Lay Me Down (MxM)

3. Oh, Shit!

A/N- If you're noticing some tense changes in the earlier chapters, please ignore! I had originally written the first few chapters in first person, present tense, but I ended up transitioning to writing everything in subsequent chapters in first person, past tense. I'm in the process of editing the first four chapters to make everything congruent with the rest of my work. It's a balance for sure editing while working on new chapters, so please bear with me! I appreciate all the support! -Quill

Lucas

When I pulled into the driveway the house was dark and deceptively quiet.
"Thank fuck," I mumble in relief, glad for the absence of dad's car. Practice ran overtime today, and I just couldn't afford to leave early; coach wouldn't have liked that. It's six-forty by now and I'm just anxious to get inside, shove down some food, and hole up in my room for the evening.

Yes, I'm eighteen. I know I could technically leave whenever I wanted to, but I don't have a job, and even if I had a full-time job it still wouldn't be enough to get a place. I'd have to drop out of school to work, not to mention find a roommate, so that's why I've put up with the abuse. I've done my time in the foster care system after mom initially lost custody. To put it plainly, I prefer dad's drunken fist compared to some of the shit I had to go through. I've thought about pressing assault charges on dad, but if I did, what would happen? Where would I live? I need a roof over my head. It's been a little over a year since mom started using again, so I've been with dad ever since. How I feel about it should be obvious; I'm depressed in all honesty, I mean, how would I not be? I can only hope that someday in the near future I'll be able to come home each night and feel safe for once.

I'm gonna make it one more year, and graduate. Gives me enough time to save some money for community college and find a roommate.

My lanyard is noisier than I'd like it to be as I fumble for the proper key and unlock the deadbolt. The heavy oak door swings open softly, and I catch the handle, shutting it behind me quietly.

The lights are all off, but I can see one upstairs and there's a soft glow coming from Dad's room. My stomach turns a bit, and I kick my shoes off, lining them neatly by the door as he likes, and dump my bag into my room. I pad my way quietly into the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of orange juice, which I pound while I peruse through the fridge for something quick to eat. I spot some leftover pizza and snatch it up, using some paper towels in place of a plate, then top off my glass with more juice; this'll have to do. Before I left the kitchen though, I decided to poke into the pantry.

I knew I still had some Oreos left, so I grabbed what's remaining of the pack and piled my pizza on top, balancing the two as I took myself straight to my room.

My bedroom is my haven, and there's a relief that washes over me once I'm inside. Dad tends to only seek me out if he catches sight of me when he's drunk, so "out of sight, out of mind" is always the best plan of action. I find it a little strange he's not home yet, but I'm certainly not complaining. I've set my food down on my nightstand and fired up my computer when I hear a loud "thud" from upstairs. It makes me jump some, and I can hear some faint giggling.

Penny.

I grimace and take a bite of my pizza while I navigate Netflix. Another annoying giggle makes its way through the thin walls in this house, and it leaves me wishing I could sew her over-done lips shut.

Does that count as an intrusive thought?
I hate Penny, she's literally the worst.

I yawn and nestle myself under the covers, using the pack of Oreos and paper towel as a makeshift plate for my pizza. It's a weird combo, to be fair—most people eat their Oreos with a glass of milk, but we don't have any. Call me gross, but I don't find orange juice that awful with it.