｢a.b｣ To Break A Boy

Prologue (EDITED)

"Get the fuck out!"

The high pitched scream made Andy's ears ring, flinching at the woman's voice. That voice was what the boy dreaded. He'd hope to come home to the sweet voice of his girlfriend, the voice he fell in love with so long ago.

Andy stayed where he was against the wall, attempting to stay as far away from the girl as possible. It wasn't the smartest idea to be close to her in this state of anger.

"I said get out!" She screamed once again, Andy looked down before speaking.

"It's my house, too." Was all he could muster through his quiet, shaky voice, fear of what was to come had he said anything else. To say he was scared was an understatement, he was terrified. He had been caught in one of her angry, drunken fights before, and he could confirm that it wasn't pretty. He had the scars and bruises to prove that.

"What did you fucking say?" Andy looked up at the response.

He watched as his girlfriend approached him slowly, her red pump heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Oh how annoying that clicking sound was.

"I said," He let out a shaky breath, raising his voice a bit, "it's my house too, Claire." He finally brought himself to stand up straight, looking at Claire with fearful eyes, though he tried to hide that.

"Does it look like I fucking care?" Her voice raised, much to Andy's surprise. "Get out! You're fucking disgusting!" And with that, the sound of glass shattering sounded throughout Andy's ears as she threw a beer bottle at him.

Now that, was a signal for him to run.

Without hesitation, he ran out the door of their small home, not caring to grab a jacket or something to shield him from the harsh winds. The cold December air pinched at Andy's pale skin, not helping the bruise forming on his jaw not too long before Claire had practically forced him out. At least the glass bottle hadn't hit him in the face and had hit the wall instead.

It was just another fight to Andy. He'd come home to her being drunk. She'd yell at him for doing something stupid. He'd defend himself, she'll hit him, they'll argue more. And then she gets tired and goes to bed, and it would be the couch for Andy.

He'd never think too much about it though because she'd wake up the next day with a hangover and being all sweet once it passed. And the fights weren't on a daily basis for the most part. What're a few bruises gonna do? Not like she'll go to jail. Nobody would care.

Just drunken fights. He couldn't blame her, she wasn't in her right state of mind. She wasn't herself. Everything would be fine the next day.

At least, that's what he told himself.

That's what he hoped.

~-~

A/N: Aye, new story. Possibly the first story I'll ever write that isn't Andley?¿ Although, knowing me it probably will end up being one towards the end. I'll try my best to update this one frequently, and I hope you enjoyed reading whatever the hell this is. 😂❤