The week passed by fairly quickly, and soon enough, it was friday.
West worked with Killian, but neither of them ever said a word to each other. Not if it wasn't work related. A customer would request a specific bouquet of flowers from Killian at the counter and he would inform West, who was oftentimes, hanging out in the garden because he couldn't stand to be in the same room as Killian, and he'd arrange it. He was okay with how unstable their work environment was. He'd even go as far as saying he preferred it that way.
-
When West came home that night, he was met with the image of his father sprawled out on the sofa with empty beer bottles at his feet. His heart started beating a little faster when he realized it was going to be one of those nights.
"Dad..."
"Weston, how was school?"
Paul never bothered to ask about trivial things, it made him feel uneasy.
"Okay." He responded, before hurriedly walking towards the stairs so he could get to his room and pack a night bag to leave for Brittany's house.
Paul smiled, something that made West's stomach sink as he remembered he'd forgotten to hide his guitar.
"Good, good..."
Before Paul could utter another word, West flew up the stairs knowing he probably wouldn't like what was waiting for him in his room.
As soon as he pushed the door open - and just as he'd expected, he came across the dreadful sight of what used to be his guitar, shattered into a hundred pieces.
West dragged his feet inside, picking up the only part still intact - the headstock, and gripped it so tight his knuckles turned white.
His bottom lip started quivering and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks.
He threw the headstock across the room, and it landed on the wooden floor with a loud thud before he angrily wiped the hot tears from his eyes.
Impulsively, he rushed out his bedroom to confront Paul, not thinking of the consequences.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He hissed.
"Who do you think you're talking to--"
"You enjoy doing this to me, don't you? Hurting me?"
Paul rised from the couch, he didn't like how West was towering over him. He took a step towards his son who normally shrunk back down in a panic, hoping that that would've done the trick, but for once, West didn't budge.
"Get out of my sight before I make you regret it." Paul threatened, his tone venomous.
"I hate you!"
He turned away from his father in an effort to get away, but Paul grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt, then pulled him back and spun him around so he was facing him again. Paul's height made him all the more intimidating, but West made sure to look him the eye, because for once, he wasn't cowering away in fear.
"Say that to my face." Paul seethed, the alcohol on his breath stinging West's nose.
"I hate you. I wish you were dead."
In a matter of seconds, West was on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself as Paul rammed his foot, over and over again onto the helpless boy.
"You dare," Kick. "Disrespect me?" Kick. "In my own house?" Kick.
Nausea clawed at West's throat. He tried to force down the bile, but ultimately failed when his father delivered the final hard blow to his stomach.
He clutched his abdomen, then started heaving on the floor. Every part of his body hurt, but nothing could compare to the pain he felt inside, the crushing realization that anything that gave him even an iota of happiness in his life, was simply not meant for him.
"Got nothing to say now, huh, smart ass? Fight back!"
Paul lifted West off the ground with his shirt and forced him to stand up straight. That gave West an opportunity to look into his father's eyes again. He wondered if Paul's forest green eyes were devoid of emotion because he was under the influence of alcohol, or if it was because of another reason entirely. Like the fact that his own son repulsed him. Or that he had no empathy, no soul.
West shook his head with the last bit of strength he could muster, "No. I'm nothing like you." He spat.
He saw something flash in Paul's eyes, regret or sadness, maybe, but it was quickly replaced by a scowl. He shoved West back so roughly, that he fell and landed in his own vomit.
West anticipated Paul's next words before he could even open his mouth.
"Clean this shit up."
--
"Be quiet, they just fell asleep." Brittany whispered as she sneaked West in through her back porch.
They couldn't really see much due to the house lights being off, the only illumination they had was the moonlight. But this wasn't new territory for them, it was what they considered normal... their own religion. Every Friday night at 11:30 PM, Brittany would sneak West in so he could stay the night and maybe the next night after that. If they were lucky.
They made it to her room without waking her parents. Sleeping over would be easier if Brittany's parents didn't think West was trying to get with their daughter... and also if they didn't hate him. But after years of West trying to convince her parents that he wouldn't hurt her, that their relationship was strictly platonic, he gave up and simply just didn't care anymore. He was used to being despised for absolutely no reason. He liked to think he was impervious to their resentment now.
"You look like shit." Brittany remarked, a sad smile on her face.
She didn't mention how she noticed that West was wincing with every step he took, though, he was trying very hard to mask his pain, and saying anything about it to him would probably close him off more. She knew about Paul's alcohol addiction and his abusive nature. West had begged her not to tell anyone, though.
"What happened this time?"
West shrugged, "We just got into another... heated argument."
Brittany nodded, leading West to the makeshift bed on the floor he'd be sleeping on that night.
She then took in West's state, he was pale looking, red rimmed eyes the most prominent, he undoubtedly had bruises under the oversized sweater he was wearing too.
Seeing her best friend suffer felt like a dagger through the heart. She wanted to help him, protect him, but she knew West would tell her that it wasn't a big deal, that he was used to it. But a person should never have to get accustomed to being abused.
So she took his hands and covered them with her own, because that's all she could offer at that moment. Her love, care and friendship.
"West... he's getting worse. We have to inform someone, the police..."
"His brother is the town's Sheriff Brittany. You don't think I've tried?"
"I think... I think I can't wait 'til you're finally out of that house, this town."
West gently pulled his hands from Brittany's then cleared his throat, "Want me to braid your hair?" He asked hoarsely.
"West..."
"Please."
"Yeah. Okay."
Brittany scooted closer to West and he stood on his knees behind her.
"Thanks, Red."
West rarely used the nickname, Red, not as much as he did when they were kids anyway. Brittany wasn't called Red because of the color of her hair, but because the horrid christmas sweater she wore - in the middle of July - all those years ago, was the first thing West noticed when they met.
It was fiery red with christmas lights and a very thin Santa Claus decorating the center which was unusual since He'd always been portrayed as a rather large old man. The sweater was likely a result of her first attempt at sewing.
West still swears that that sweater was the ugliest piece of clothing he'd ever seen in his life.
"Guess who started working at the shop with me?"
"Chris Brown?" Brittany deadpanned.
"Killian Ackerman."
She slapped West's hands from her head and turned around so she could face him. Wide eyes and all.
"You're kidding"
"Nope."
"YOU HAVE TO ASK HIM OUT, THIS IS TOTALLY FATE." Brittany exclaimed in a loud whisper.
"Or just a stroke of bad luck." West grimaced, "Either way, Killian's a boy, totally off limits. My dad's gonna find out and he's--" He paused, remembering an incident involving him, another boy and his Dad when he was 11. But he quickly pushed it down.
"Yeah... I guess you're right."
"We should sleep."
Brittany let out a deep sigh, then nodded in agreement. "Yeah..." She switched off the night light then slipped into her bed.
"Goodnight. I love you, Weston."
She fell asleep without hearing him say it back. He never could say those three little words, anyway.
_________________________________________