted to dial many times before.
0800 1111.

Childline.

That's the first chapter! Sorry it's kind of heavy

Word count: 643