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imagining the way his mouth hangs open and all the screams are let loose.
how his cries and sorry excuses just get them both more worked up.
'cause there ain't no apologizing out of this.
'cause no parent should've treated their sons like he did.
'cause they'll be no peace in their war-wired minds till he's dead.
they would spit at him if they had the chance.
𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯' 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
does fuse remember? 'cause molotov does.
the way he would wake up to the racket; the screaming and beating happening right under their room. how even though he was laying on his bed, in that very same house, it sounded so, so far away.
kinda like it was another nightmare.
he would run from that one, just to be brought to a new one ( a most terrifying one, at that ) where his brother had a busted lip and a runny nose.
red eyes, puffy from all the wiping the older fitzroy twin had done.
( 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆... ).
he always wanted to love pops because—
what kind of son was he if he hated his old man?
but how can you love someone that terrifies you in such a way?, that fills your blood with disgust?
someone who's face you can't even bear to see without snarling? bearing your teeth in a primal, survivalist instinct;
your go-to whenever he tries to act like he isn't anything other than a piece of shit.
how can you love someone who's so lost and that, in the process, has made you so similar to him?