Walk With Me

Chapter 3

A/N: Trigger warning - Tamaki's father uses horrible language and abusive words. I am combining this with another chapter so this one will be rather long, just a warning :)

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After what would arguably be the longest school day of his life, Tamaki finally had a chance to settle down in his favorite room in the manor, the music room. The weight of the news he had received finally crashing down on him, suffocating him in it's severity and utter hopelessness. He was shaking, falling to the ground with a gasp, and he knew tears were coming. Why, he cursed. Why me! Whywhywhywhy! Tamaki leaned his head against one of his piano's legs, letting the cool wood calm him down. He was scared, and he had to bite his lip furiously to keep himself from shouting. He couldn't make a scene, he couldn't speak out. His father was downstairs, horribly drunk, and at this time of night it was dangerous to provoke his dad. Luckily, Tamaki had managed to get upstairs with only a few scathing words, but they still hurt.

"Tamaki." His father had said, eyes unfocused and dark.

Tamaki, who was silently walking upstairs at the time, had stiffened. Wordlessly, he turned around to await what was coming next.

"What are you doing'," he slurred slightly, alluding to just how drunk he was, "Fuck.. you're such a disappointment. You look so much like that whore it makes me vomit." Tamaki flinched, he had always taken pride in how closely he resembled his mother. His father poured more whiskey into his already half - full glass and glared at Tamaki.

"So...How was school? Please tell me you went to class and not to chase after another boy again. Our family's reputation would plummet if they hear our heir to the company was a slut who can't keep his head on straight. Oh, and of course! Speaking of your tendency to drop you pants for anyone, tell me about your 'friends'. Come on Tamaki, be sociable. Tell me about those rich bimbos you entertain with your little 'whore club'. Have they found out how worthless you are?" His father drained most of the whisky, lazily wiping his mouth.

"Did they finally figure out your little game of 'house', how disturbingly desperate you are for a 'normal' family who loves you? Newsflash, no one will love a slut like you. No. One." His dad was spitting every syllable at this point. Tamaki's lower lip was trembling, but he kept his head down. Tamaki hated when his father brought his friends up, it hurt more than the stabs at his mother. But, he knew that eye-contact would result in lashings, so he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the sloshing whiskey in his father's glass.

"Drop DEAD Tamaki! I sure don't need you, and I bet those so-called 'hosts' don't either!" He shouted, throwing the glass of whiskey at the door.

That had struck a nerve.

Tamaki was openly sobbing now. What had he done to deserve all this. He was a good person right? He helped people, he saved people, right? He... He was needed, right?

What was he gonna do? In a fit of rage, Tamaki threw the music on his piano to the floor, scattering the pages. He tore at them, ripping up his composed pieces. Fuck. This. He can't keep up this charade that he was fine. How was he gonna survive his treatments if his own father didn't want him alive in the first place. He was a whore, he was a disappointment, he wasn't good enough for his own mom to keep.

He was in such a state of panic he didn't hear his phone ring, or hear it again, or again, or so on. He didn't hear the doorbell chime, or the pounding footsteps up the stairs. What he did here was the pounding of his heat as it throbbed to the steady beat of his mind chanting cancer, slut, cancer, disappointment, cancer, drop dead.