OC Shorts

Glass [Wren]

   --------------------------------
TW: ABUSE/CHILD ABUSE!!!
---------------------------------




  Young Wren would sit on the floor by his father's feet. The two were sitting, watching the television. Their eyes glossed over by the light of the screen. Wren's father was slumped over, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand, a shot glass on the table. The burly man had taken to drinking from the bottle.
    

    Wren wasn't allowed to talk at this time, as his father didn't like it when he talked. They were watching 'the game'. Though, Wren didn't know what was going on, nor did he care. He just wanted to spend time with his dad. Even when the man was relatively unpleasant. At this point, Wren still hadn't learnt to avoid the man. The young kid was still persistent with the other. The lad had bags under his eyes at the ripe age of eleven, band-aids all over. Bruises.

 
    Soon enough, the game was over. And judging by how Wren's father stood up and slammed the almost empty bottle to the ground, the team he was rooting for lost. The grown man would let out angered yells, punching the air, cussing profusely.

 
    The young Wren only sat there, staring at the screen, only barely flinching at the neck when the outburst began.

    "Well don't just sit there, clean this mess up," the man seethed at Wren, causing the child to look up blankly and nod with a small 'yes, sir' before standing up.

 
    The child would stand, beginning to walk to get the broom closet to get the necessary means of safely cleaning up the glass. However, Wren's father had quickly grabbed the boy by the hair and pulled him back to the mess, "Don't walk away from it, child. I asked you to do something. And you're going to do as I ask. I am the parent, you are the child," the man yelled, shaking the boy by the head before letting go with force.

    The boy looked at his father in confusion, looking back at the man and then the mess. He pieced together what the old bastard wanted. He got on his knees and began to pick up the glass with his hands. He was there, picking up pieces, big and small. After a small bit of that, his father who had been watching would drag the boy up by the wrist and would pull him forward, his bare feed stepping on small glass fragments. His green eyes locked back on his father's cold gaze, his father grabbing his full hand, and squeezing it further shut, glass scratching up his small hands. The boy let out a pained cry, his eyes clenching shut.

 
    When he opened them, the flashback was over. And he had opened his eyes again to a similar scene, blurred by tears. But instead of the gaze of his father, he was met with the gaze of his Callum's large grin, this deranged blush on his face. Even in adulthood, Wren had end up stuck with a man who lived in his suffering and was the cause of it. The man would squeeze Wren's hand painfully, he could feel the bones in his hand screaming at him.

 
    This is when Wren finally made a choice. One to stand up for himself. He'd pull his free hand back, socking the male with the dyed red hair in the jaw, in which the taller male would recoil, laughing...