Intimidation ♡ joshler

nine

an: this chapter is gonna be marked with a trigger warning, just to be safe <3

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Tyler considers his options as he sits alone during the bus ride home.  Je can just straight-up hand Zack his failed math quiz, or he can wait for Mr. Lassiter to call home next class—Friday—and inform him himself.  

Tyler could just wait for the  phone call and be confronted on Friday instead of today—Wednesday—and risk the possibility of Zack being more pissed off with him, or he can get it out of the way today.

Well, when he thinks of it that way, the latter seems more logical.

Tyler's bus stop is about five minutes away from his house if he walks at a moderate pace, but it takes him a little longer as he dreadfully drags his feet along the concrete.  He brainstorms some reasonable excuses that would alleviate Zack's anger towards him, but he never manages to come up with anything before he's at his own door.

Zack's already sitting on the couch when Tyler enters, and Tyler sure is one unlucky motherfucker, because Zack already looks rather pissy; Zack tends to get pretty cranky when he's sick, and today seems to be no exception.

Tyler drops his bag onto the couch to retrieve his quiz with trembling fingers, and by the way Zack's looking at him now, it's safe to say that the older man knows something's up.

"What happened?"

"Um—" Tyler forces out, voice catching in his throat as the tears from earlier begin to return, even though nothing's even happened yet.  He tries to blink the tears away as he shakily hands the quiz to his brother, anxiety skyrocketing as Zack takes it, looking over it.

"Tyler, why did you use ink knowing it'll get you points taken off?" Zack asks lowly, and that lets him know that he's pissed, but Tyler can't bring himself to respond as he's engulfed by fear of whatever happens next.

"Tyler, if you don't start speaking right fucking now," Zack threatens, voice rising louder with every word until he's close to yelling.

"Um— I— I didn't have a pencil," Tyler squeaks, eyes welling up in tears for the third time that day, and he doesn't think he'll be able to prevent them from spilling over much longer.

"Why didn't you have a pencil, Tyler?? Jesus!" Zack stands now,and Tyler steps back as he looms over him  Tyler bites his tongue as he tries to regulate his increasingly unsteady breathing, and shit, he's getting lightheaded, he's gonna faint, he's—

"Ten, nine, eight," Zack starts counting as he steps closer to the teen being driven into hysteria, and Zack counting down like that is always bad.

"I gave them away!" Tyler finally spits out with a cry, and Zack finally snaps.

"Fuck, Tyler, what did I say about this?!" Zack screams at him, and Tyler is so overwhelmed.  He starts to hyperventilate, but Zack doesn't care, he presses on, "I'm not made out of fucking money, and I sure as hell don't get you this shit for free! I pay for all your school supplies, along with food, clothes— not to mention these crazy ass bills! You're too fucking much Tyler! You're like a fucking leech!"

"I—"

"No, shut the fuck up, Tyler! I don't wanna fucking hear it!" Zack steps even closer, and oh, God, Zack's gonna hit him, Tyler's gonna throw up—

Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

Tyler blindly dashes up the stairs and into the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet before harshly dry heaving into it, shaking violently as he clutches desperately onto the porcelain.

When the heaving stops, he weeps and weeps, letting everything Zack said sink in.

Tyler's just a fucking leech, a burden.  An obstacle in Zack's life.  Good for nothing, worthless—

He emits another sob, and he doesn't even bother holding them back, and he's so cold; he always goes frigid when he's deeply sad.

And so he picks himself up and carries himself to his room, grabbing a blanket and wrapping himself in them before dropping down onto his desk chair.  Tears still spilling over, he begins fumbling through the various items strewn across his desk, searching for a distraction to help calm himself in any way possible; he swishes his hand through a jar of marbles, spins coins the best he can with shaky fingers, smells his favorite candles, flicks the lighter he uses for candles on and off—

He lets the fire flicker longer than recommended.

He rolls down his sleeve.