Your Hands Are Gravity While My Hands Are Tied

Scattered 'Cross the Family Lines

When you were Blitz, every day felt like an Anti-Blitzo party. Every day was a constant reminder that he was not even royally nothing—he was just nothing. However, as acquainted as he was with the cruel reality of his constant failures and assholery, that didn't necessarily mean that he had been quite so ready to come face-to-face with the hundreds of people at the party who relished in hating him. Despite the fact that it was, well, fair, it certainly didn't feel good. As he left the party, he consoled himself with the knowledge that, unless Stolas came to his house tonight and shat on his floor, at least nothing could make Blitz's night worse than it already was.

That was, until Blitz saw a man standing outside of his front door, continuously knocking on the door and yelling a name—his name—in the most annoying fucking fashion.

His dad.

Blitz trudged up the street until he was just 10 feet away from the man who continuously knocked on the front door. Blitz, exhausted, grabbed his keys, pushed the suddenly stunned man aside, unlocked the door, and entered his living room, slamming the door behind him, and ignored the way the knocking and yelling suddenly started up again, much louder this time.

"Blitzo! Let me in!"

Blitz winced. The goddamn O. That fucking O wasn't a part of his name now, and it felt like nails on a chalkboard. In anger, he got off the couch and stomped over to the front door, where he slammed open the door, coming face-to-face with Asshole Senior.

"The 'O' is silent, dickwad!" he yelled into the older man's face.

And coming face to face with the man who had drilled that reality into his head. The sight of the man in front of him made a thousand memories rush past his eyes in less than a second, and suddenly Blitz felt raw and exposed, angering him even further.

"What the fuck do you want?" he asked.

The older man narrowed his eyes. "I got this." He waved a crayon drawn invitation, much like the one he'd seen earlier that day. "A little invitation to your anti-party. Thought I'd come by and see what all the fuss was about."

Blitz grimaced at the man, then at the invitation. Why was he invited? Verosika certainly didn't know about his dad. In fact, no one at the party knew about him. Through gritted teeth, he said, "That still doesn't explain why you're here. At my house. What do you really want?"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing. Can't a father visit his son?"

Blitz was ready to slam the door back in his face. "Not when said son has explicitly told his father to fuck off."

"Hmm." Cash put on a fake thinking face. "That's not what I remember happening. I thought it was the other way around."

"Same thing," Blitz responded sardonically. "One asshole told the other to fuck off."

"And," his dad emphasized, "I hear you've been cozying up to a prince," he continued, looking down at the drawing in front of him.

Ah. So that was why he was here. Blitz felt a surge of irritation go through him, and he held back his hands. "Why would it matter to you who I'm seeing?"

"Oh, it's no big deal," Cash stated. "I just thought it was interesting. Thought maybe you'd be getting something out of it."

"Just good sex," Blitz spat back.

"Yeah?" Cash asked, then glanced at the crystal on Blitz's arm. "Then what's that?"

Blitz moved his arm behind him. "I earned that."

Cash smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Relax, Blitzo—I just am making conversation. I've heard this prince is quite the catch. He your ticket out of this shithole?"