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His face was drenched in tears that refused to stop flowing. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. In a state of frenzied panic, he shoved a bunch of clothes into his backpack, desperate to escape.
He sobbed uncontrollably, his hands shaking as he wiped away the endless stream of tears. The relentless knocking on his bedroom door drove him insane, the sound echoing through his skull.
His phone beeped, drawing his attention away from the chaos consuming him. He reached down and picked it up from the floor, his hands trembling as he read the message.
“Hailey’s here. You need to find somewhere else to stay. Sorry, dude. Ask Trevor. You get it.”
Everything inside Brandon shattered into a million pieces. How could this be happening? He had never felt so hopeless, and so utterly petrified in his entire life.
His heart raced as he heard his dad's attempts to break into the room. The doorknob rattled and shook as if possessed by some evil force, driving him to the brink of panic.
With trembling fingers, he hastily closed his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. He looked around, but his cluttered room offered no support, no clue as to his next move.
As he scanned the room in terror, his eyes fell upon the window. It was his only chance. He scrambled onto his bed and fumbled with the lock, his hands quivered with fear.
A deafening explosion echoed through the air as the door finally couldn’t take it anymore. Two hands seized him by the shoulders, dragging him away from his last hope of escape. Before he knew it, he was shoved against the closest wall.
Brandon feels his father's breath on his face, and the stench of alcohol makes him feel sick. His hands are forcibly held against the wall, leaving him completely vulnerable. His father's voice cuts through the air, dripping with hostility.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he snarls.
Brandon tries to keep his composure, but the fear in his heart is overwhelming. He has never seen his father this angry, and he knows that any wrong move could have dire consequences. He just remains silent, not wanting to piss his dad off any further.
But his father is not done yet. With a twisted grin on his face, he taunts Brandon, relishing in his son's terror.
"You're scared, aren't you?" he asks, laughing a bit. "Do I intimidate you?"
Brandon's eyes shut tight as his father's words slice through him like a knife. He is trapped, helpless, and at the mercy of a man who used to play catch with him and now seems to take pleasure in his suffering. There is nothing he can do except pray for a miracle and prepare himself for the worst.
“What do you want?” Brandon’s voice was quiet and wobbly, like he was on the verge of breaking down.
His dad’s grin grows wider. He stops to enjoy the fear in his son’s eyes. He enjoys the fact that the teenager is scared of him, he enjoys seeing him like this, he enjoys having control over someone, anyone - knowing someone's scared of him is a feeling that’s like no other.
“What do I want?” He says in a mocking tone. “Why do you ask that? What do I want?”
A single, silent tear rolls down Brandon’s cheek.
“Because I’ll do anything.”
For a moment, his dad thinks, imagining all the different thing he could make Brandon do. He tries to resist the urge to take things further, but it’s so hard. He can’t resist the urge to have more control. Brandon’s submission makes him feel superior. He wants more.
“You’re so fucking pathetic, crying like a little girl.” He sneered, laughing at Brandon’s distress. “You’d really do anything?”
Brandon nods slowly, but his expression betrays a sense of hopessness. He knows that no matter what he does, it won’t make a difference.
The grin on his father's face grows while he leans in closer and places his hand on Brandon’s throat. His grip isn't forceful or anything, but just the touch is enough to scare the shit out of him.
“Let me hear you beg.” He says.
Brandon’s knees get weak just by the sound of his dad’s words. He feels so incredibly humiliated, like he only exists to do what his father tells him to do.
“Let me go.” He says, his voice sounding desperate and defeated. “Just tell me want from me and I’ll do it. I don’t care anymore. You can beat the shit out of me if it means you'll let me go after. Please.”
The sound of his father's chuckle echoed through the room. “I can’t believe I’m causing you to be this desperate.”
Suddenly, a surge of uncontrollable rage consumed him, pulsing through every fiber of his being. The adrenaline rushing through Brandon his veins made him incapable of thinking rationally.
The words “Fuck you” escaped Brandon's mouth before he spat in his father's face. The act was so sudden and unexpected that it paralyzed his father with shock. His mind crashed, unable to process what just happened. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by an expression of pure disgust and hatred.
As his father wiped the spit from his face, Brandon's heart sank. The sound of his father's hand slapping his cheek echoed in his ears. His skin turned red, burning with pain and humiliation. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could take it all back. He fucked up.
The hatred in his father's eyes made Brandon's blood run cold. He realized in that moment that he had destroyed everything. His father's demand for respect was absolute, and the mere thought of someone disobeying him filled him with rage.
A sense of despair and helplessness overwhelms Brandon as he feels his father's strong grip tightening around his throat. The twisted grin on his father's face shows nothing but mockery. His heart races as he braces himself for what is to come.
His father's voice pierces through the eerie silence, demanding him to get on his knees. With tears streaming down his face, Brandon obeys without a second thought. He knows better than to disobey his father's orders.
"Look at the floor," his dad sneers, and Brandon's heart sinks even further. He watches in horror as his father surveys his room, knowing that his father's eyes will land on something to use against him. And just as he feared, his father's gaze falls on the cigarettes and lighter on his nightstand.
With a smug grin on his face, he reached for a cigarette from the box, his fingers shaking as he brought it to his lips. Brandon knew better than to speak, too afraid to utter a single word as his father inhaled deeply.
The command came without warning, shattering the fragile peace that had settled between them. "Roll up your sleeve."
He kept his eyes down, his heart pounding in his chest as he slowly rolled up his sweater sleeve to his shoulder and revealed the marks on his arm. The dread coiled inside him, a familiar sensation that he could not escape.
The silence hung thick in the air, stretching out like an endless void as his father took another drag, relishing in the power he held over his son. The anticipation was suffocating, the fear paralyzing as he braced himself for what he knew was coming.
Finally, with a cruel look in his eye, his father pressed the lit end of the cigarette into his upper arm, causing Brandon to bite back a scream of pain. The burn was nothing compared to the hopelessness that consumed him, knowing that this would never be the last time.
“You’re nothing. Don’t you dare disrespect me ever again."
With a humorless chuckle, his father carelessly tossed the cigarette butt away and left the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Brandon curled up, burying his face in his knees, and just cried. The tears flowed endlessly, like a river that had burst its banks, and he felt as though he would never be able to stop.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sobs subsided, and he gathered what little strength he had left. He grabbed his backpack and phone, and with a heavy heart, he climbed through his window.
It was bitterly cold night, the kind that could only amplify his misery. The cold wind gnawed at his bones, the frosty air seeping into his very soul. But he didn’t care. Nothing could compare to the agony he felt inside.
With each step, his journey felt more arduous, the road ahead endless and bleak. But he trudged on, his feet moving with a painful lethargy, driven by a desperate need to escape the reality of his home.
His destination was subconsciously already chosen, because he started dragging his heavy feet in the right direction until he reached Trevor’s house. There, he knew he could get a break from the suffocating hopelessness he seemed to be drowning in.
As Brandon tapped his knuckles on the glass, his heart pounded in his chest, the awkward silence so strong he was almost able to touch it. His tears had already dried, but his messy appearance and bloodshot eyes betrayed his inner chaos.
Abruptly, the curtains parted, and Trevor appeared, his expression inscrutable. Brandon had always found him difficult to read, and tonight was no exception.
"What are you doing here?" Trevor whispered through the cracked window.
"Can I crash here, please?" Brandon murmured back, his voice strained with anxiety.
"Oh," he replied, as if realizing the gravity of the situation.
For a few fleeting seconds, Trevor lingered in silence, a thoughtful look etched on his face. It was clear he understood that Brandon was there for a reason.
"Yeah, of course," Trevor eventually said.
As he opened the window wider, Brandon clambered inside, his mind racing with a million different thoughts. He barely registered the sound of Trevor slamming his laptop shut. A part of him wondered what he was hiding, but he had more pressing concerns to worry about anyway.
"I guess I'll just crash on the couch," Brandon said, unsure of himself.
Trevor replied with a quick and forceful "No way." Brandon looked at him and saw that he seemed a bit sheepish, like he was embarrassed about his own reaction. "Dude, if my parents catch you here in the morning, we're both dead."
Brandon just shrugged it off. "Nah, man, I'll be out of here before they even wake up."
“You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch,” Trevor offered, but the words sounded empty and meaningless to Brandon.
As Trevor left the room, Brandon dropped his backpack. The overwhelming sense of loneliness washed over him, consuming him. He struggled to hold back his tears, knowing that he couldn't let his emotions overwhelm him in someone else's home.
With a heavy heart, he changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, a feeble attempt to feel more at home. As he slid under the covers of Trevor's bed, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of safety. But it was fleeting, as the memories flooded his mind. So much had happened in this room.
Despite the heaviness in his chest, Brandon slowly drifted off to sleep, knowing that tomorrow he would have to face another day in this bleak and hopeless world.