New Perspective -Ryden-

Father

[I guess I should clear this up:

Pete and Jon are seniors, and Spencer, Patrick, Brendon, and Ryan are juniors. Imagine this is in the AFYCSO era for Panic! and FODCT era Pete, and Patricks from SRAR era.]

{Thoughts of suicide and self-harm}

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Ryan's POV:

There was an awkward silence for a second then Spencer replied.

"Your room is awesome!!" He said maybe a little too enthusiastically.

"Agreed." Brendon joined in. The rest of the boys nodded.

When everyone was done we went back to the living room and hung out for a little while longer before Patrick said that they should be going.

"Oh shit, it's already 6:30. Yeah, we better go." Brendon agreed.

"If I break curfew my mom will ground me until college." Spencer added.

"Yeah. Thanks for letting us hang out, Ryan." Pete said before getting up and going to the door. "Bye." I replied as they filed out the door.

Brendon was last out. "Bye Ryan, see you tomorrow." He smiled and left.

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I was doing my homework in the lounge when my dad came home from the bar with his friends.

The door slammed open and the once silent house was filled with loud yelling and laughing. They were all big guys, and they were all drunk.

"Hey where's that fag of a boy you got?" A man they called Sully yelled obnoxiously then laughed at himself.

"Uh I dunno, probably listening to that rock crap as always." My dad replied, slurring his words.

I knew his friends would leave in a few minutes, and my dad would find me. I hated when he came home drunk. He was belligerent and would beat me and my mom.

After about ten minutes I heard all the men leave and it was just my dad. I listened closely until I heard his feet begin to crash against the hardwood floor of the house.

"Ryan! Get out here, boy!" His voice boomed through the rooms. I'd be surprised if the neighbors didn't hear.

I stayed silent and still. Listening as his footsteps got closer and closer. I stared at the doorway as he appeared and leaned against the wall. I prepared for what was coming.

"Did you not hear me call you, boy?" He half yelled. I could tell he was angry already. I stayed silent and looked down at my hands.

"Answer me when I talk to you!" He full on yelled. I could practically smell the foul scent of beer and cigarettes on his breath.

"Y-yes sir." I stuttered.

"Then come when you're called!"

By now he had made his way to the couch where I was sitting and was in my face screaming and spitting.

"Yes sir." I mumbled in reply. He hated mumbling, but I couldn't help it.

"Get to your room, boy! I'm done with you."

I stayed sitting because I knew he would hit me when I got up. But I also knew if I didn't get up, he'd hit me, so I got up and started slowly walking to the stairs. Not making eye contact. Ears still open, listening for any sounds of my father picking up his item of choice to strike me with.

After a few steps, I heard him pick something up. It sounded heavy, like a glass something. I stopped dead in my tracks, afraid to take another step knowing what was coming.