Rescue // Ashton Irwin

one.

Adley.

7:03 a.m.

The red light of the alarm clock numbers stung my bleary eyes. I rubbed the sleep from them and checked the clock again.

7:04 a.m.

A minute had passed and I hadn't heard a sound yet. I held my breath and waited for something, anything, to give away that he was home.  I sat up slowly, wincing in pain at every movement. Silence still filled the apartment, leaving me with the feeling that it was safe to leave the bedroom.

I crept out, leaving the door open slightly in case the situation escalated and I needed a safe place. Fear took over my body as I entered the living room to find him sleeping on the couch. Beer bottles and empty pop cans littered the living room, spilling all over the carpet that was replaced for the same reason a few months back.

His grey sweats were covered in something I couldn't identify, and his torn sweatshirt smelled of must and cigarettes.

A quiet sigh escaped my lips as I began to pick up the mess he'd left behind once again, careful not to make enough noise to wake him up. Noah doesn't like to be woken up at all, especially after a long night of drinking, and things could get ugly really fast if I'm the one to wake the beast.

After nearly all of the remains of the previous night were taken from the living room, I began to make my way to the kitchen to get some breakfast, but tripped over a bottle and crashed right into the coffee table. Everything that had been sitting on the surface of the table, including the vase my mom gave me when I first moved into the house with Noah, fell to the floor and shattered making an awful sound.

"Oh no," I mumbled to myself, knowing that the loud noise for sure had woken up the sleeping boy on the couch.

I tried my hardest to get up fast enough that he wouldn't see me, but the pain from the night before and crashing into the table made it hard to get up at all.

"What the fuck, Adley? Can't you see that I was sleeping here?" Noah yelled, his anger intensifying with every word.

"I'm sorry baby. I was just trying to clean up the beer bottles so you didn't hurt yourself when you got up and I tripped. You can go back to sleep now," I tried to smooth over the situation.

Sweet talking usually does the trick, but I wasn't sure what kind of mood he was in and didn't want to take any chances.

"Don't "baby" me. You never listen, do you?" He spat, coming close enough to me that I could smell the stench of beer on his breath.

"It was an accident, I swear. I'm so sorry," I whimpered, the feeling of fear rising in my chest for the second time that morning.

Before I could even register what was happening, his knuckles were smashed against my cheek. I cried out in pain, turning away to collect myself before facing him again. Crying would only make him more mad and I didn't think my body could handle any more than it'd already been through in the last few days.

"Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to! It was an "accident"," he mocked, snickering at the new mark he'd definitely left on my face.

He gave me one last lingering look before disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a beer in hand. I quickly got up off the floor and retreated back to my bedroom as fast as possible. I knew the worst of it was over for right now, but I couldn't stand to see his face.