JereMike: Puppet

Chapter three

_No One's POV_

Jeremy soon finally arrived back home after a 40 minutes walk home. He was about to head to his room when he was greeted by his father, a bottle in hand. He got terrified but something inside him makes him want to turn around and just run away but he can't. He couldn't.

The same hand that was holding the bottle raise up, aiming for his head. "You son of a fuCKING BITCH!! YOURE FUCKING LATE!!" His father screamed, swinging the bottle on his head. Of course, with Jeremy's quick pace, he gasp and quickly moved his head on the side.

The bottle made a contact with his shoulder, breaking the glass container in process. He stumble back then fell on his bottom, his eyes are wide shock, all frozen and confused at the quick event that just happened.

His father was breathing heavily, he was giving him a death glare that burns through his soul. His father then grunted and walk away.

Jeremy's eyes was still wide, still frozen from where he was sitting down. After a few minutes of realisation, he decided to get up but a paint shot through his body when he tried to moved. He raises his left hand and touched his right shoulder, feeling his shirt drenched by some sort of liquid.

When he look at his hand, he nearly cried. Blood. The reason why his father walked away. When ever blood was seen when he was being beaten up by his father, he'd stop, and walk away. But this time, there's so much blood it went down to his chest and slowly coming down to his stomach.

Forcefully standing up on his own, Jeremy limped towards his room where he had taken off his shirt and saw a large cut on his shoulder. He went to the bathroom to patch it up with bandages, cleaning up the blood and putting on a new button up shirt, covering his hand, due to the shirt belongs to his father that's larger than his small figure.

He opened the drawer and pull out a razor blade as he lifted his sleeves up. Placing he blade on his soft skin, he started making deep and long cuts. One...two...three..four...five..He stopped at the fifth cut, realising drops of blood dripped from his arm and to the floor. He hid the blade back to the drawer and washed his wrist under the cold water, making him winced.

He dried it with a hand towel, getting some of the blood on the fabric before pulling his sleeve back down. He used the same fabric to wipe the drops of blood on the floor and on the sink. Once he's done, he threw it in the laundry.

Jeremy walked back to his room, lay down on the bed and stare at the wall blankly. He wasn't hurt, nor worried or happy at all, he's emotionless. His mind is empty and clear. Finally closing his eyes, he slowly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

----

He woke up around 9 pm, he felt pain on his shoulder and on his wrist. His wounds stung as he sat up, letting out a small groan in pain. He got up and walked to his closet, opening the door and pulling out his extra work uniform. He stripped off his slightly drenched shirt, his bandages were soaked with red as he stared at himself through the mirror.

Thin body, slightly pale skin as dull eyes stared at the the small figure in front of him. Scares comes up to his wrist and up to his torso, mainly the news ones located on his wrists.

Jeremy grabbed his work uniform and put it on. He grabbed his necktie and put it on, fixing it before combing his messy hair with his fingers. Looking back at himself, for a couple of minutes of starring, he decided to smile a bit. A fake smile. It soon disappear when he walked out of his room, down the stairs and outside where it's already sunset, darkening the streets.

A gust of air ran through him, making his body trembled. He started walking towards the pizzeria, his right arm doesn't swing as much as his left arm as he walk. His mind started filling the thought of Mike.