Wayward | ✓

✰•savior•✰

I m a g i n e: Having a rough life in your house, and being comforted by your boyfriend, Finn.

Warning: *Mentions of young domestic violence*

       1,500 Words

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Adrenalin. Pumping through your veins like an icy gas fueling your fear.

"Hey! Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you, god dammit!"

You felt a sharp pain in your wrist as you tried to run away but was grabbed by a broad hand.
You could feel your dad's nails digging into your soft skin of your hand, trying to inflict pain.

When you looked up at him, you didn't see any trace of what your father used to be many years ago.

You saw a stone-cold, alcoholic-powered machine, completely stoned.

"I said, GO. GET. MORE."
He said through yellow gritted teeth as he got in your face to emphasize his message.

You tried your best to put on a good bitch face to intimidate him, but inside, you were just a scared little girl.

"Fine."
You said, reluctantly as you spit in his face.

You yanked your wrist from your father's grasp, and gave him a cold stare.

He grabbed his keys to his crappy, run-down car, and pushed you out the front door of your house.

He watched you get into the passenger's seat of his car just to make sure you didn't try to make a run for it again.
Once you were secure, he got in the driver's seat, and you rode in silence to the nearest gas station.

When you arrived at the 7-Eleven, he parked his car closest to the entrance of the store, and reached into his pocket for his spare change.

"Go inside and get me two cases of a 24 pack of beers."
Your father said, shoving his small amount of cash into your hands, which was obviously not enough for the two cases of beer he wanted so badly.

"This isn't enough-.."

"Well, use YOUR OWN. DAMN. MONEY. Figure it out! Now go, hurry the hell up."
He shouted in your face, giving you the hint to hurry up and get out of the car.

He couldn't go inside to purchase the alcohol himself because he was so well-known in the town area for shoplifting and violence, that all liquor or small chain stores have banned him from purchasing anything by himself.

So in a desperate effort, he had begun to send you into stores to fetch the alcohol for him since you were 18 and looked old enough to buy alcohol.
Most of the time, you would have to use the money you earned yourself to pay for his pathetic wants.

"And don't talk to anyone! Don't try to play the victim!"
He yelled before you slammed the car door shut, and rolled your eyes as you walked into the 7-Eleven, hearing the bell ring as you walked through it's doors.

You made your way towards the beer isles, glancing into the refrigerated doors that kept the cans nice and cool.

You opened the cold door, the breeze blowing into your face. You reached to grab a case of beer before you felt a familiar hand on your wrist, stopping you.