The Definition Of Perfect (Sherwin x Jonathan/ In a Heartbeat)

Chapter Four

(HHHHH IM SORRY I UPDATED LATE. I had a sleepover with a friend, and I lost motivation for a bit. I'm sorry :(
BUT HOLY LORD
#14 IN IN A HEARTBEAT
HOLY SHITZUDOODLES
THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH
YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING)

Word count: 1129 words
(Sherwin's Point of View)

As I saw Diana and Jonathan walk away, I began walking towards the bus stop. I had to take the late one since Diana had to introduce me to her brother, which for some weird reason, took 10 minutes. Well heck, that was mainly my fault. A couple other kids were there, so I just sat down on a rock next to the pick up bench, which was about 7 feet apart. Good enough. As I was waiting for the bus to come and pick me and the other kids up, I took out my phone from the pocket of my school sweatshirt, and began to play some games. That continued for about 20 minutes. After I finished up level 25 on Angry Birds, the bus stopped in front of me. The doors of the bus opened, and while the other kids fought their way inside past the others, I just patiently waited for the hallway of the bus to clear up, and I sat down alone, staring at the window, and eventually, the bus began to move.

For some strange reason, I couldn't get Diana's brother off my mind. He was just so...I-, I don't know how to explain it. It was just an emotion that I never experienced before, I guess. But I...I just don't get it. Why was I blushing? I mean, when I get nervous, I blush, but that time was just...different. Why was it different for ONLY him, and not the others? Why did I think he looked so nice? These questions squirmed around in my mind for the rest of the bus ride, craving for answers.

When the bus stopped at my address, I walked out, frustrated. I began walking to my house, except I began to walk slower, and slower...and slower. I found myself standing in front of the door, and I reached out my hand to the doorknob to open it, but then I stopped.

I don't want to go in...not again.

As much as I wanted to stay outside, I didn't have a choice. I opened the door, and the first thing that came to me was the smell. Everything wreaked of alcohol, beer, and cigarette smoke. I looked to the left to see my Dad playing poker with his friends. His black hair was full of grease, and while playing, was taking shots of whiskey. Well damnit, not only will he beat the shit out of me, but he's drunk. Brilliant.
I tried to walk to my room, unnoticed. Everything was going out great, until I heard my Dad shout my name.
"SHERWIN, GET OVER HERE YOU ASSHOLE!".
Shit.
I walked over to his poker table, looking down towards the floor as his friends stared at me, chugging down their bottles of beer. My Dad began to shout at me.
"WHERE THE HELL YOU GOIN, SON, THE GAS STATION? WHILE YOUR THERE, GET ME A PACK OF CIGARS, WILL YA?!", he laughed. I began to feel shaky. I need to keep myself stable...at least for now. "I'm going to my room, Da-, I mean, Bill." I replied, my eyes beginning to water. He raised up an eyebrow, walking towards me.

Oh god no...please, not this time...

He stood in front of me giving me a hard, uncomfortable stare that made my insides shiver.
"What did you just call me, skank?"
I was about to collapse onto the ground. I was horrified. His seething stare made it feel like gravity itself was pushing onto me. He grabbed the collar of my shirt, staring into my eyes as if he was literally about to murder me.
"Did you hear me, dumbass?"
"Y-yes...I called you Bill! T-thats what you told me to call you!"
"YOU IDIOT. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO CALL ME SIR".
"Y-yes sir!"
Still grabbing the collar of my shirt, he pulled out a small red item from the pocket of his stained jeans, and held it up to my face. He began to breathe heavily through his nose; I could smell his breath, which, of course, smelled like old whiskey and take-out food. It made me gag. He then pushed a small button on the device he was holding up to my face, and I knew exactly what it was.
It was a pocketknife.
"You see this beauty, sonny boy?" He asked.
I quickily nodded. What the hell was he going to do to me?
"Now, you see, this was my Dad's. It's a little antique of mine. I'd rather not get it dirty, y'know? It'd be a real shame to have it stained."
He held the pocketknife up to my right cheek. I was done for. I began breathing violently, and I couldn't really breathe that much, being that he was still tightly holding my collar.
"Especially with your blood. So don't get fresh with me, you little bastard".
He threw me onto the ground, and I was gasping for air like no tomorrow. I felt a sharp pain on my cheek. I touched it, and boy, did it sting. Looking back at my hand, the tips of my fingers were covered with blood. Bill's friends began to laugh as I ran to the bathroom to clean myself.
"LET 'ER GO, BOYS!" I heard my father call out behind me, and before I knew it, I heard hard rock music playing behind me, echoing throughout the house. As soon as I reached the bathroom, I slammed the door, and looked at the mirror. There layed the inflicted wound of my father's knife. Warm blood began dripping down the right side of my face. My eyes were as wide as they could open, but I didn't even mind as this point. I grabbed a small towel and wet it under the sink with warm water. I lightly dabbed it onto my face, jerking it away sometimes, being of how much it stung. Once the blood stopped, I searched the bathroom cabinet for a bandaid, a patch of cloth, something. Eventually, I found a bandaid, and slowly put it onto my face, so it wouldn't hurt as much. But as hard as I tried, it seemed to hurt even more than the cut itself. Once I got it on, I just stood, looking at myself in the mirror. A hot tear ran down my face.
"Mom, please be home soon...".