OC Oneshots

11

Name: Bryson Lawrence
Fandom: PJO
Species: Demigod
Location: "Home"

Trigger Warning: Child Abuse

Young Bryson felt a stab of fear as his father raised the long pole, and despite his better judgement, he flinched.

    He already had dozens of other bruises on his body—never quite healed from the last time he had a beating. Another wouldn't exactly be new. But it was the expression on his father's face, the look of pure loathing and utter hatred that one feels when they are embarrassed, and shamed, that scared him the most.

    He wasn't sure how his father had found out about his scheme this close to the end, how he had noticed Brye's lies.

    He guessed he had to have gotten his skills from someone.

    At least the confession was made. There was undeniable proof for his father's horrible actions.

    With luck, once Bryson handed the evidence to the police, Luca Lawrence would be landed in prison for life.

    But right now, he was stuck in his house, with Luca standing over him, the long wooden pole poised to hit him again.

    "YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Luca shouted, full force, at Brye. "DON'T YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK? HOW MUCH TIME AND EFFORT I PUT INTO THIS BUSINESS? ALL SO WE CAN LIVE TOGETHER IN PEACE AND GOOD HEALTH?"

    Brye swallowed and steeled his nerves. He could practically hear Luca's furious thoughts as he grinned. In truth, he did find it amusing somewhat to hear his father scream about how his company was for both their good, instead of just a way to gain money and be rich through dark means to satisfy his greed.

    "Really, Father? So we can live in good health?" Brye snorted. He didn't let a single drop of anger into his voice—only amusement—as he spoke. "After I was old enough to walk and talk, you never cared about my good health. In your eyes, I was but a mere tool to be used. You don't seem to recall the time I was attacked by Stymphalian birds, while you did nothing."

    "AT LEAST I KEPT YOU ALIVE, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF GARBAGE! I KNEW I SHOULD'VE LEFT YOU ON THE STREETS. YOU WERE NEVER BUT TROUBLE IN THE FIRST PLACE! AND NOW YOU'VE BURNED DOWN EVERYTHING I HAD!"

    Luca brought the pole down on him, and Brye's reserve cracked. He cried out briefly, shielding his head, and the pole hit his arms. The pole hit him again, in a different spot, harder than last time, and he stumbled. His eyes were squeezed shut, and a few tears were in the corners.

    He tried to bottle it—his emotions, his fear—up, trying to keep it inside him as he had always done. But he can't help but wonder where the police were. His plan involved them arriving after a certain amount of time. They should've arrived five minutes ago.

    Bryson wasn't sure what this feeling was, but he had felt it—been feeling it—since he was six. Since the first time that his father had beaten him. Since his trust and love and respect for his father was torn into shreds. Since his eyes were finally open on the cruelty of this world.

    He didn't know why, but he was feeling it again.

    Brye heard metal scrape against hard wood, and when he looked up, he saw that Luca had discarded the pole, and was now holding a knife.

    He's being cheery.

    Bryson wanted to rip that sarcastic part of his brain out. Somehow, he managed another grin. Inside, his fear was manifesting again on a whole new level. But he promised himself he wouldn't let his reserve slip again; It would only make things worse.

    He couldn't be here anymore. His father would kill him before the police arrived.

    Instead, he turned towards the door. At the same time, Luca started slashing at him wildly with a knife. He screamed hurtful, furious words. As Brye started stumbling/running towards the door only a few feet away, he felt a searing pain bloom from his right shoulder. He gritted his teeth, and knew that the knife had found its spot.

    On the countertop beside the door was Luca's phone. Brye grabbed it and slipped it into his pocket as he reached the door. He managed to pull it open, and slipped out, slamming the door shut with a loud bang. His hands shook as he took the phone out of his pocket, trying to keep the door closed as Luca banged on it. There was barely enough human in his father to use the doorknob.

    His left hand gripped his right shoulder, trying to put pressure on the wound. He felt the warm, sticky blood oozing out from the long slash. He nearly dropped the phone several times as he used the emergency call feature to dial 9-1-1. He knew his father's password, of course, but there wasn't time for that.

    He held the phone up to his ear, his hand shaking, even more so now that the door was actually shaking from Luca's banging, still shouting hateful works and pitiful insults.

    When the call got through, he put on an act, making his voice sound as fearful as possible, and told them his address. Then he put it on speaker and put the phone on the ground.

    Then, ten-year-old Bryson did the only thing he could.

    Leave.

---
I take pride in the fact that this nearly made Indigo cry.

-Lunya