Paint Splattered Scars (rewrite) | dnf

Chill Out

Hello & welcome back. Hope you enjoy the chapter <3

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TW: child abuse

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The doors slid closed with a low hiss. The bus seemed suddenly much more crowded than it had moments ago. George glanced up to see Sapnap stalking down the aisle with his face set in a cold stony expression.

Fix this. Fix it now. Say something! "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to throw this— I just sat down in the wrong seat." George word-vomited apologies and excuses, and he stood up unsteadily to get out of there quickly. As soon as he stood up, the bus lurched and squealed to life, tossing him back down into his seat.

Dream chuckled next to him, and George felt his face heat up. "It's fine. It's not that big of a--"

"What are you doing," Sapnap hissed at him. His hands gripped the seat behind and ahead of George. He was trapped, and Sapnap was furious.

God fucking damnit, not both of them. Please not two.

"You fucking heard me. Move." Before George could oblige, which he would've (happily), Sapnap wrenched him up by the front of his sweatshirt. Dream shouted something in confusion, but George didn't hear him. Sapnap shoved him across the aisle into a set of empty seats.

As George's head hit the window, the bus driver shouted indistinctly about 'quieting down back there'. The chatter in the bus didn't lower one bit, and George's head pounded as he tried to sit up.

"What the fuck was that for?!" Dream snapped at Sapnap, pushing him aside to see George.

It was already embarrassing enough to get his ass beat in the middle of a fucking school bus. It was a hundred times more embarrassing that George also managed to injure himself. The bus bounced over a pothole in the road, and George's head slammed backward against the window. Again.

That was what did it. Everything was unusually dark, and the back of George's head throbbed unforgivingly. He sat up, bracing himself on his elbows. The ground was hard and cold, and he couldn't find his backpack.

"That's George? I thought he was some big douchebag-looking guy! He's built like a fucking freshman, Sap! You can't just fuckin' throw people." Dream's voice echoed through the darkness.

"Don't touch him!" shrieked another voice. This one didn't echo like Dream's. It was somewhere behind him, unbelievably close. "Please, Adam. Put him down. He's just a little boy, for Christ's sake! He didn't know!"

Mom?

"And now he's learning."

No.

George was floating. He was up in the air, looking down at the scene before, and it was split in half. In the forefront of his mind, Dream and Sapnap were arguing. Sapnap crossed his arms, and his mouth was set in a thin straight line like he was biting back a retort. In the back of his mind, in the empty echoing darkness, his dad was shouting at him, and he was only eight. His eyes were wide and scared, and his mom was holding his little sister in her arms while screaming. His sister cried.

When he watched his dad pull his arm back, his fist clenched, George looked away.

Go away, he thought, the voice in his mind little more than a whisper compared to the shouting from everyone else around him. He didn't need to see this. He didn't need to remember this. Go away. I don't want to see this. I don't want to hear it.

There was a loud thud, and the whole house rattled. The dry wall dented. Eight year old George was crying and word-vomiting apologies. He never grew out of that.