College is coming soon, and Blake Warner is sure that his life is embedded into the dead-end that is Merritt Hills, Georgia. His mother has assured him millions of times, that money has nothing to do with where his future leads.
But whenever he lie...
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Just as Blake's car skidded into that long and familiar driveway, labeled, The Sutton Residence, had Brooks' heart breaking just a little at the mere thought of having to say goodbye to Blake for the time being. They had had such an amazing night, and Brooks worried that things would change, by the next time they spoke to one another.
Blake silently watched as Brooks went through frequent hesitation, while knowing that he would soon, have to walk back into that home—not even knowing its current state.
Brooks had left the party early, due to Blake punching Jackson in the nose, and him being slightly angry at Jackson for having even the slightest idea of what kind of man Charles Sutton was.
Just as Brooks was lost in his own thoughts, Blake turned to him, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as he reached out to caress the crescent of Brooks' ear. "Why are you worried?"
Brooks shrugged, leaning into Blake's faint, but apparent touch. "I don't know, I guess I'm just worried about going back in there, having to face Jackson, or possibly my parents."
Blake leaned in, his lips touching Brooks', as Brooks quickly responded. The two went on for some time, before Blake pulled away, lips swollen, and wet from he and Brooks' kiss. "What about the Mr. and Miss Merritt Hills Ball? You still planning on participating in that?"
Brooks was quick to shake his head. "No, I think I'm done with that. And I know my mother'll be pissed, but—frankly, I don't really care."
The taller of the two smiled genuinely at that, knowing just how faux and pretend those things actually were. "Okay, but if anything, and I mean anything happens in that house, I want you to call me, alright? No matter what hour, and no matter what I'm doing, I guarantee that I'll pick up."
Brooks nodded, leaning up to press a surprisingly sweet kiss at Blake's forehead, knowing that Blake was seconds away from giving one to Brooks. "Alright, I will."
And with that, he slid out of the passenger seat quietly, fingers clenching onto one another as he walked up to the front door, where he would pull the key out, and slide it into its hole.
Just as he pushed the door open, Blake began to reverse from the driveway, still keeping a careful eye on Brooks, as he slid his way between the brick wall and the doors handle. He waved a quick goodbye, just as Blake was finally beginning his path down the main street.
Brooks awaited the inevitable sight that was soon-to-be before him. But as he blinked once, then twice, he frowned at the clean, and organized foyer.
He stalked into the living room, that had been previously filled with strangers and garbage, but was now filled with emptiness, and clear of any strange teenagers asking, whose house is this? It's rockin'!
Brooks hadn't even known how to answer that bizarre sort of question.
Had someone cleaned up after themselves—and everyone else around them? Or was Brooks imagining what he was seeing? Maybe, he wanted to be so badly rewarded for sort of sticking up for himself, that someone else had taken his responsibility into their own hands.
He chuckled aloud at the thought.
Just as he rounded the corner over to the circular staircase, he came face-to-face with his bedroom door left ajar. His heart stopped for a few moments, as he wondered if Jackson still resided there.
As he pushed it open, his mouth became dry at the emptiness before him. Well, not completely empty, in front of him, stood one suitcase, standing long and tall, with a note atop of it.
He frowned deeply, rushing forward to push into his walk-in closet, whispering a short, "no, no, no," when coming across the total of Brooks usually full closet, but now totally empty.
Where had all of his things gone? Surely, nobody had stolen from him. Because if they had, one of Charles' many housekeepers would have alerted Brooks right away. But he had received no calls the night before, or this dreadful morning.
Brooks turned to the still suitcase, reaching out for the note that sat atop of it.
It read, for all that you've done.
Brooks thought for a little longer. What had he done? And who had been cruel enough to take all of his things? Every project, every shoe, every sweater knitted by his late grandmother, every photo of he and Jackson, that one summer in Athens.
All gone.
Just as he turned to his bedroom door once more, ready to raid the entire home, in search of his things, he froze, coming face-to-face with Charles, and Helena standing right beside.
Charles wore a smirk, as he absentmindedly fixed the cuffs at his wrist, Helena standing behind him, in absolute fear.
Brooks could wear a confused expression, as he wondered what Charles had with all of his things, and why he had written such a note.
"F-Father, what's going on? Where are all of my things? What are you guys doing home so early?" The questions tumbled from his lips in a hurry, as he struggled to collect his own thoughts.
Charles chuckled, as Helena's eyes moved from Brooks' worried one, then to the ground. "Don't father me, Brooks. You brought this upon yourself. How many times did I tell you not to disobey me? How many fucking times did I warn you about acting on those sick thoughts of yours? Huh, Brooks?!"
Brooks flinched at Charles' tone, as Helena now began to cry softly behind Charles, head buried in his back, as though silently begging him to stop.
Their afraid, and scarred son reached out for the wall behind him, as Charles got closer, his hand enclosing itself around Brooks' throat that worked itself, due to the tears falling down his sun kissed cheeks. Now resting on Charles red knuckles, from what he had done to Helena, the night before.
"You will leave this house, do you understand me, Brooklyn? And you will never, ever, ever come in contact with your mother and I—ever again!" Charles words were menacing, he finally released Brooks' throat from his hold.
Just as Charles grabbed Helena by the upper arm, and began to pull, Brooks' sobbed out. "Mother, please!"
Helena let out a soft cry, as she allowed her frame to be pulled by Charles', never sparing Brooks' another look.
