What one can hide

Chapter eight- two more years

Trigger warnings- Slight homophobia, panic attack, abuse

It had been just over a week since Tommy had not only seen his friends, but since he's even talked to them. Tommy hadn't meant to avoid his friends, but everytime they asked him to join a call, he couldn't help but think they were going to bring up the interaction with his mom. Not wanting to relive it all again and have to explain everything to another person, he simply just stopped talking to his friends.

He still streamed of course, but just by himself. His fans had started to pick up on it and began to ask questions, which Tommy dodged. It was just easier to be by himself. He didn't want his friends to feel like they did anything wrong, but he just couldn't build up the courage to talk to them. He figured if he waited long enough, they would just forget about what happened with his mom.

It was the middle of the day, and Tommy had done nothing but shower and sit on his bed. He hasn't even eaten yet, as if there was even any food in his house. His days usually went the same, waking up with a shower, sitting on his bed, playing Minecraft by himself, and managing to do something wrong and get beaten up by his dad. The schedule only ever altered when he was streaming or the days when he'd have a panic attack. He just felt so tired. For so long, Tommy tried to live up to his father's expectations, but soon enough, he had realized no matter how hard he tried, his dad always found something to get angry about, so he just gave up on trying.

Tommy didn't know how much time had passed when he heard heavy footsteps walking towards his bedroom door. He knew his dad was home, yet just the noise of the footsteps made his anxiety spike, he knew they were for him and he wondered what he could've done this time. The footsteps got louder and louder, stopping at his door. He heard the doorknob twisting and the door flew open, but he continued just staring at his ceiling, not even wanting to look at the man. He felt scared, but showed no emotion on his face as his father stomped over to where he was laying down. He felt two hands wrap around him and yank him out of bed.

Stumbling to his feet, trying to find his balance, he didn't even bother looking at his father, just looking down at his feet. He was expecting to be punched or hit, but instead he just heard his fathers harsh words.

"Tommy I've realized something," his father began starring the boy down, "You spend everyday in your room, talking to your little gay boyrfriends, playing some fucking game. I support this family and you show no appreciation!" Tommy knew he probably spent too much time in his room, but he was too sacred to leave it. Staying in his room meant staying safe.

Tommy waited for his father to continue, but when the room fell quiet, he felt his dad's hands forcefully grabbing his face, making him look up. "And for fucks sake, you better start showing me some respect around here. Look at me when I talk to you! How do you manage to mess everything up?" With each word, his voice grew louder. His fathers hands pushed his face forcefully so that he was now looking to the side, hurting his neck in the process

Tommy's dad continued to scold him, but at a certain point he just zoned out, it was the same lecture everytime. How much of a fuck up he was, how he was irresposible, and how he always messed everything up. When the scolding seemed like it was coming to an end, Tommy mentally prepared to get hit. A punch or smack seemed to follow every interaction he had with his father nowadays. Just as he thought, he felt a strong fist make contact with the side of his face.

Tommy looked to the side, moving his jaw which now hurt like hell. Tommy bit back tears, knowing if he cried, he would only get hit again. Tears weren't allowed in this house, according to his father. His dad had left his room, shaking his hand as if the punch had hurt him more than Tommy.

Tommy hadn't said a single word the whole interaction. After being abused for so many years, Tommy knew that speaking often just got him into more trouble. No matter how mad he would get at his father, how badly he wanted to yell and scream at the man who made his life a living hell, he held his tongue, because staying silent meant staying safe.