The old black car wheeled into the driveway to a crappy apartment complex. The sight of it was disgusting, the brick wall covered in graffiti and the occasional broken window. I sighed, my social worker opening up the door for me. I stepped out, glaring into her warm brown eyes. "Well," she sighed, smiling. "Are you excited to see you father, Sean?" I rolled my eyes, pulling the hood of my dark grey jacket over my bright green hair.
"Hell no. You know perfectly well he's a drunk, yet you still want me there." Sometimes the idiocy of these people was overwhelming.
"He went to rehab," she pointed out as we stood in the elevator.
"And I went to therapy," I snapped, shutting her up. "But that doesn't help, does it?" She sighed, crossing her arms.
"...Give the guy a chance."
"He had plenty of chances," I mumbled, tracing the stitching on my hoodie with my arms crossed.
We stayed silent as we rode up to the floor where I would meet my father. The elevator stopped, and we got off, passing a group of three guys a bit older than us pushing past us to get to the elevator. I rubbed my arm from when one of the younger and over weight ones bumped into me. I stared at the door before us, grime covering the edges of it. Rochelle, my social worker, knocked on the door. It opened quickly, and I glared at the man before me. A beer gut peeking out from beneath his wife beater, black capris, and old blue flip flops. He had short brown hair and gray eyes, which looked at me and widened. He smiled, raising his arms up in the air allowing us a whiff of his BO. "SEAN! Oh, my dear boy!" I growled when he tried to hug me, dodging away from him. He looked at me, disappointment clouding his features.
"Don't touch me," I growled, my icy blue eyes piercing into his. He laughed, his gut bouncing up and down.
"Good morning, Mr. Brown," Rocelle smiled. "Here is your son, Sean Brown-"
"I am not going by that," I snapped. "I'm McLoughlin. I don't want people to know I'm related to this pig," a flash of hurt shined in his eyes, to which I ignored happily. This man deserved no pity. "I'm going to my room," I grumbled, pushing past the pat asshole and pulling my bag down the hall. I opened up a door and saw my room. Dark blue walls, a brown dresser, and a brown bed with gray sheets. I sighed, dropping my bags. I dug around, searching for stuff to fix up my room.
A bit of tape here, a FNAF poster there, a septicsam on there, and my room looked pretty good. Posters and drawings covered my walls, a neon green blanket on my bed, and a bunch of SepticEyes everywhere. My video games stacked by a not-so-up-to-date TV, and photos of my mother and I everywhere I could place them. I sighed, collapsing into the creaky bad. Well...
...welcome to home, Jack.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Behind Closed Doors ~ Septiplier
FanfictionAfter the death of Jack's mom, he is sent to live with his drug addict dad who left his family when he was only five. He hates it, but keeps it to himself. Well, on Halloween he meets someone who makes the struggle worth it.
