Take me to church (Book 1)

17- Dangerous thoughts

(Trigger warning maybe? There's no intake or self inflicted injuries but it could be triggering, read with care ily <3)

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The smell of onions and pasta drifts throughout the Lester household, its pasta night and it meant spaghetti.
Phil's mum had always used to cook it to perfection, the sauce evenly spread and the pasta not too soft or hard, cheese would also be sprinkled over at times.

But now it's just Phil and his father eating opposite on the dining table. However Phil had lost his appetite, he couldn't digest any food at this moment or he was going to be sick.

His stomach bruises and ribs hurt too much and the fact that his father has yet to point out the obvious cuts on his pale face.

Does he just not care at all or is he that oblivious to things he cares very little about? Phil can sense that his father tries hard to hide his love for Phil, he's not proud of him and never will be.

The smell of egg is still prominent in the kitchen though, making Phil smile at the memories of Dan.

Any time that he thinks of Dan he's overcome with this passionate warmth, such overwhelming feelings that makes his head blur with confusion and unsettlement.

"Did you walk into a wall or something?" His fathers voice breaks him from the happiness, those little moments of reflection gone just like that.

Phil picks up a meatball and shoves it in his mouth, refusing to respond to such a rude accusation when clearly his injuries were not done by himself.

"You left church early again, Phil. Were you with Dan again?" The vicar asks, twirling a piece of pasta onto his fork.

"Yes, he was upset so I helped him." Phil replies.

His father nods, unconvinced. "And by helping him you somehow scratched up your face."

Phil aggressively places down his cutlery and glares up at his father. The man sat across from him that doesn't have one caring bone in his body and Phil can't believe it's taken him this long to realise that.

His father has never even properly treated him nicely after his mum died, his birthday presents were always just an updated version of the Bible or a silly little trinket. Phil has always had to buy himself stuff for his birthdays, he doesn't enjoy them anymore; what's the point in celebrating a day you're born on if you sometimes wish you weren't even born?

"Do you not care about me at all? I'm in pain right now, I have bruises all over me and I'm emotionally and physically unstable at this moment." Phil snaps, clenching his fists as his father gapes at him in shock.

"It's not my fault you get yourself into fights." The vicar resorts with a huff.

"I got beaten up for Christ sake! I didn't get into a fight I got beaten up and who was there to look after me? Oh yeah, Dan!"

Phil's shouting echoes throughout the house, an unsettling silence falling over them as the whispers die down.

Phil's body shakes with the adrenaline coursing throughout his veins and body, sweat building up in his clenched palms as his breathing stutters by default.

However he visibly flinches when his father places down his own cutlery and gives a stern stare, eyes in a killer mode.

"You know where you get this aggression from? Your mother. She always had an argument for everything, she could never keep her mouth shut." He mutters quietly yet in a dark sense, the words riding from his tongue like a serpents hiss.