𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 ~ 𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧

𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Sebastian hadn't moved from his spot on the ground all night and now it was morning. The room had the smell of vomit wafting through the air mixed in with blood and disgust. His father was already in his room, most likely passed out, so Sebastian had plenty of time to rush downstairs and clean out his trash can. Except, he couldn't. He couldn't move. He was glued to the floor.

He felt trapped. He didn't want to keep living like this, didn't want to stick around for that to happen again. Because in Sebastian's mind, if he does one more slip up, it's over. He's ruined.

If Sebastian keeps coming home late, if he keeps being slow, keeps disrespecting his fathers friends... it was to happen again. He just knew it.

Sebastian finally picks himself up off the ground, knuckles covered in a dark purple and dried blood, and picks up his rubbish bin. He does his usual routine, washing out the vomit and placing in a new bag. Spraying perfume around his room to hide the smell. To hide the trauma.

He then washes his face, gripping tightly at either side of the basin, water dripping from his skin. He looks at himself in the broken mirror, looks at the brokenness of himself. How the cracks remind him of his own being. His mind. How his sanity was broken. His sense of hope was shattered. His will to live down to two people. Chris and Letitia.

Sebastian and Letitia had grown closer and closer each day, Letitia respecting Sebastian's choices to when he needs space, easing him to trust her little by little. She knew that he was shy and extremely timid. That he was scared of screwing up and letting everyone down. That he was scared of being left behind. Letitia would never leave Sebastian behind.

He and Chris had also grown closer. Though, Chris was a little bit more nosy, mainly curious, than Letitia and needed to know what was going on in Sebastian's mind. Sebastian was happy that he cared, but he hated lying. Especially to Chris.

Sebastian takes a shaky seat on the edge of the bathtub, placing an arm out in front of him to analyse the damage from the glass. Some of the shards were still dug into his skin, whereas the ones he had been able to remove were deep, pink and irritated, and covered in dry blood.

Sebastian sighs and begins to pull the glass from his skin, biting his lip, willing the tears not to fall. Blood, dark and warm, slid down his arm, pooling on the floor. It reminded him of all the times his father had grabbed a knife or even a piece of glass while Sebastian was struggling to breathe on the floor, grabbed his arm and sliced the skin. Sebastian would scream, trying with all his might to get away. His father was always a step ahead of him. He would place a foot on Sebastian's back or throat, laugh evilly, then continue his torture. He would spit harsh things, sending a knife straight through Sebastian's heart.

"This, will prove that whatever you told were lies." He would say. "You deserve this, you've been a very bad boy."

Then, he would move onto the other arm, and Sebastian would scream. Scream and cry at the unbelievable pain coursing through his veins. The amount of blood spilling to the floor.

Sebastian shakes his head. Stop thinking about it. He hisses to himself. If you're good, it'll never happen again.

Sebastian can't bring himself to believe it though.

Once he was finished cleaning himself up, Sebastian heads downstairs with a shake in his step, unable to look in a certain direction. He makes it into the kitchen and opens the fridge, finding absolutely nothing to eat. He sighs.