MCYT oneshots

This is real - Tommy

This was previously a small story that I made on a texting story app XD It has evolved.

T/W Abuse

Tommy's P.O.V

 I had never told anyone about my life at home. I guess I never thought of it as being any different to anyone else. I had grown up in those conditions, so I assumed that everyone else's home life was the same. 

I thought it was normal to be hit...beaten...if you will, by my parents. I thought it was normal to be starved and hurt and have to fear for my life almost every day. 

I didn't know any different.

The first time that I realised there was something wrong was when I was in year 6. I failed one of the weekly tests (they were super easy and I'd normally pass them with 100%) and my teacher told me that he wanted to talk with me. I had panicked, instantly thinking that he was mad at me. Surely he was. I mean, I had fucked up so it made sense. Whenever I messed up like that at home, I had to expect a beating so that was what I was doing. My teacher pulled me out into the hall and shut the door before taking a step forwards. Instinctively, I flinched back, moving my hand up slightly so if I needed to protect my face then I could. "Thomas?" Mr Fitz said softly, "I'm not going to hurt you." 

"I-I...I failed my test though." I stammered, wringing my hands together nervously.

"Yeah, and I wanted to ask you if everything was alright. You always get high marks and one low mark isn't going to affect anything. Tommy, I need you to know that you can be completely honest with me. Is someone hurting you?" 

I didn't respond. What did he mean? Of course, I was getting hurt but it was the same everyone so why was he acting so concerned. "Tommy?" His voice snapped me back into reality. 

"Hm?" 

"Is somebody hurting you?" 

"No...I just...I get a little jumpy sometimes. Spacial awareness and all." 

"Alright, but, if anything is...happening and you wanted to let someone know then I'm all ears okay?" 

"Thank you sir." 

The second time that I realised something was wrong, was only two weeks later. We had an abuse assembly. Some workers from childline came in and we were all brought to sit in the school hall. They explained the different types of abuse and played some videos of people telling 'their stories' of how they escaped abusive households. Abuse. Was that really a thing? If abuse was real, it would make sense why no one else was afraid to take off their school jumpers incase it revealed the bruises beneath. If abuse was real then not everyone had to live as I did. If abuse was real then....holy shit, I was being abused.

That was the moment, the big realisation hit me that, oh, not everyone lives in fear every second of every day. Not everyone's house reeks of alcohol or weed and definitely, not everyone gets beat because their parents found it 'funny'. 

I was being abused.

When I was 12, my dad lost his job because he had gone in drunk.

Four fucking times. Apparently one just wasn't enough.

He lost his job and we lost the house. We had to move into a small, dingy flat on the edge of our city that was only supposed to fit one person, let alone three. It was tricky, living in such a small space. It meant that there was nowhere for me to run and because we were practically living on top of each other, my parents got angry much quicker. I rarely ever saw my father without some form of alcohol clutched in his hand and my mother was barely ever home. She was either out at clubs with other men or she was working for the small amount of income that we had. My father was and asshole so I guess I couldn't blame her. I guess