Underdog - RO&CM

4%

Rick enjoyed his time to sleep. Loved to rest, loved to bask in the wonders of his dreams. Yet this morning, he continued to sleep increasingly late into the day. As the minutes passed Chris grew deeply worried. Concerned that his smaller friend had done something dangerous or life threatening with long lasting effects only hours previous to him going to bed. Chris began to whisper and call for Rick, in hopes and mental prayers to get him to wake up. Maybe he was just sleeping his through and consistent exhaustion away. It made sense, yet the unsureness placed him on a ledge.

"Ricky... Rick!" Chris said in a normal tone, making sure that he was reasonably audible but not loud or stern sounding. That would be like a huge spotlight to the kid who happened to be hiding beside the hole in the wall. He repeated that in the same pattern at least another four times though, to make sure that his significant efforts were shown. Rick shifted slightly, his hand twitching and his right leg twitching. Some response was better than no response.

"Rick!" Chris said a little louder, slightly concerned that he was being too loud. The last thing he wanted was for Rick's father to walk in and see him yelling through a three by three hole in the wall, at three in the afternoon.

Rick made a noise very similar to a grumbling or groan and he sat up. "Chris, whaddya want?" He mumbled, he was rubbing his eyes to get the little eye boogers from his eyes and the corner of them. The crevices always hid the worst clumps of crap. Especially when he slept, woke up in the middle of the night and then fell back asleep. Whatever clumps were there, he avoided wiping away in his half asleep and half awake state, and then falling back asleep only caused more to appear. The whole concept was really a stretch of a process. 

"I was so worried. Are you okay? Are you sore?" Chris asked with his tone reading with a slight shake, and his throat sounded sore.

"I-I'm 'kay. I'm awake now." Rick reassured quite simply, figured there wasn't much more he had to say to explain himself and Chris exhaled.

"Happy Birthday Ricky. How are you feeling dear?" Chris replied in the relaxing voice he commonly referred to his friend with. He more often than not spoke to Rick very soft, hoping to remain a safe figure in his eyes.

"Woohoo, birthday excitement. I hate myself and my back is killing me. That's why I have a birthday, to be in criiiiippling pain." Rick sarcastically replied, his eyes not even half open. He sat up and let out a sharp wince. It really did hurt, and these beatings were more often now and closer together in time gaps. The pain just continued to build, and his bruises remained prominent even weeks after they were first placed.

"Rick, hush a little. What if yo-" Chris was cut off by a louder, angrier man. It seemed as time went on and progressed, his father's alcohol intake rose as well along with his anger issues. It was unbelievable how many bottles that the old man could get down before even getting remotely buzzed.

"Richard Allen!" His father shouted, rushing down the hallway. "The fuck are you screaming for?! This early in the morning?!" His father's voice boomed, and Chris stepped back a little so he could see everything all at once, and prevent Rick from having to verbalize what exactly went down. It helped things go smoother, as the evening was due to continue.

"Nothing, i-it was stupid. I-I'm sorry." Rick brusquely replied and he tried to cower under the covers. Anything to get a decent distance away from the aggressive man attempting to get at him.

"Get the fuck-" His father grumbled, demanding to get access to him. To get a grip on him, anywhere and to move him away from the corner of his bed. On that note, he successfully yanked him by his ankles out of the bed. His head and elbows landing on the floor, to break his landing.

The size comparison to his father was inhumane. More so because he drank frequently, and tended to exert a mass of his energy into pounding down Ricky's skull. Other than his passionate interests in beating Rick to a pulp, he also happened to work in accounting at his local bank. He spent a lot of time working out or, at least trying to, in order to impress his lady friends at work. Which only truly benefited him when he was angry, really.

"What's nothing Richard?" His father demanded to hear, cruelly knowing why Rick responded like this.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry please!" Rick panted, he felt the wind get slammed out of his chest. His father gripped his back of his shirt to put him in a slight of chokehold, trying to physically prove his power here again. Stammering that came from the kid made his head feel huge, he took pride in his teaching methods.

"Sorry about what? I need you to tell me what you're sorry for. Do you even know?" His father demanded of him. He didn't want to deal with this right now, he didn't have anything to say other than what he stuttered out. Rick was stalling by making small stutter noises, so his father lifted the shirt's neck and it put him in a chokehold.

"I-I was loud, loud, I-I'm sorry!" He yelped, and he squeaked. He tried to escape, or at least slant his jaw to slip his head out of the shirt and Chris on the other side began to bite back tears. Rick had thrashed around, hoping to escape. Sooner or later his body gave into the war and prepared to loose.

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Hey from the author! Deep apologies, this one is a little short because the next one is going to be a little longer than the usual. Please be patient, slow replies should be expected as the new year continues. 

Thanks for the support so far! Enjoy!