Work Text:
“You’re an Idiot! A loser! A worthless son not worth my time!” His dad yelled in anger.
Backed into the corner of his cramped bedroom, blocking his head with whatever he could reach, this just having been a mask of his beloved Foxy the Pirate. He was scared, he was frightened, and he was alone. There was no one to help, no one to reach out to, not one person could save him. His father had snapped at him before, but never like this. It was his fault though, he had finally gone off the deep end, finally broke his father and himself.
“Michael… I’ve never liked you, you may be my blood but you aren’t my son! Not before, but especially not now, not after what you’ve done! You took him from me, you stole the only memory of your mother I had left!” His father fell to his knees and began to break, “Do you even know what you’ve done! DO YOU! After this, no one will ever love you. No one will ever be on your side, you twisted little bastard.” He raised his voice, “Get out of here… Pack your stuff, or don’t… I don’t care. I just want you OUT!”
Michael didn’t even know what to do, he was frozen, stuck in time. Anger, fear, and anxiety swirled around his head. So he sat, locked in position with the mask blocking his head. His father stood and left the room, slamming the door on the way out. “If you aren’t gone in 10 minutes, I won’t be able to control myself Michael…” His father said just outside his door. He didn’t know what his father was capable of, but he really didn’t want to find out. So he began to pack, he grabbed his duffel bag that he normally used when they went on vacation or camping, and began to pack up his life.
He walked over to his closet and started grabbing clothes off the floor and the racks. He reached and grabbed his jacket, but what he saw underneath made his skin run cold, made him nauseous. It was one of solid gray, nothing special but it was comfortable and went with anything, it was his favorite. Well, not anymore. It was coated in blood, a dark red-brown color covering half of the shirt. He steeled himself and finished getting his stuff together. He opened his door, 10 minutes was nearly up, when he walked out he saw his father, standing there waiting for him with a large kitchen knife in his hand.
“I hope I never see you again.” His father said as he began to walk out the door. He responded in tears, “I hope the same.” He left and never turned back. It was raining as he walked out the door, there was a lightning strike and then…
***
“Michael! Michael wake up!” A soft voice said. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, he had been crying in his sleep. He looked over and saw her, his fiancé Charlie.
“Are you okay? You were moving a lot and you started to cry.” She asked clearly very concerned, “Michael this is the third time you’ve done that in like the past week. What is going on?”
“I had a dream…” He hesitated, “a dream about my dad.” He sighed and wiped his face, “It’s ok, I’m fine it’s nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing Michael.” Charlie responded, “I know you don’t like to talk about your dad, and I won’t ask you to. However, if it would help and you’d be ok talking about it, I’m always here for you Michael. I’m on your side.” She placed her hand on Michael’s shoulder and leaned in to give him a hug. At this point, he began to cry. He was scared, scared that if he brought up what he had shoved so far down, that he could never stop thinking about it again.
((("Work In Progress")))