𝐃𝐎𝚴𝐓 𝚨𝐒𝚱, 𝐃𝐎𝚴'𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

CHAPT 1 | LAURENS POV

CHAPTER I
December 6th, 1776. London, England.

Laurens was done with life in London.
"Jacky do this, Jacky do that, Jacky congratulations on your wife and infant, Jacky get over here now, Jacky, your little brother is fucking dying in the hospital" And other responsibilities he beared.
Everything was too much for him. Everything was too much for everyone, and had always been for Laurens. Well, not always. Not since 1763 or 1764, not since he had a happy mother and a happy father and dozens of siblings, not since his friends started slowly dying like everyone else he cared for, not since he was shipped off to law school in Switzerland, not since Kinloch or Vegobre, not since he was married and impregnated a woman, and certainly not since Jemmy's death, which he still hadn't recovered from.
All he wanted to do was flee, and that's all he could do. He didn't have anything to call home anymore, and he didn't dare move in with his father or stepfather again.
If he didn't lose contact with them, he probably would have moved in with Garden or Ellis. Unfortunately for Laurens, his father didn't want him to be a naturalist. Or a soldier, for that matter.
Alas, being the rebel he was, he couldn't care less. He was going to America, and he was going now. John would rather forget about his siblings, his father, and his pregnant wife.

Sometimes it felt like no one understood. Sometimes it felt like everyone was dismissing his mental health, like he was just expected to be the perfect older brother, and the perfect favorite child. But he wasn't. His father had made that clear a while ago. The day Henry Laurens found something out about his son that he shouldn't have, he knew his life would never be the same. And if he made one wrong move, his father could crush him. What was stopping Henry from murdering his own son, from ratting him out to the government, from telling everyone what he knew?

That his son was a sodomite

"That's it. It's clearer when you just put it like that, the way it is."
John thought.
"It's clearer to phrase it as me being an abomination to mankind, as me being a disgusting criminal that doesn't deserve to live on this Earth. What if I just killed myself right now? Would anyone even care?"
He shook his head, trying to stir away the negative thoughts. Though he knew it was no use.

Roughly, John wiped his eyes with his sleeve, before shoving more things in his bag. A quillpen, a cravat, an old letter, an old drawing, an-
...
An old drawing?
Frantically, John picked up the now-crumpled sheet of paper, feeling it's rough texture to his worn-down hands.
As he slowly unfolded it, he saw his childhood once more. A beautiful bird was etched down, it's wings shaded different hues of reds and browns with the finest, most intricate, happy attention to detail. Simply blissful. If he were still young, he could have told you exactly what type of bird that was. He used to memorize them, the scientific names, ecosystems, diets, habitats, and all of that. He truly was brilliant before his father toned down his dreams.
No, scratch that.
John crumpled up the page once more, shoving it in his suitcase. It wasn't worth anything but dead memories. It didn't remind him of anything besides his mother, his siblings, and his happy childhood in the wild gardens of Charleston, South Carolina. That's where he really belonged, not some rubbish estate in London he was dragged into.

"SIR, I'M GOING OUT TO STUDY WITH VÉGOBRE."
John cried, and Manning hummed in response.
He hated Manning. He hated his stepfather, he... Well, no. He didn't hate his wife. It was his fault she was even a part of this, and she was dragged into it more than he was. If only he didn't try to think of some cure for his illness, then he wouldn't even be in this situation in the first place.

To be honest, he wasn't sure what moving back to the American colonies would even help him achieve. It would damage his relationship with his father and wife, it wouldn't bring back his mother, brother, or any of the other thousand siblings his psycho father conceived.

Without further ado, he made sure to slip his passport in his pocket, so at least one thing in his life could go as planned. Finally, he opened the door and made his way down the staircase, his arm already straining from the unnecessarily heavy luggage.

"Son,"
William said from the sofa, stopping John dead in his tracks.
"Don't call me that..."
John muttered under his breath, not where William could hear him.
"What are you going to study with all that?"
John froze, thinking of something on the spot.
"Chemistry. Have you heard the latest science? Very interesting. All humans are made from something called cells."
William laughed, his mouth full of food. John tried not to look as disturbed as he really was, but he definitely made an unpleasant face.
"Hah!" Snickered William Manning. "Everyone knows we're made from flesh and bones, like all the other monkey creatures!"
Even John knew better, and science was not his good subject.
"Mhm. Well, goodbye, sir."
"GOODBYE!" William called back.
"Oh, and don't be resisting your wife's bed now, heard you haven't pleased her in weeks!"
And with that alone, John swung the door shut, instantly gagging at his stepfather's remarks. What on earth was wrong with that poor woman's family!?
Couldn't be any of his concern, though.

The cold air hit him like a gunshot, piercing his skin down to the core as he stumbled to his feet on the grass.

(FORESHADOWING!?)

"Well, Adieu England, next stop France."

Sighed John, before he took his next step forward.

990 words :)
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