This story is about seven boys who just want a break.
This is, what I believe, the story behind the MVs.
THERE IS NO SHIPPING!!
There is violence in the first few chapters, please bear with me.
There might be days where I don't update at all.
If you...
[A/N: Sorry for the violence. And there's a small part of stigma.]
FYNN
My dad is yelling at my mom. They have been fighting for two hours, and I should know. I looked at the clock. With my parents, fighting is different. You say fighting, I say Dad yelling. He raises his hand, Mom shrinks back, scared. She gives in. She always does. Dad sits back down at the table. He grabs his beer and takes a swing, then glares at me. "What're you staring at?" he yells and I look away. My dad turned into an alcoholic right after he lost his job. My mom pays for everything. In the mornings, she gets up at four and brings out the news letter. At seven, she wakes me up and cooks breakfast. And from 8 AM to 11 PM, she works as a cleaning aid. My dad just sits around and trinks away the money we need for food. My dad wasn't always like this. He used to take me to the park, play with me. But now? I don't know him anymore. I stare at him for a bit, then I fall asleep, just to be woken up by Dad's yelling. "THAT STUPID WOMAN!! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO??" My mom enters my room and smiles. "Good, you're awake, darling. Can you go early today? I'll give you some money, buy yourself something, okay? And don't come back before nightfall. Promise?" I nod. I'm too shocked to answer. Before I know it, I've left the appartment, and I hate myself for it. Should I leave? I could help her. But like the coward I am, I sit down in front of the door, hearing every word. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU GET ME A JOB INTERVIEW? I DON'T NEED A JOB!!" My mom answers, making it worse. "WE HAVE ENOUGH MONEY!! YOU JUST SPEND TO MUCH!" My mom gives a reply, even quieter than the other. This time, I only hear a crashing sound, then my mom starts crying. "SHUT UP, WOMAN!!" A slap. My dad hit her again. Instead of going in and helping, I leave. I am a jerk, I know. But I also know that my dad is stronger and I only make things worse. By trying to protect Mom, I'd get in the way. My dad would hit me, my mom would become my shield.
I head over to the end of the motorway, just staring at the streets. Cars drive by, children laughing, singing or sometimes arguing with other kids. The traffic lights turn red, a family in their van have to stop out of full speed. "You need to watch out, Dan! You almost had us killed!" "Well, if you hadn't been talking all the time, maybe I would have seen it sooner!" "Mom, Dad, stop fighting!" A girl from the back is trying to get between them. This is an argument, not a fight. A fight includes hitting. The lights go green, the car passes. I start strolling, walking over the bridge to the "better" side of town. Pretty houses, okay-ish families. They don't know how lucky they are.
The darkness comes earlier than expected. The moon is pretty high when I get home, unlock the door and look at the damage. My dad destroyed the vase she got from her grandma, but I only see the blood on the left overs of the pretty flowers. I sneak into our bedroom, the second one of our three rooms (bedroom, kitchen, living room). My dad is leaning against the wall, ignoring me but drinking. My mom is on the bed, her back turned to me, sleeping. I hug her and fall asleep by her side.
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I need to leave early the next day too. When I come home, my dad is yelling at Mom again. I honestly don't know what happened to me at that moment. I was done, with Dad, with the world. What did I do to deserve this? I grab one of the beer bottles from the table and rush into the living room, hitting my dad on the head. The bottle shatters as soon as it hits his head, but I am not satisfied. I use it to punch him in the gut, once, twice. I'm not going to lie, it felt good. So good that I don't stop. My mom is screaming. I don't even hear her. I suddenly realise that my dad isn't moving. In pure shock, I step back, dropping the bottle. My dad coughs, he has a wound in his stomach. There is blood everywhere. On my hands, the floor, everywhere. And it keeps spreading. The tears come running down my face, I stare at my dad, horrified. Then I run out of the appartment. Nowhere in particular, just away from that place, away from what ever happened. Away from that monster I am. I finally break down close to a train on the tracks. Again my head is in my hands and I'm crying. "Somebody," I whisper. "Anybody. Please." Save me.
