Never (NOT a OUAT fanfic)

Chapter one

"Wells Darling, you will not speak to your father like that!" Her father roared, his voice filling every corner of the kitchen.

"It was one fail, Dad. You're completely over looking the A's!" Wells argued, her face flushed red with anger. Her fingers were balled so tightly into fists that her nails were creating little crescent indents on her palms. Now her throat was coarse from yelling, not only from the current argument but from the one before that, and the one before that.

"An 'F' in Maths, Wells. That's unacceptable. You do not deserve the money we pay for your education." Mr. Darling growled, his tone bordering an animalistic grouse.

"I got an 'A' in English and an 'A' in Art, doesn't that mean anything to you?" Wells asked, gripping the counter edge for stability. Who knew how long she would last until she just gave up and crumbled? During fights like this she used to get teary, but not anymore. She didn't waste tears on her parents anymore.

"I don't care about your ability to tell stories, Wells." Her father deadpanned. Barely any hair remained atop his head and he often blamed it on Wells stressing him out.

"Anything else, Dad? You wanna criticize anything else while you're at it? Maybe my posture this time? Or the way I eat? Or maybe we can have a little jab at my friends, shall we? Every fucking night. You always have something to say about me." Wells took a step forward, claiming any sliver of power she dared. Her father was a scary man at best, but she had learned to overlook the things that made him so daunting. It was practice, years and years of practice.

"You have no right." He pointed a finger at her. "No right to say such things to me. You show me no respect anymore. You are not the girl I raised. You—"

"Mom? What do you think?" Wells' voice was cracked and trembly. She looked to her mother for backup, standing in the kitchen corner silently.

"I'm sorry but I have to agree with your father on this one, Wells. Math is a very important subject you can't afford to fail." She said in a small yet stern voice. Wells felt her blood boil. Not once had her mother ever not sided with her father. And it irked Wells like nothing else.

"Of course you think that. Of course! There no way you could ever side with me over him. I'm done. We're done with this," she growled, pushing herself off the counter and beelining out of the kitchen. She didn't want to waste another second in the same god damn room as her parents.

"Wells, come back here right now. We are not done until your father says we're done." Her mother spoke, not loudly though. Never loudly. For all Wells knew, she had the voice of a mouse.

"We're done until you get a backbone." She snapped back, storming up the stairs without any further regards. In that moment, she felt perfectly capable of packing her bags and running away. Anywhere. Didn't matter what or who, just as long as she wasn't under the same roof as her parents.

The upstairs corridor was quiet—too quiet. Other than Mikey's x-box humming in the background, there was nothing. Wells continued her pursuit in a heated range regardless, until a boy the age of eight slid his head around the corner of her bedroom door.

"Jonny, what are you doing in my room?" She asked, not daring to slow her pace. Instead of waiting for a reply she ushered her youngest brother inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

"Waiting for you." Jonny said in a blunt, high-pitched voice, as if Wells should have known already.

"Why?" She dropped her voice into a soft melody. She would never dream of being so sour with Jonny, occasionally with Mikey, but never Jonny.