𝙇𝙚𝙩 𝙈𝙚 𝙄𝙣.

Fate.

The week passed by fairly quickly, and soon enough, it was friday.
West worked with Killian, but neither of them ever said a word to each other. Not if it wasn't work related. A customer would request a specific bouquet of flowers from Killian at the counter and he would inform West, who was oftentimes, hanging out in the garden because he couldn't stand to be in the same room as Killian, and he'd arrange it. He was okay with how unstable their work environment was. He'd even go as far as saying he preferred it that way.
-
When West came home that night, he was met with the image of his father sprawled out on the sofa with empty beer bottles at his feet. His heart started beating a little faster when he realized it was going to be one of those nights.

"Dad..."

"Weston, how was school?"

Paul never bothered to ask about trivial things, it made him feel uneasy.

"Okay." He responded, before hurriedly walking towards the stairs so he could get to his room and pack a night bag to leave for Brittany's house.

Paul smiled, something that made West's stomach sink as he remembered he'd forgotten to hide his guitar.

"Good, good..."

Before Paul could utter another word, West flew up the stairs knowing he probably wouldn't like what was waiting for him in his room.

As soon as he pushed the door open - and just as he'd expected, he came across the dreadful sight of what used to be his guitar, shattered into a hundred pieces.
West dragged his feet inside, picking up the only part still intact - the headstock, and gripped it so tight his knuckles turned white.
His bottom lip started quivering and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

He threw the headstock across the room, and it landed on the wooden floor with a loud thud before he angrily wiped the hot tears from his eyes.
Impulsively, he rushed out his bedroom to confront Paul, not thinking of the consequences.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He hissed.

"Who do you think you're talking to--"

"You enjoy doing this to me, don't you? Hurting me?"

Paul rised from the couch, he didn't like how West was towering over him. He took a step towards his son who normally shrunk back down in a panic, hoping that that would've done the trick, but for once, West didn't budge.

"Get out of my sight before I make you regret it." Paul threatened, his tone venomous.

"I hate you!"

He turned away from his father in an effort to get away, but Paul grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt, then pulled him back and spun him around so he was facing him again. Paul's height made him all the more intimidating, but West made sure to look him the eye, because for once, he wasn't cowering away in fear.

"Say that to my face." Paul seethed, the alcohol on his breath stinging West's nose.

"I hate you. I wish you were dead."

In a matter of seconds, West was on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself as Paul rammed his foot, over and over again onto the helpless boy.

"You dare," Kick. "Disrespect me?" Kick. "In my own house?" Kick.

Nausea clawed at West's throat. He tried to force down the bile, but ultimately failed when his father delivered the final hard blow to his stomach.
He clutched his abdomen, then started heaving on the floor. Every part of his body hurt, but nothing could compare to the pain he felt inside, the crushing realization that anything that gave him even an iota of happiness in his life, was simply not meant for him.