When Lily's Cry: Puppet Strings

Chapter I. Broken bottles and broken hearts

WARNING: May contain mature content such as self harm, murder, suicide, abuse, swearing, etc...
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Alfred rolled over on his side, listening as his bed creaked with each small movement. He yawned and rubbed his eyes before leaning over the edge of the bed to reach his slightly worn nightstand. Scratches and scrapes covered it, running along different sides, swirling in odd directions. It reminded him of vines, poorly drawn ones, but all in the same.
He grabbed a pair of black half rimmed glasses and placed them on the bridge of his nose. He pushed them back with his index finger, as to get better leverage on his ears. Then he looked towards an electric clock, as it illuminated a small area around it with its bright blue numbers. He squinted, still not quite used to the morning light streaming through his partially opened curtains. The clock read 4:30 a.m.
Alfred sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair. He hated to, but he knew he would have to get up soon, so he decided to abandon the warmth of his bed early. He flipped off his grey bedsheets that held occasional stains from use as a child. He then forcefully pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly at the bruise he forgot about on his forearm. He scanned down his body and noticed several others, along with the occasional cut that was either caused by glass, or...
Alfred looked away in disgust at his own figure and turned his body to where his legs dangled off the edge of the bed. He slid off slowly, letting his feet take in the cold of the wooden floors. He rubbed his eyes once more before walking towards his closet and pulling out a pair of ripped blue jeans, faded from age, and a light blue T-shirt with captain America's shield on the front.
He silently walked back to his bedside table and turned on the small lamp that stood at the edge near the wall. It lit up about 3/4 of his room, other than the corner nearest to the window. Sure, if he opened the curtains there would be better lighting, but he honestly didn't care how much he could see or not.
He slipped off his loose fitting pajama bottoms, and slipped on his pants quickly. He didn't have a shirt on while he slept, so he just put on deodorant and a couple sprays of cologne. He didn't know why, but he loved the smell of cologne, not to the point where he would drowned himself in it, but he did wear it every once in awhile.
He slipped on his shirt and grabbed two dog tags that hung from the back of his bedroom door, and pulled them on. He hid the name tags under his shirt, as to not attract attention.
He pulled on a pair of plain white socks, after digging them out of a drawer in his nightstand. Then he slipped on a pair of black converse with white stars decorating the outsides.
He grabbed the lock on his door and twisted it slowly, causing it to make a soft 'click' as it unlocked. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it to the right, before gently pulling it open. He released the breath he had been holding in, once he realized no one was home but him.
He scanned the area around his door, and found that beer bottles were littered on the floor, and crushed cigarettes sat in an ash tray a few feet from his door. He sighed as he exited his room and bent over to grab it. He emptied it into the trash and sat the tray on the dining table before going back around the house to pick up bottles and glasses alike. Some were broken, those of which he would have to clean up later considering he had school. He went back to his room to pick up the last bottle that was crushed near his room and sighed quietly as he looked over the broken glass and scratches that covered his door. No others, just his.
He picked up the last beer bottle and tossed it in the trash before walking in his kitchen quietly. He pulled out a box of pop tarts and bit into one, leaving the other in a plastic bag on his counter.
He looked around his apartment as his gaze fell upon a broken picture of him, and his family. But one figure in the photo was noticeable cut up by scissors, and covered in red marker. Alfred frowned and traced his fingers along the remaining glass protecting the photo, but also disfiguring it.
A piece of glass scratched along his finger, and he watched as a bead of blood pooled out of it. He still didn't want to ruin the photo, so he let the blood trickle down onto the cut up area. He grabbed a paper towel and let it soak up the remaining blood before wrapping it around the photo. He held it in his hand weakly, before looking at it once more, and letting go. It made a muffled crack and thud in the bottom of the trash before silence fell once more.
He shuddered from the cold of his apartment and quickly grabbed his warn trench coat, and a light purple scarf. He wrapped it around his neck sloppily before picking up his pitch black backpack, and slinging it over his shoulder. He looked around the house once more, scrunching his nose at the lingering smell of smoke.
He flung open the door and slipped out quickly before locking it and stuffing the key in his bag. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and looked over his missed messages. They were mainly from a person labeled 'Dad' although Alfred didn't really think of him as such. At least.... not anymore.

Dad: where are you?

Dad: I'm home.

Dad: Did you fix me dinner?

Dad: if you didn't..... you know what'll happen.

Dad: Answer me Alfred.

Dad: your mom was right. Your a disappointment.

Dad: ANSWER ME

Dad: ..... are you asleep?

Dad: Fine. I'll leave.

Dad: just..... I'll be back when you get home... we need to talk.

Alfred sighed and started typing a reply.

Alfred: I have work after school. I won't be home till late.

Alfred flinched at his fathers quick response.

Dad: Okay. I'll wait.

Alfred: Are you sure?

Dad: Yes.

Alfred hesitated before replying.

Alfred: Okay.

With that, Alfred bit his lip and shoved his phone back in his pocket. He looked down at his feet as he walked, not shocked with the way his father talked to him. But for some reason, it hurt more than it normally would, maybe because he mentioned 'Mom' who wasn't a great parent to Alfred either. He let out a tired sigh before looking up once more, masking the pain he felt inside with a blank expression.

The thing that hurt him the most, wasn't the texts, the marks on his door, or any other family issues.

It was the fact that, the person in the photo who was cut up and colored red........

...... was him.