Squips and Lisps

This House Will Never Be A Home

T/W: Abuse. Please be careful. I love you.

The car was suffocating. After Rich and Michael were told Michael would be driving the other back home, Rich said a quick thank you to Mrs and Mrs Mell and made his way to the car. They'd only been driving for two minutes but it had already been one of the worst car rides Rich had to endure.

Michael was playing reggae music at max volume and it made the shorter male want to rip his ears off. Not to mention you could cut the tension of the car with a butter knife. Michael knew Rich was keeping something from him but was too nice to pressure Rich into telling him and Rich knew Michael wanted to know but was too nervous about what would happen if anyone even found out, so he just kept his mouth shut.

Despite the insanely loud reggae music however, Rich felt like he could hear everything. He could hear the tapping of Michael's fingers on the steering wheel, the click of the plastic glasses case in his backpack, now empty as his glasses sat perched on his face, the crackling of the stereo, and what felt like the entire world. His mind was racing, trying to think of both best and worst case scenarios for what would happen when he walked into that house.

Best case was his dad already passed out on the couch, empty beer bottles pooled on the ground. Worst case was he was up, tipsy, and waiting for Rich to make the mistake of walking through the door at the wrong time. His dad might not have been the strongest guy in existence but rich certainly wasn't either, and being as malnourished as he was also wasn't the biggest advantage. He might've had a high pain tolerance but Rich knew he couldn't take a punch for shit just because of how much stronger pretty much everyone was than him.

The drive continued on like that for another 15 minutes, which, to the two boys, felt like an eternity, when they reached Rich's house. He hissed a sharp breath through his teeth, getting out of the car and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Thanks for the ride," Rich said nodding to the boy in the driver's seat, he didn't want to go inside and face his father but he also didn't want to spend any more time with the car of doom.

"No problem dude, see you at school tomorrow." Michael saluted as he sped off, leaving Rich alone with nothing but his thoughts and a house that could never be his home.

He began walking to the door. This didn't feel like the walk of shame, no, it felt like the walk of death. Like he was being led to the electric chair without even being given a final meal. He had been punished for a nonexistent crime he hadn't even committed, dragged to a punishment he was undeserving of. But that wouldn't stop his father, who defended himself with such mottoes as the world doesn't care about your feelings so why should I and other great things to say to your mentally ill, traumatized son.

His only hope was that he'd make it out of this with as little noticeable injury the better. He was sick of people looking at him with pity as if he was a lost puppy dog. He could handle himself. He might be traumatized, malnourished, abused, and an entire book of other things but it had taught him how to grow up fast and handle himself.

He could only remember very little of what it was like to be an actual child. To not worry about his dad seeing him or where his next meal would come from. To have innocence, freedom, hope. If there was one thing Rich missed, it was the hope. He didn't have hope anymore, all he had was the crushing knowledge that he was stuck here for another 2 years, if he was even smart enough to get a college scholarship and get out of this shit show of a house.

He arrived at the door, placing his shaking hand on the doorknob and twisting it, opening the door slowly as if entering the belly of the beast. Because to Rich that's exactly what was happening, in this house it's eat or be eaten, and all Rich could do was cower and starve.