SHANCE (High School AU) Scars

Jump That Fence

AN: AHHHHHHHHHHH, this isn't relevant to the story, BUT. I had to sing a solo in my vocal tech class today and ohhh my god, I cried. XD I hate myself, someone please comfort my small shitty self conscious soul. ANYWAY BACK TO THE STORY

Lance walked home, in baggy clothes, that seemed pajama like. He got many looks from strangers on the street, which was most likely because of his strange appearance. Dripping hair, that was drying slowly, not to mention the cheer uniform that he was holding. Lance felt a large amount of paranoia building up inside him as he neared his house. And he paused in front of the door for several pained minutes before unlocking it, stepping inside with his heart stuck in his throat.

His father lay passed out on the couch, a bottle of bourbon sitting empty on the coffee table. Some family pictures hung crooked on the walls, their glass shattered by an angry hand. The living room was a mess, chairs on their sides, pillows strewn about in random assortments, the T.V. buzzed dully with static. Lance's eyes met a cracked picture of him and his mother, filling with nervous tears.

Quickly, Lance removed his shoes and walked into his bedroom, which was small and not very clean, it seemed that someone had trashed it, un-ironically. Lance spent about ten minutes, just cleaning up the mess that his father had made. Then, he just sat in his room, browsing through his phone, cherishing the few peaceful moments he had before his father would wake up, raging.

By then, many hours had passed, and it was 2:00 pm. Lance didn't know that his father had awoken, until he heard a loud and furious yell from the living room. The small male's body jumped, his heart skipping a beat, his hands and feet growing cold, with the anticipation of what his abrasive father would do to him this time.

"Hey you dim-wit bitch! Get the fuck out here!" Lance heard his fathers deep bellowing voice, his body beginning to shake, he stood up slowly. Hiding his cheer uniform underneath his pillow, before walking out into the living room. When he arrived, he saw his father, his teeth gritted, his fists clenched, his shirt stained with alcohol.

"Where the fuck have you been-?" Lance shuddered, his mouth going dry.

"....I-...I was at a f-friend's h-house..." Lance bit his lip as the word "friend's" left his mouth.

"......What's that on your neck? You were just hanging out with a fuck buddy weren't you, you slutty shit."

"N-no...t-that was an accident-"

"Don't make excuses-!" Lance shut his eyes tightly as he was slapped violently, a sharp gasp leaving his lips. Slowly his eyes opened, tear filled, blood beginning to drip from his torn lip. "Go make me a fucking sandwich you whore."

"Y-yes sir..." Lance whispered, tears running down his cheeks. He stumbled into the kitchen weakly, his legs barely working due to his uptight nerves. He heard his father change the channel behind him, throwing the remote aside, the object hitting the wall harshly with a loud crack. Lance focused his attention on the refrigerator, pulling out several food items.

He could hear a program playing in the living room, something rated R most definitely. Even if the neighbors asked Lance's father to, the man would never turn the volume down, he didn't care about the ears of others, or the fact that the things he watched were filthy. A tear fell from the teens chin, landing on the cheap counter top as he made his father a turkey sandwich.

"Hurry the hell up, bitch-!" Lance jumped in his skin, placing the sandwich on a paper plate before rushing into the living room. He placed the plate on the coffee table gingerly, flinching as his father reached out to grab it.

Time Skip of about seven hours (I know I know, soooo long):

Lance was grabbing a microwaveable burrito from the freezer as he heard his father's yelling, the man not having moved from his spot on the couch all day. The burrito fell to the floor as Lance flinched yet again, his whole body beginning to shake for the millionth time. The small teen peeked out of the kitchen, his eyes wide and confused. That's when he saw his fathers raging silhouette, illuminated by the glow of the T.V. The man was holding yet another bottle of booze in his hand, 3/4 of the way empty.

"Come here-" The man's words were low and slurred, and Lance knew he was in for it. Lance walked over to the man, and as soon as he arrived there, he received a painful hit to the stomach.

"Gah-!" All the air in his lungs left him, and Lance let out a pained sound, his eyes blurring with tears once again.

"Shut up, you son of a bitch!"

Lance was hit yet again, this time right on the cheekbone, and as he was recovering, a bottle was hurled into the wall above his head. It's contents splattering all over Lance and his clothes, some of it making its way to his eyes. Glass shards landed on his head and shoulders, the rest of it littering the ground around him. Lance moaned in pain, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

Lance's father grabbed for him, his large cruel hand aiming for the teens upper arm. But, Lance dodged, stumbling to the side, his back now to the coffee table. The man yelled, rage pulsing in his veins, pushing Lance roughly backwards. The smaller of the two tumbled backwards, his spine, ribs, and right wrist colliding with the hard wooden surface forcefully. The momentum sent him over the table, landing painfully on the hardwood flooring.

Lance coughed, his breath shaky with pain, a small cry leaving his lips. He stared down at his wrist, his eyes widening fearfully when he saw that is was bent in a peculiar manner. His father shouted a mangled and insulting sentence at him, making his way to Lance. His eyes dark and looming as his shadow hovered over Lance's quivering body.

The man pulled Lance up by the arm, not caring about the mangled scream he heard in result. Quickly Lance turned in the direction of the front door, the screen door the only thing keeping him from safety. He pulled his arm back, gritting his teeth, keeping a scream dormant inside his chest. His father's grip slid down to the teens small hand, and Lance pulled harder, crying out in pain, his hand pulled loose, the force of it hurling Lance to his side, towards the door.

Lance stumbled, his legs shaking, tears streaming down his freckled face, quickly, he ran to the door, shoving it open. Ignoring the angered yells behind him, Lance ran down the street, hearing something shatter behind him, he held his wrist tightly as he ran. He ran for a long while, not caring if he was within a safe distance. It is only after his lungs were burning excruciatingly, that he slowed down.

Slowly, Lance peered up at the street sign, recognizing the name of the street. The one Shiro lived on, his stomach twisted with guilt, but his fear drove him towards the house that he only just left this morning. Lance limped to the large house, his hand wrapped around his wrist so tightly that his knuckles were white with tension.

Lance made his way up the long driveway leading to Shiro's front door, ringing the doorbell, his left hand shaking like a leaf as he reached for it. Lance heard footsteps on expensive hardwood floor, before the door opened. The football player's eyes were calm, until they moved down to see Lance. Bleeding, broken, shaking, his face wet with tears.