graffiti (completed)

Ten.

Derek walked up the stairs as quietly as he could, hoping to make a break for his room, or plug out the home phone from his father's home office to keep anyone from hearing what happened. Of course, knowing his uncle, the man probably left a message on his brother's phone, and the home phone, just to make sure.

He was absolutely done for, all because of some stupid dare and some stupid girl who thought she was someone special. She wasn't, all she was was going to get him killed.

He remembered the day he broke a plate, a week after his mother's death. The entire death made his father so distant. His dad would stay in his room for most of the day, and go out during the evening. He used to laugh a lot, since Derek's mother was always joking about something, and he would tell stories of teenage years. He would ruffle Derek's hair, and tell him about being a Wentworth, and play games with him. He was a great dad. But, after the incident, he barely spoke a word.

Derek had been washing the dishes, and a plate fell out of his hands, crashing onto the floor. His dad lashed out on him, and that's when it all started. He still told Derek about being a Wentworth, of course, but now the words were spoken through screams and punches.

He was roughly grabbed by the back of his shirt, his thoughts running away from him as his father turned around, grabbing him by the collar and, instead of yelling, giving an icy whisper. Cold words were always worse than hot ones, in Derek's mind.

"Why are you, so, stupid?" he spoke slowly, quietly, as though he was a one year old.

"I-"

"Why, are you, such an idiot??" he said, voice raising at the end of the sentence.

He slammed Derek against the wall, teeth bared. "There's. Something. Wrong. With. Your. Head," he spat, banging his son's head against the wall, a bit harder with each word. As though he wanted it to crack.

"This is not the child I raised. This is a worthless nothing!" he said, punching Derek on the word nothing. As though the words themselves didn't inflict enough pain.

"What do you have to say for yourself??" he said, backing away slightly. Just enough for Derek to escape.

"What do you have to say for yourself???" he repeated, and only let him have around two seconds before yelling once more.

"WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY, ABOUT A GIRL BEATING YOU UP TWICE?? ABOUT BEING A SPINELESS PIECE OF-"

"Would you rather I did what you do to me??" he blurted out, and bolted down the stairs and into the kitchen before he could even see his father's reaction. He ran towards the linen closet and, with heavy breaths and a pounding heart, locked the door.

"If you don't open this door," his father growled behind the wood, banging on the door, "I will put you in the hospital!"

Derek sat on the ground, luckily having enough space to do so, and remained in the darkness. His father couldn't do anything if Carrie came home. He'd just wait it out.

After a final violent bang, the door stopped, and Derek hesitantly stood up, bringing a shaky hand to the doorknob and unlocking the door. He cautiously stepped out, looking one way, and then he was suddenly against a wall, fingers wrapped painfully around his throat. He was so full of shock that he didn't even try to pry the hands away, and simply looked at the infuriated man in front of him.

"Dont you dare say anything like that to me again, do you hear me?" he said, squeezing even tighter on Derek's throat, making dots swirl his vision.

"Yes," he choked with the air he had left, and he could feel himself starting to fade away. He suddenly imagined himself completely fading away, to the point where his soul would escaped his body and he was gone, and his father would actually care about him the way he did before. He blinked, and the entire scenario was gone.

"I can barely even look out you. Get out of my face," the man hissed, taking his fingers off of the boy's neck and walking away. He coughed, rubbing his throat as he got up, head spinning, and walked to his room, slowly. All he could think of was the fact that he needed a bowl.

. . .

"So, I was thinking," Anthony said, smoke curling from his lips before he continued, "about that girl, Casey."

"About how she beat you up?" another guy, Peter, said, making the entire room erupt in slightly high laughter.

"No, listen," Anthony said, even though there was still a smile on his face, "She starts a lot of trouble, and I think she's gonna mess up the town."

"Like it isn't messed up already," Derek replied, feeling the lightheaded relaxation fill his body like water into an empty cup as he took a huff. Everyone laughed once more, and Anthony gave him the best deadpan expression he could.

"Why are you wearing a turtleneck in the spring, Der?" Anthony's cousin Gianna asked, a bag of chips in her hand.

"I felt artsy," he replied with a smirk, and various chuckles were spouted across the room. He'd found a random turtleneck to cover the imprint of his father's fingers on his neck. He'd never say it, of course.

"Like I was saying," Anthony butted in, "I was thinking of ways to get her to leave, or get kicked out of the town. And I came up with something. But I need all of you guys' help."

"Alright," the friend that usually invited Derek to smoke, Chris, said, "Shoot."

With an 'okay' and a few coughs, Anthony started to express his plan in great detail, and many smiles were given around the room.

"Dude," Derek said, being one of those people, " Lets do it."