broken

eleven

random question; how old do you guys think i am? also hsfajkshgjk thank you for 13k reads!

tw- homophobia, ed mention

George awoke in unfamiliar surroundings, his head was pounding. Begrudgingly, he lifted himself from the uncertain warmth of his mattress, sitting up and rubbing his eyes viciously.

His lungs seemed to constrict as he remembered his whereabouts.

His parents' home.

Why was he there? He could be at home, with Dream, with Sapnap.

But no. He had to put up a happy front and face the misery that came with his awful parents. Of course he did.

As if on cue, his mother burst through the door, a sickening expression on her face: almost as if she wanted anything but to be near her son.

"Get the fuck up you lazy cow, dinner's ready so get your fat self down the stairs."

She spat the words out with such vile, almost as if the words were poisonous. George lifted himself from his bed, fluffing his hair once more. As to not anger his parents, he stepped down the stairs quietly, rushing to get to the table before he was shouted at.

He remembered what it was like, during his childhood he was practically a maid for his family. He would constantly clean the house, putting smashed beer bottles in the bin as a result of his fathers violent actions. However, because of the hospital visit, he assumed he couldn't do any of that since he would've been asked to cook or set the table.

The moment his feet felt the stubborn wooden floor, his heart palpitated at a million miles. He finally locked eyes with him.

His dad.

He saw eyes full of pure hatred staring back at him, not an ounce of love were clad in the cold-looking pupils. The eyes were much similar to his own, something he despised. He wanted nothing to do with the man in front of him, disgusted to say he was related to him- let alone mention he was his father.

There was no resemblance other than physical features between the two, or George thought so. Maybe they were much similar than they let off. Both struggling to get through the day: one coped with alcohol, releasing his anger onto others, the other coped with his friends, releasing anger onto himself.

So how were they really different? Both were abusers. Both hurt someone, but George's someone was himself.

His dad didn't know this- frankly, his dad wouldn't care.

It seemed like nobody did care.

-

The ride back to George's apartment was like no other, Dream didn't mutter a word. His eyes were tired of crying: there were no tears left to fall. His cheeks were permanently dyed a crimson colour, his eyes a puffy mess and his hair a dishevelled nightmare.

He let his thoughts override him.

If only he hadn't left. Why had he left?

It was all his fault. Everything was always his fault. All he wanted was George. All he wanted was to embrace the older man in a warm hug, run his fingers through the cocoa hair and down his milky-white back. He wanted to hear his joyous laugh, his snarky, sarcastic comebacks.

But he couldn't.

-

( Sapnap's pov )

As soon as I stepped out of the car, I let out an awaited sigh.

"Come on, Dream."

He stumbled out of the car, his head leaning downwards. If i was being honest, he looked like a mess. I didn't know where to start, what to do.