Brotherly Love - Jacob Sartorius x MattyB

Chapter One

I can hear the crowd chanting as I get ready backstage. Chanting my name, over and over. Matty B, Matty B. I look at my reflection in the dressing room mirror. My light brown hair, is combed perfectly to resemble 2009 Justin Bieber. My eyes, which are blue right now (but they change color with my mood) are sparkling. My freckles, dotting my skin like ants on the ground, make me look like that kid from the MAD magazine. My Dad walks in, interrupting my ritual.
"Matty, I got you this to wear for your show," he says, holding up a gold chain. It looks totally gangster.
"Thanks, Dad, but I don't want to wear that tonight," I answer. I don't want to give the wrong impression to my fans. After all, I'm Matty B Raps, not hip hop legend Tupac Shakur!
"Matty. Wear the chain." Dad is scaring me now. He looks at me angrily and starts to yell. "MATTY, WEAR THE CHAIN."
"I-I don't want to, Dad. Please," I feel tears welling up in my eyes. His face turns red, and he has a look of pure rage on his face, like someone just sent him a Facebook message asking him to play CandyCrush.
"Matty, I will ask you one more time to put the chain on or you will face the consequences." He looks serious, but I know I can't wear the chain.
"Dad, I am not wearing the chain. It'll interfere with my groovy hip hop moves. Plus, it'll clash with my stage outfit." I know I just crossed a line. He starts to growl, sounding like a rabid gorilla, and tears of anger fill his eyes. I sit in my chair, paralyzed, and terrified. He rears back and punches me in the face. My vision goes fuzzy, and my ears ring. He screams. Dad kicks the mirror and it falls on my head, shattering into 47 pieces. He continues his rampage, kicking the chairs and me, and screaming. He sweeps his arm across the table, knocking off my Super Size Strong Hold Hairspray (For Teens). My framed autograph of Steve Buscemi crashes to the floor.
"You're a disgrace. Matthew Morris, you are no longer any son of mine." He walks out of the room, and I start to cry. I taste tears and blood in my mouth, and look at my reflection in the cracked mirror on the floor. Blood is dripping down my tear stained face and chunks of my hair are missing. I look worse than Gregory did after he fell off of the seesaw last year. I sink to the floor, and let visions of Miranda Cosgrove lull me into a deep sleep.