Chapter Text
Wilbur sat in the passenger seat of his mother’s white Honda. His mother was talking with the social worker outside of the car, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying because they were too quiet. He wished he could just open the door or roll down the window subtly to hear what they were saying. He leaned against the seat, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to mentally organize everything that he had figured out that day.
First, his father was in prison. He had put his own father in prison. Did his father even deserve it? What had he done wrong? Surely what his father had done wasn’t worthy of prison. Was it? Was it not normal? Was what his father did to him just every day punishment? He had always deserved what his father did to him, but now he was being told that his father’s reactions were excessive and abusive? Sure his father was more angry when he was drunk, but it wasn’t child abuse. No, he knew what child abuse was and that wasn’t it. Did he? That didn’t matter, that wasn’t what it was. He was being punished for bad behavior. His father was put in prison because he was disciplining his own son. He put his own father in prison. He didn’t deserve such an evil child for a son.
Second, he had to do therapy? Like what the kids who tried to kill themselves had to do? He didn’t want therapy. He didn’t need therapy. He was fine. He wasn’t depressed and he didn’t want to commit suicide, so why did he need a therapist? Maybe he could convince his mother that he didn’t need it and she wouldn’t make him go.
Third, he had monthly check-ins with a social worker? Like, they thought he was unsafe in his own house. That made even less sense than the therapy thing. He didn’t need therapy and he didn’t need to talk with a social worker every month. He didn’t need it. Maybe he could convince his mother out of that too.
He ran his hands down his face. Why did he get himself into this situation? It was his fault. It was always his fault. He could never do anything right.
The sound of the car door opening knocked him out of his thoughts. His mother fell into the seat beside him and they sat in silence for a moment.
“Wilbur I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was treating you that way and I didn’t know he was like that,” His mother said quickly.
“No it’s okay,” Wilbur assured her.
His mother shook her head, “No, Wilbur. It isn’t okay. He abused you. Do you understand that? Your father abused you and it all slipped right under my nose.”
“It’s not your fault,” Wilbur said.
His mother turned the car on, “Okay okay. Let’s discuss how things will change. So your father won’t be around so you’ll be home alone until I get back. I think you can handle that, you’re in middle school. You’re in seventh grade already, that's crazy. You already know about therapy and the monthly social worker update. For therapy, you’ll meet with your therapist every Tuesday and Thursday between 6 and 7. For the social worker meeting, they are kind of a surprise. They don’t warn you before coming, so that’s something.”
“I don’t need therapy,” Wilbur said.
His mother sighed as she pulled onto the main road, “You do.”
“I’m not depressed and I don’t want to hurt myself or kill myself,” He explained.
“Maybe not, but you’ve got trauma,” His mother said.
“What?” Wilbur was confused and it showed in his voice.
“Your father abused you for years, that can give a person trauma,” She explained.
Wilbur shook his head, “No I’m fine.”
“You can’t convince me out of this, Wilbur. You need therapy,” His mother’s tone began to shift.
Wilbur pushed, “Why? I can manage myself fine.”
“You need it so that you don’t become the kid you described a minute ago, depressed and wanting to kill yourself. Trauma changes a person more than you think, Wilbur. And I don’t know what I would do with myself if something happened to you that I could have avoided,” His mother’s tone mellowed near the end.
“Will I get to see dad while he’s in prison?” Wilbur asked.
His mother took a moment to reply and sighed, “I don’t know, Wilbur. Do you really want to see him after what he did to you?”
“I mean, he’s still my dad right?” Wilbur gripped his wrist tightly with his hand. He was sure that he was going into dangerous territory.
“Legally, yes. But he abused you, Wilbur. Do you understand that? He shouldn’t deserve to be your father,” His mother explained.
Wilbur didn’t have anything to say back. Him and his mother didn’t talk on the way home. He walked up to his bedroom and laid on his bed. He remembered that he hadn’t said anything to his friends for a whole day and walked over to his computer. He clicked onto Discord and saw 15 DMs from his friends and 23 pings from their server. He decided it would just be quicker to respond in the server so they could all see at once.
…-…-…-…-…
(Hey everyone, sorry for not replying to anything)
404_N0tF0und- (Wilbur you’re back!)
Green_Blob- (Hello Wilbur, it’s okay)
KJacobs- (Hellooo Wilbuuuuur!)
(Wow, everyone’s online)
Green_Blob- (We got a little worried. You always are one of the last ones to leave the group chat and you didn’t respond to anything all day)
404_N0tF0und- (Yeah what happened)
(I just got a little busy)
KJacobs- (Okay, you’ve been getting awfully busy lately. Is everything okay?)
(Yeah, everything’s all good)
Green_Blob- (Alright then, we’re here if you ever need anything)
(Thanks guys, you’re all amazing. I’m gonna go now, I’ve got stuff to do)
494_N0tF0und- (Okay byeeee)
…-…-…-…-…
Wilbur clicked off of Discord and sat there for a moment. He stood up and walked to the bathroom to get the cleaning supplies that he would need to clean the carpet outside his room. He glanced in the mirror and winced. He looked awful. He opened the bottom drawer and grabbed his bottle of concealer and the sponge. He opened the bottle of concealer and put little dots of the liquid on his cuts and bruises. None of the wounds were fully open but some of them burned. He winced as he dabbed at the dots of pale liquid with the makeup sponge. He heard footsteps and spun around quickly to see his mother staring at him.
“How long has that been a thing?” She asked, referencing the concealer on his face.
He shrugged, “Ever since I got the money and saw that it was going to get noticeable.”
“Oh my god,” She sighed, “Well don’t do that, they’re going to get infected because those are pretty bad.”
“How do I hide it then?” Wilbur asked.
“You won’t have to ever again. But we have tonight and all of tomorrow to get that healed. Let’s not worry about that until Sunday night,” His mother suggested.
Wil set the makeup sponge on the counter, “Okay.”
He reached for a rag to try to get the concealer off. He had never gotten an infection before, but he had to trust his mother. She was all he had left. His father was going to be missing the last bit of his life. He’d come back when he was seventeen. That felt so far away.
“Want to get ice cream or something?” His mother asked.
Wilbur shrugged, “Sure.”
“Alright, go hop in the car,” She said.
Wilbur sat in the passenger seat of the car and gazed out of the window as his mother pulled out of the driveway. They got ice cream often. The three of them. A family. It was then whole, but then it became broken. Wilbur didn’t even notice at first because it started as a tiny fissure and grew to a crack, then to being entirely shattered.
“Do you want to ask George if he wants to come? I think you need a friend now,” His mother asked.
Wilbur shrugged, “Sure.”
His mother pulled out her phone and called George’s mother. They talked for a minute before Wilbur’s mother brought up George getting ice cream with them.
It was a plan. George was getting ice cream with them. They wanted him to vent to George so that he didn’t ‘burden’ himself with all of his issues. Maybe bottling it up was a better phrase for that. He wasn’t going to do that. He didn’t need therapy either. He could handle it on his own. He wasn’t a toddler, and he didn’t need anybody’s help. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. So what if his father was mean? He didn’t have to be in prison over it. It was all his fault anyways. Children would all be so disobedient without punishment for bad behavior, right? His father was in prison because of him. How embarrassing.