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𝑫𝒂𝒚 ４:𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈

(This one was rushed cause I had school and nearly forgot about it I'm sorry :( I could've done a lot better with it but oh well! Anyways, if making all of these prompts about Johnny was a crime I'd be in prison.)

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Johnny! Happy birthday to you!

That was a song that had never been sung to him before. The gang was out at the dingo and he didn't wish to go that day. The reason why he didn't that day was one he can't place anymore. Despite it being his fourteenth birthday he always hated it. Most would forget. The gang wouldn't forget. They'd save up and buy him something real nice. Today it was a set of walkie talkies so Johnny could talk to the gang when he was away. As he walked down the vacant sidewalks of east side Tulsa, he clicked on the buttons of his walkie talkie

Click. Click. Click.

Johnny was always someone who was fidgety. If he wasn't biting his nails or the skin off his lip, playing with the strained hem of his jean jacket, or tracing down the knuckles of his fingers then he was shaken with anticipation. His fingernails plucked down to the bones of his fingers.

He was apt to go back to his house. As you would expect, he wasn't particularly ecstatic to go back to his house. His house was a hellhole to put it mildly. A hellhole he was born into. When his mom wasn't away to god knows where, she would scream until her throat eroded itself. Scream over nothing. Everything he did was wrong. His father, the sounds of his belt buckle hitting his back with hot stings down torso and shoulder blades. The glass that had been lodged in his skin from being beaten with a beer bottle.

Click.

He pressed down so hard on the rubber of the buttons that it could have broken it. A small plume of a sigh escaped his lips, shuffling his new walkie talkie in the deepenings of his pockets. He hated his house. He hated it and he didn't wanna go back. How could he come from something so awful and for it to be fair? What could he have done to deserve being born from such a wretched woman who couldn't help but remind him how much of an inconvenience he was?

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part is that he still loved them.

Click.

He prayed that his mother was out partying again or that his father was in bed after drinking himself to sleep from work. Of course he wasn't that lucky. Johnny Cade was never a lucky boy.

Unfortunately, he was at the foot of his door. His hands trembled as he reached for the cold steel of his circular door knob. With a breath as deep as his lungs could hold, he swung the door open. Cold sweat beading on the skin hidden by his jet black bangs.

If you could infer, his dad was there. Wide awake and the same could be said for his mother to his chagrin. The voices of their screams were tangible as ever as he stepped inside. They got silent though, looking over at him with the same wide black eyes that had been passed down to him. A fact that he wished wasn't true. He didn't like any evidence of their relations. Their gaze, incredulous. Almost predatory.

Click.

"Oh hey look the uh- the little shits back to grace us with his goddamn presence?" His mothers words slurring as she twirled the bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand. Johnny looked at his feet, pondering if it was too late to run out the door and find the gang at the dingo. But of course it was too late, it always was.

"You want cash or somethin'? Ready to suck us dry like the leech you are haah.."

The pungent stench of alcohol from his fathers mouth caused him to shudder. The hairs on his neck at end. His hand shuffled around in his pocket.

Click.

Click.

Hot saliva gulped down his throat. His weary puppy dog eyes fixated on the fabric of his converse. "I don't want any money sir. Can I just go upstairs sir?" Johnny's voice stayed steady despite him shaking in his shoes. He shut the door behind him with caution, avoiding the creaks of the rusted hinges.

"No you can't go upstairs goddammit. You ain't
gonna talk back to me either boy."

His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hollow.

Click. Click.

The first hit was always the worst one. The one that impacts, the one that just ruined what you felt beforehand. Only Johnny hadn't felt much before. He didn't even whimper anymore. It didn't hurt as much as it used to. After a while it was like white noise. Even as Johnny was being pressed up against the wall by his father while his mother watched, he thought about anything but. Even as the hot slaps swiped down his face, the kicks and hits to his shins and thighs, and the blood running down his nose. All because he wished to go upstairs to get away from the noise of his parents. That angered his father most. His reactions got so boring after a while. No more whimpers or pleas, just silence as he was whipped around.

Click.

"Goddammit John...The hell is that annoying noise? What's in your pocket boy?"

"No- No please don't!"

His shouts and wails were to no avail however. As his father gripped tightly onto Johnny's shoulder, turning his pocket out and finding the walkie talkie.

"The hell...? What, you a little army boy now? You paid money for this shit?"

His father's voice, a growl underneath his tone. Johnny pleaded. His friends had worked hard to buy him something nice that could've made him feel safer at home. Of course he could never have that. Of course nothing he could get would help him feel safe. The sound of the walkie talkie hitting the ground before the crunch of the walkie talkie under his father's work boots.

Click..

"You...I'm...I'm leaving."

Johnny muttered, pushing his hand on the doorknob and staggering out. A limp in his step. He crawled out of his home, his head cocking back as he looked up at his father. His eyes were dead. Not sad, not angry. Dead.

"Of course you leave! I can't believe I raised a goddamn queer coward! Don't bother coming back for a while!"

His father bellowed, his breathy voice expelling the scent of beer. Johnny left, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves. He walked and walked until his legs were so tired from his new injuries and exhaustion.

The lot under him, sitting down on the abandoned discarded car seat. That's when he felt the shakes inside of him, a vibrating boy. He shook, putting his hand up against his now bruised cheek. He whipped out a cig, flickering his lighter up against it.

"Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to Johnny. Happy birthday to me."

He sighed shakily. Blowing out the small ember of his cigarette.

Words:1171