Serendipitous (Gawsten)

94. Stutter

"Awsten-"

That was the sound of his father. He could identify that from a crowd of people all screaming at him. He knew that voice. He knew that voice exceptionally well when it was drunk, which was the current element that was causing him to shiver.

He knew that he would never make it up to his bedroom without some sort of a fight.

"Come sit, boy," his dad chuckled lightly, his words all slurred together. Where was Gracie? God, he even hoped that his mother could be here right now.

"W-Where are they?" Awsten cringed at his stutter, waiting for the accusations to start falling from the older man's throat. They didn't, so he continued his sentence. "Mum and Gracie. Where are they? It's late."

"I said~" a cough, another sip from whatever he was drinking, Awsten couldn't see, as he was standing behind the couch. That was a good thing, meaning that his father couldn't see him either, his gaze locked into the television in front of them. "I said, come sit, boy."

"Answer my question."

"You have a lot of balls for a faggot, Awsten." He didn't want to even think about how drunk that man was. Hopefully too drunk to stand it inflict any pain on his son's body. Awsten knew that was next to impossible, he wouldn't be that lucky. "Gone. They're gone. They fucked off somewhere, took all their stuff. They aren't coming back." Another laugh. Another drink. "Gone."

They'd left Awsten behind.

He was never going to see them again. He was never going to see Gracie again. Did Geoff know? Had Sarah told him? Did Sarah even know?

Of course, maybe they didn't think that Awsten would ever come back. But Gracie knew. She knew that he wasn't that far away and that he was only living off the little money and resources that the two had. She knew that he would be coming home eventually. It explained why she hadn't been taking his calls.

He couldn't be mad, though. They would be safe somewhere else. He knew that it wouldn't have been easy for them. They were gone. They were safe.

"Come fucking sit!"

Awsten couldn't even manage another thought before he was instinctively walking into the living room and sitting down on the part of the couch that was furthest away from his heavily drunken father. He didn't want to do that, his old tendencies and fears just got in the way of his own head.

"How was your little trip with your pretty boy, huh?" Awsten didn't respond. He wasn't sure what was holding him back more, his fear of saying the wrong thing or the fear itself that was keeping his throat closed over. "Not even going to respond to friendly chitchat, now? That's fine. I'll be ready to make amends when you are, kid. Now go get me something stronger to drink."

He wasn't stupid or oblivious or hopeful. Amends were not being made. It was a manipulative tactic and Awsten wasn't sure what he was being manipulated into but he certainly wasn't hoping to have to find out, at least anytime soon.

He didn't move to retrieve his father's glass that was being held out towards his direction as an instruction. He just stayed where he was and stared blankly, harshly, at the glass.

"Did I fucking stutter? I asked for a drink!"

Confidence was not going to be in his favour in this situation. He wished that he could have been a coward and have done exactly what was asked of him exactly when it was asked, no hesitation. But instead he stood up, and began to make his way towards the staircase that led to his bedroom. "Let me know when you actually want to chat."

And maybe it paid off, for a moment or so, before the impact of the glass seemingly felt like it shattered bone as his father threw his empty drink at his son, where it hit him directly in the chest and caused him to fall back against the wall and collapse onto the floor, the glass shattering into thousands of little fragments around him.

His breathing was heavy as he stared at the drunken man in shock from his sitting position on the floor against the wall, his fingertips shakily tracing the mark where the edge of the glass had made its first impact, wincing from the bruising that was already forming and the warmth as the blood coated his fingers.

And when his father stood up, Awsten did not care for the shards of glass around him. He placed his palms on the floor beside him and pushed himself up from where he was so that he was able to rush to his room before this could escalate. Not before screaming out in pain as the shards penetrated through thousands of sites on the palms of his hands.

And he started to run.