You Don't Mean It ||Staig||

||Part Thirteen||

TW: Homophobic slurs, Sexual acts mentioned, Alcohol, Smoking, Cigarettes, 

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Stan stood at the driveway that ran to the garage of his house. His car was still there, or his Mom's car. Football wasn't in another three hours so he had time, but not much. The wind began to pick up a bit and toss Stan's hair around. Emphasizing the scary moment.

He took in a deep breath and stepped forward, towards the door. He wasn't going to let himself be kicked out from the house, even though that probably would be best for his well being. Stan could feel his hand shaking as it reached for the door.

He paused before nervously knocking against the wood. He made sure it was loud enough so that the monsters inside could hear him. He kicked at the ground as he waited, hearing his heart slam against his chest.

Stan quickly looked up from the concrete as the door inched open. He could see Shelly standing there, her shirt slipping off at the shoulder. She looked worse than she did before. And as her brother, Stan felt bad to think that.

Shelly's face lit up immediately. But Stan guessed the joy was coming from some place sinister. 

"Look who it is! My favorite faggot... get in here!" She exclaimed. Stan felt his heart pang at the comment, but he followed her anyways. He slowly stepped into the house after Shelly, not knowing if he would make it out alive.

She waited for him and closed the door roughly. Stan stood away from her, his body trembling slightly. Shelly clapped her hands together after she'd locked the door.

"Mom 'n Dad went on a walk, and I'm fucking someone right now. So, you can either grab your shit 'n leave or wait for Dad to get home." Shelly explained. Stan stared at her, putting together the pieces. That was why her clothes were practically falling off and her hair looked shaggier than ever.

Stan paused before speaking up.

"What do you know about Dad...?" Stan asked slowly. He almost threw up at the thought that Shelly might know his dark secret. 

"Nothing, god! Get the fuck out of my sight!" Shelly yelled. She huffed and slapped Stan across his face. Without a remorse of guilt Shelly pushed him aside and stormed up to her room. Stan jumped as she climbed the stairs and slammed the door. 

He pressed his hand against his cheek, grimacing in pain.

"Ow." He whispered. Stan sighed and slowly walked up the stairs after her. He stopped at her door, trying to listen to what she might be doing. He regretted it as soon as he heard her moaning. 

Stan fake gagged to himself and quickly padded over to his room. He had been there yesterday, so it was beyond him how it looked abandoned and trashed. Randy must have stormed into his room, looking for a fight and forgotten he sold the person he was looking for. 

Stan tossed his backpack down at the door frame and stepped into his room. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he figured he might as well be prepared. 

Stan grabbed a separate bag from his closet and started to dump whatever he could find in there. Clothes, personal things, sports equipment. He paused and placed his hand against his hip.

Stan let out a breathy sigh before he flopped down against his oddly made bed. He usually kept his bed messy. Stan mumbled and hugged against a pillow. He curled up around it and imagined he was somewhere safe. It was sort of sad that his own room didn't feel like safe place for him anymore. 

He cracked his eyes open once he stomach began to whir. He sighed and threw the pillow aside. Stan swung his feet over the side of the bed and peered down at his torso. He had eaten a little bit at Craig's house but that wasn't enough.