Take Me Home (Phan AU)

All My Fault

~Dan's P.O.V~
"Where you going mummy?" I asked. My stomach was aching, my lip trembling from the cold.  The house wasn't suitable for a young child, or anyone at all. My mother turned round, bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Anywhere that's far away from you," she replied, sneering. "Where's daddy?" I sobbed. I had no idea what was going on. "Your father doesn't want anything to do with you, and neither do I," alcohol spilled from her bottle as she took another swig. She walked away from the crumbling house and opened the car door. I scrambled after her, but was pushed to the ground. "No! You're not coming with me, you little home-wrecker. Your father and I don't want you. Stay here," she kicked me away and dropped the now empty bottle.  Tears were soaking my cheeks and small sobs wracked my tiny frame. I tried to get up and go to her, but I was pushed away once more. "Get inside!" My father loomed over me and growled. I was shaking now, fear filling my eyes. I didn't move, but continued to cry. In frustration, my father pulled me up by my arm and dragged me inside. I yelped as I was dropped on the floor, and the door was slammed in front of me. I heard the click of the lock, but I tried to open the door anyway. "Mummy! Daddy!" I screamed, but I was ignored. I stumbled to the window, still shouting for my disgraceful parents. "Come back! Please!" It was useless. My tiny hands were pounding on the window as they got in the car and drove off at great speed. I continued to cry and scream until I realised the truth; my parents were never coming back, and it was all my fault.

My heart was pounding as I awoke from my nightmare, sweat covering my body. It was the same thing over and over, every little detail the same as it was all those years ago; it wasn't just a silly nightmare, it was a haunting memory.

I was only six when this happened, and the memory was still extremely clear in my mind. How could I ever possibly forget the night my parents abandoned me, never to be seen again? Hell knows where they are now. Part of me wants to find them, part of me wants to forget them completely. If I did find them, I know for a fact they wouldn't walk away without getting hurt. They hurt me, physically and mentally.

It was always my fault. If one of them dropped a plate and broke it, it was my fault. If my father came home drunk, it was my fault. If my mother took a heroin overdose, it was my fault. And I was punished every time. Punished for everything I never did. I'd be smacked, slapped, punched, kicked, burned, cut, whipped: the punishments were endless. I still have the scars to this day as a constant reminder that everything wrong in the world is my fault.

Now, 11 years later, I'm struggling with life, with everything. Ever since the police found me unconscious on the living room floor, I've been in and out of foster homes everywhere. I've never known family, the feeling of truly belonging, the feeling of being loved by someone. Janice, my counsellor, was always full of hope. "Maybe this will be your forever home!" She'd say every time I'd see her. She was very, very wrong.

As soon as I turned 16, I ran away from the family I was with. I hated it. I hated being moved around like an object. I was Daniel James Howell, the little boy who was never wanted by anybody. Now I'm just Dan, the guy who sleeps in any doorway he can find for the night. It's nothing much, but I suppose it's all I've got. I've got no real education, no qualifications, and no future either. The little money I can get from begging on the High Street is barely enough to get me food for the day.

What's really better though? Be shifted from house to house without any sense of belonging there and loving a family, or be independent out in the street with no worries or cares other than what your next meal might be? Somehow, I chose the latter, and at times, it feels like the worst decision ever. But I can do it, I've been doing it for over a year now.

The sun was starting to rise, meaning it was time for another day to start. Another day of walking around, asking for spare change, finding somewhere to wash and eat, and then hell knows what else.

I groaned as I sat up and rubbed my temples. My back was aching from the concrete I slept on, but it was just the usual. Yawning, I clambered from my sleeping bag and rolled it up, stuffing it in my backpack and taking out my other clothes. My knees cracked in protest as I stood up, ready to go and get changed in the closest public bathroom.

It wasn't the most pleasant of places; a horrible smell always lingered and it was rather claustrophobic, but it was all I had. The water was freezing as I scooped it up in my hands and threw it into my face. I stared at my reflection in the foggy mirror, a look of shame plastered on. It's my fault I'm here, it's my fault that I can't get benefits because I chose to be homeless, it's my fault I can't get a decent living.

I slid my hand through the messy mop of curls on top of my head. As soon as I could save enough money, I'd get a haircut. I still had a face like a baby, so shaving wasn't an issue yet. I whipped out my toothbrush and began brushing my teeth, the only aspect of my face I actually liked. Once I felt like I looked presentable, I left hastily.

The sky was bright without a cloud in sight. At least I wouldn't have to hide away from the rain today. I walked lazily down the street, glancing over at my usual spot in the doorway. What caused me to stop and stare was the 'SOLD' sign in the window. Great. Just what I needed. I let out a frustrated sigh and continued walking. I suppose I'd just have to move to my less desirable but only other good option: the porch of my old house.

After the half hour walk to the other side of town, I weaved through the streets to get to the house I grew up in. The house I seemed to love and loathe. The house that was happy and fun before my parents spiralled into debt and turned to drugs and alcohol, increasing their debts. But my heart sank even further when my glance settled on the 'SOLD' sign in the garden.

It seemed I'd have to find a new spot all together.