ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ || ✔ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ

06:12:23:09

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06:12:23:09
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He kept his head low as he entered the household that he lived in. He tried his best for his presence to be left unnoticed.

But he was unfortunate.

"It was him!" He looked up to see that his oldest sister was pointing to him, again. His facial expression turned from unamused to straight-up confused. What did he do this time?

"He was the one who killed Buster!"

"What?"

"What do you mean I killed Buster? What happened to him?" He asked, his voice slightly giving off the feeling that he was annoyed, irritated.

The older lady rolled her eyes before crossing her arms. Her posture was that of a typical mean girl, her weight was put on her left leg. "Well apparently you left him outside and then he got ran over by a car last night."

He was taken aback. What gave them the idea that he would just carelessly leave the only family he had? That dog was precious to him.

He knew that his sister was lying when he saw that his younger brother was glaring at the older lady. It was as if he knew exactly what had happened. And he did.

But he was immediately disappointed when the younger man turned away, stomping his way to his own bedroom.

"I didn't do that!" He lashes out, his tone raising at a terribly scary amount. "You know damn well that I could never do that!"

"Are you saying that I'm lying?" Those words stung him. He knew that she was lying. He also knew that no one would believe him no matter how hard he tried.

Moments later, he fell to the ground on his back when his father blew a punch towards his jaw. He brushes his fingers along his bruised lips. It was bleeding.

Again.

He winces as he felt a leather boot come into contact with his stomach, making him smile delight. He was getting used to it.

To all the punches, kicks, strikes, and vulgarity that was thrown to him. To all the accusations and faults that were passed down to him.

"That dog was a part of our family!" The middle aged man yells out loud, his earsplitting voice resonating thoughtout the household.

He could only let out a chuckle without the others noticing. Of course, that dog was a part of your family. Your disgustingly awful family that I was never a part of.

After what seemed like a hundred years, the beating session was over and he immediately ran to his room, his blood dripping down to the hardwood floor.

He let himself fall to the ground, his knees scraping against the wood. His back was lying flat against the floor.

He laughed in attempt to hide the fact that he was weak. A useless piece of shit. That his existence would never matter. That nothing would change even if he was born or not, maybe aside from the fact that his family would've been better off without him.

But for some reason, he felt something. As if a small part of him didn't want to die anymore. A small part of his cold heart was melting.

"Fuck."

"I give up."