The Baker's Sons

Guitar Fragments (2)

Still a warning for yelling and abuse and such

I used some writing from the oneshot of this i did in this chapter
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When Wilbur woke up it was around 5 in the morning. His room was dark and cold. His body was still curled in on itself on the mattress, his eyes in a way sore by all the tears.

Slowly, he sat up. His side burned where the kick had landed. Getting onto his feet he walked over to the window and lifted his shirt. The slight moonlight shining in allowed him to see the large bruise forming along his ribs. He frowned and let the shirt drop again.

Wilbur looked around his room slowly. It was an empty room, with only a shelf and a mattress. His closet held most of his belongings, hidden under clothes just in case. It was honestly quite a big room but that just made it feel emptier. Though he thought it was nice to have room to lay on the floor or walk around when he was stressed. His father had taken out the lights, making the small window well  his only source.

It was boring in the house. Most of the time he had nothing to do but homework or guitar. The house didn't have much else in it to do. Thats why Wilbur walked over to the door and slowly turned the knob. He swung the door open quickly to avoid the loud creaking sound it made and stepped out.

He traveled through the house, carefully stepping his way up the stairs and to his parents room. Looking in he saw his father passed out on the bed and his mother on the couch in the corner. He frowned at that but continued on with what he was doing. He snuck through the room and wrapped his hand slowly around the neck of his guitar. It was tossed aside in the corner.

Picking it up, he sped walked back out of the room and back to his room. Sat on his bed he held the guitar and quietly fidgeted with it, considering playing it. If he played it quiet enough, would anyone hear it?

Wilbur was ready to take that small risk for any sense of comfort he could feel. He started strumming a slow melody of a song he wrote, immediately feeling calmer as his fingers ghosted along the strings. He laid back on the bed and continued to play.

It was at least an hour of calm strumming when it was interrupted by loud footsteps. Wilbur immediately sat up and held his breath to listen. The footsteps were clearly his father's. They traveled around the top floor for awhile before going down to the main floor. Maybe he was just getting ready for work? Wilbur hoped.

But of course, the footsteps started heading down to the basement. The stairs creaked at the weight. Wilbur shot up and ran to his closet, shoving the guitar into it. He froze as it bumped into the wall, making a loud sound. The footsteps paused.

By the time his bedroom door was slammed open, Wilbur was back sitting on the bed, acting as if he had just woken up. He turned to look at his father. He looked mad.

Oh god why did he even risk it?

The man stood in the doorway, looking around the room. Wilbur could only make out his outline in the dark room. He walked into the room and to the closet, throwing it open.

Wilbur's heart went wild, hoping he had hid it well enough. He didn't even dare ask what he was doing. He knew if the guitar was found that was it for him.

Unfortunately the man saw it. The tuning pegs were just visible under the small pile of clothes. He ripped it out of the closet and glared at his son. Wilbur froze. There was a couple moments of silence before his father exploded.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU WILBUR?" His father yelled. Wilbur sat frozen, just staring at his guitar. The way the man was holding it was scaring him. "ANSWER ME!"

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something, searching his mind for an answer. What could he say? Almost everything would just anger the man further.

"I was just-!" He panicked, but it was too late.

Wilbur flinched as the man in front of him swung the guitar like a bat. It hit the door frame of the closet and snapped. The musician watched in horror as he did it again and again, breaking the one comfort item he had left beyond repair.

He got up without thinking and grabbed the guitar from his father, ripping it away from him. He clutched the instrument to his chest, watching the man turn to him and glare. This was the angriest Wilbur had ever seen him.

There was a loud smack and then Wilbur was on the ground. He could feel his cheek start to burn up. He brought a hand up to his face. The man stood towering above him, glaring down. Wilbur had really messed up.

His father's hand came to the collar of his sweater and pulled. He was half dragged out of his room and to the front door. His father pushed open the door and shoved Wilbur out onto the porch.

"Never come back to this house again." His father stated coldly. The door was slammed, leaving the twelve year old sitting on a snowy porch. Was he just kicked out? Shock kept Wilbur on the porch as the door was slammed in his face. He felt his breathing pick up and his cheek stung more.

Wilbur stumbled off of the porch and fell into the snow. He laid there, clutching his guitar, trying to get his breathing to slow. Questions popped into his head, only making it worse. What would he do? Where would he go? Would he die?

It was the coldest part of winter and he had just lost his only shelter.

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Okay that took me awhile to get out sorry about that. School and personal stuff is becoming very difficult to work around.
The only time i have to write is in the early hours of the morning.

This chapter might have ended oddly. Hopefully i can get the next one out sooner.