The Best Damn Thing

Chapter Two

Iwaizumi dropped Oikawa off at the entrance of his neighborhood. It wasn't that he liked walking through the run down trailer park, he just hated for anyone to see where he truly came from, regardless of the fact that Iwaizumi had been there before.

Oikawa didn't want anyone to know that when Iwaizumi called him "Trashykawa" it was because he was literal trailer trash.

His shoulders slumped as he kicked a tin can down the road until he reached his lot, overgrown with weeds and scattered with trash. The trailer itself looked as though it would collapse at the slightest wind. The glass of the windows were broken out and all had been boarded up to keep in the heat they never had because his parents spent the money for the electric bill on booze. Again.

He reminded himself to steal a blanket from their room before they got home. The door nearly fell off its hinges when he opened it and he had to gingerly set it back into its frame.

The inside of the house was no better than the outside. He swallowed back his bile at the roaches that scattered in the kitchen when he entered. Dishes from well over a week before cluttered the unusable - not that he'd want to for how disgusting it was - kitchen, growing mold. He made a mental note to wash them once he finished the essay.

A sofa, recliner, and a box T.V. took up most of the space in the living room which doubled as his bedroom for the trailer only had once that wasn't so filled with junk that you had to climb to get in. He did use that room when his parents had "company" or were drinking. The closet was his safe haven. He hid his volleyball things there along with all of his clothes. Oikawa had a reputation to maintain, an appearance to keep up and he knew that all of those things would be sold for alcohol and cigarettes.

The smell hit him before he looked in the living room, at his dad lounging on the broken recliner and staring at him as he took another drag.

"Tooru," the man drawled and he cringed at the heaviness of his voice, noting the half empty bottle of liquor in his hand. "Where have you been?"

"I-I was studying with Iwaizumi." He avoided looking at his dad, staring intently at the floor in front of his feet instead. He heard the chair groan its disapproval as the older man rose, stumbling his way over to Oikawa and clasping a heavy hand on his shoulder tighter than necessary.

"I believe you have something for me." It wasn't a question, but he nodded, pulling out his wallet and all the cash it contained. "Rent money, Tooru. The landlord wants it within the hour. What do you think you ought to do since you were late getting home?" His hand squeezed impossibly tighter and tears sprung into Oikawa's eyes.

"I-I'll run it over and apologize." He paused before adding the words that would convince his dad to release his death grip. "I'm sorry I'm such a screw up of a son." The words no longer hurt when he said them. He was used to it.

"Screw up of a son is right. I don't know how I ended up with a son as useless as you." He pressed the cigarette into Oikawa's hand and returned to the recliner, ignoring its protest.

"I have work tonight, so I'll be home late," he muttered, heading back out the door. He stuffed the money into his pocket and took a long drag of the cigarette before dropping it on the ground to stomp it out. His palm stung where it had burned. He couldn't wait to move away from home.