Michael Townley is a jock. A tool. He could have a different cheerleader every night.
Trevor Philips is a burn out. A lost case. He only wanted the star quarterback of the football team.
( boy x boy ; trikey )
I don't own anything.
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His step-father hit him, so he socked him back, and broke his nose His house is a broken home, there's no control, he just let's his emotions go...
(That song is poor Trev 🙃)
I was zoned out listening to music in my bed, holding the record cover to my chest, through my large headphones from my stereo when I heard the needle scratch.
I opened my eyes and saw my mom with a furious look and a paper in her hand. "You wanna tell me what this is?" She held up the paper.
"What?" I tore the headphones from my head.
"This. This failure notice." She gritted her teeth. I'd left on the counter for her for when she woke up from her daily drug induced nap.
"Well if you're such an expert on what it is then why did you have to ask me?" I scowled.
Her frown deepened. "I guess we'll wait till your father gets home."
"He's not my father." I crossed my arms over my chest.
Jim is my stepdad. His best talents are watching TV, drinking beer, and complaining.
I couldn't stand him. But mom can. She loves him. And he loves her. Or it's purely carnal. Not sure which.
I didn't bother with homework. I'm most likely gonna drop out anyway. Wouldn't my real dad be proud? Wherever the hell he is?
At 6pm, the tires of my step dads hunk of junk station wagon pulled into our driveway.
"Get out of my chair." He grumbled as mom handed him a beer.
"The dick-tator has spoken." I mumbled with emphasis on the dick and got out of the recliner and moved to the couch.
"Don't start with me you fucking disappointment." He said and the sound of him opening a beer can rang throughout the room.
I rolled my eyes and then settled on the TV which was still a dumb old black and white TV that if you stood in a certain spot the reception would get bad and it would get a hint of static.
"What's for dinner?" he asked.
"Pork chops." mom called from the kitchen.
"Fuckin pork chops." He grumbled and took another long drink from his beer can.
"Do you ever not complain?" I asked rudely to defend my mother. My mother is a flower. A damaged flower, absent of petals and one that needed to be thrown away, but it's also one you hold on to because you can't seem to just throw it away.
"Shut. Up." He growled.
"No." I rose to my feet.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" He crushed the beer can with his fist and liquid poured onto the stained brown carpet.
"You heard me." I pushed on. I could handle whatever he throws at me.
I saw the anger pour into his eyes and almost steam out his ears as he pushed himself off the recliner and hooked his fist right into my eye. I yelped and fell onto the floor in between the glass table and couch.
I held my hand up to my eye and instantly felt the sore bruise that was forming.
"Hey!" My mom ran into the living room and watched with wide eyes.
"Fuck you!" I shouted to Jim.
He reached down and grabbed me by the collar of my t shirt and pulled me up to my feet and socked me again on the nose, letting me fall back down.
"Jim!" Mom shouted. I clutched my nose and groaned in pain as mom held his arm back.
I quickly pushed myself to my feet, blood from my palm bleeding into the floor as I did.
While he was turned and looking at my mom, I grabbed him and punched him straight in the nose and I heard a crack of satisfaction. His nose was broken.
"Agh!" He yelled out and fell to his knees and held his nose.
"Trevor!" Mom yelled and fell to her knees and cradled Jim in her arms.
I made a run for my room and slammed the door. Fuck them. I hate him.
