DANCING AT MY FUNERAL - An Adopted by Yungblud Story (Book Two)

CHAPTER SIX: COURT

TRIGGER WARNING - THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN: ABUSE, LIGHT BLOOD/ DEPICTIONS OF GORE, MENTIONS/DESCRIPTIONS OF RAPE, SEXUAL ASSAULT, ABUSE (MENTAL, PHYSICAL, EMOTIONAL), SEX, NEGLECT, STARVATION, TORTURE, TRANSPHOBIA/HOMOPHOBIA, PANIC ATTACK(S).

THE POINT OF VIEW WILL SWITCH WHEN INDICATED THROUGHOUT THIS CHAPTER.

L/N: LAST NAME

F/N: FATHERS NAME

M/N: MOTHERS NAME

parts of this get heavy. enjoy.

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The final week goes by at an agonizingly slow pace. Within that week, my parents decided to be worse than ever. Now, here I am, about an hour and a half before the trial, sitting in a hotel in London with my parents and their lawyer. Three days ago, my parents decided to dislocate my ankle; it feels tons better now than it did for the first day I had it (and I popped it back into place), so luckily I'll only be using a cane to walk for the next few days while it fully heals over rather than crutches. My, well, everything hurts. I've got another black eye, a split lip, fresh bruises (and small cuts from glass being thrown at me) all over my body, a few gashes on my stomach, and lash marks on my back; my dad decided to whip me last night with one of his belts before we left for the airport. I'm drained in every way imaginable. God, I can't wait for this to be over so I can go home with Dom and the crew and relax. Shit, wait. Holy fuck, I see Dom and the rest of my family in an hour and a half, maybe sooner. I see them all again today. God fucking damn it, I'm gonna have to act all professional and won't be able to hug them or anything until after the trial. I miss them all so much.

    "D/N, let's go," I hear my mother call to me.

    We're leaving. I'm gonna see my family soon. Fuck yes. I look down at my attire: something semi-formal my mom pulled from god-knows-where in our house in attempts to make me look a bit more cleaned up. Sorry (not sorry) mom, but this little ensemble can't fix all the external damage done to me. I, with the assistance of the cane reluctantly given to me by my parent's lawyer, limp my way out of the elevator, out of the hotel, and to the car ordered for my parent's and I, a small bag of things I want to bring back to Dom's slung over my shoulder. In the bag, I have packed my phone (which is completely powered down as to not make any noise and alert my parents of its existence), my phone charger, my AirPods, any of the smaller trinkets, letters, and polaroid pictures sent to me in my little bi-monthly packages, my inhaler, and a couple other smaller things. I sit in the car, internally grinning from ear to ear; I'm too tired to actually pull any expression physically, honestly. I get to go home today.

DOM'S P.O.V.

    I sit in the courthouse anxiously, my left leg bouncing up and down uncontrollably. I was allowed in early, even though I'm technically just here to testify on Y/N's behalf as a witness. The rest of the crew members have pretty much the same role as me; I guess I was allowed in early because I was pretty much Y/N's primary guardian in the time in which they were living with me. Apparently them and their parents are supposed to be coming in early, too, along with their parents' lawyer. As if on cue, I hear the doors open behind me, along with the annoying, nasally tone of who I assume to be Y/N's mother asking about a bathroom, shortly followed by the same question being asked by their father, assumingly. I hear who I think is their lawyer say he'll walk them to it before the door shuts. I don't dare turn around. There's no way they just left Y/N in here alone, we can't be that luck-

    "Dom," I hear a small, familiar voice from behind me.

    I immediately turn around, being met with a wide-eyed, trembling kid I've been resisting from stealing away from the situation they were put in for months on end. They were actually left in here alone. With me. Before the trial. Before I have to be all professional and shit.