𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒.

'𝟎𝟗

excuse all mistakes.

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𝐊𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐀'𝐉𝐀𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.
⥊𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘛 𝘕𝘌𝘞 𝘠𝘖𝘙𝘒, 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘒𝘓𝘠𝘕, 𝘕𝘠⥊
𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓, 𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟑 𝐩.𝐦.
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2 𝘞𝘌𝘌𝘒𝘚 𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘙...

Kross hissed slightly as he touched the small cut his mother gave him above his eyebrow, the red dots of blood running from the gash dripping onto his eyelid while he stared at his fresh wound through the mirror.

"Fuck bro," He murmured to himself in irritation, pulling the mirror open and revealing the small medicine cabinet which held alcohol, peroxide, cotton balls, cotton swabs, and a small box of band-aids.

He reached for the dark brown plastic bottle of peroxide and a cotton ball, setting it on top of the small shelf that hovered over the toilet, since there was no counter, before grabbing the box of bandages and closing the mirror with a faint 'thud'.

His pretty brown eyes focused as he meticulously splashed some of the peroxide on the fuzzy cotton ball he held between his index finger and thumb, closing the round cap and pressing it to his upper eyebrow. The bubbling from the peroxide cleaning his cut tickled his skin lightly, wearily looking at his appearance in the mirror.

There were slight bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep he got for the past two weeks, due to his mother kicking him out when she was intoxicated if she didn't put her hands on him first. Tonight he got lucky, because she passed out from being so drunk, only leaving Kross with one obvious scratch.

I will never put my hands on her though, shit is outta the question.

Pulling his eyes away from the mirror, he shifted his focus to the black clock ticking on the wall quietly, and he saw it was almost 12 in the morning, causing a gentle sigh to leave his mouth.

Tomorrow was the last day of school before their two-week spring break, but he thoughtfully debated on skipping today like he had been doing a few times in the past two weeks, not wanting to deal with the bullshit that school had.

He pulled the blood-stained cotton ball away from his face and gazed at the cut in the mirror, noticing it wasn't bleeding anymore. He tossed the cotton ball into the small plastic, white trashcan and grabbed the box of bandages, fiddling with the tiny piece of tape the held the paper box closed for a few seconds until he was able to open it.

Kross pulled the smallest band-aid out and set the box back onto the metal rack, peeling the pieces of plastic that protected the small, brown rectangular bandage inside, tossing them in the trash along with the other small pieces of paper that protected the sticky side of the band-aid.

He carefully stuck the bandage into his face, making sure the small cotton square was on his cut before smoothing it down. The young teen stared at his face for a couple more seconds and sighed heavily, turning around to leave the bathroom, shutting off the lights.

The small apartment was quiet for the first time in a while, being his father was no longer there to argue with his mother. Kross turned his nose up at the smell of liquor wavering in the living room, noticing broken glass and the sticky redalcohol covering the hardwood floor of the living room, his mother passed out on the floor with a half-drank bottle of white wine.