The Loner and the Prep (bxb)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A/N: Not proofread, hope you guys like it. progress people, progress. 

Watson P.O.V

The sudden realization and eagerness made everything that was once blurry and jumbled fall into place. Every reason to keep the abuse a secret presented itself to me in a neat, orderly fashion, and for once, the eagerness to reveal it was outweighing the urge to keep it a secret. It all made sense in my mind for once, but making sense wasn't enough to make the fear that has been building up inside me for years just disappear.

But this was a chance to get away from that fear, probably one of the only chance that I would ever get. The only problem with overcoming that fear was the real issue was currently sitting next to me. That, and about every single fear decided then would be a good time to represent themselves with a new force. I couldn't help but consider all the things that could go wrong if I tried to mention the abuse.

Everything could so easily get pushed onto the bullying. The bruises, the anxiety, the depression, all of it. It could so easily be blamed on what was happening in regards to the bullying that Keith and his friends did for 'fun.' But they weren't entirely the people to blame for the bruises, as a fair share of them were from the man sitting beside me. How long would it even be before I showed up to school with more bruises and no one to be able to blame?

The school would begin to think that some of the bullying accusations, the ones I couldn't exactly prove, were false. What would happen if things went that far? Would they even believe me if I tried to explain the abuse at that point? They should be required to report to . . . whoever they report to about child abuse, but would that do that if the situation got to that point?

I don't know, and that is what makes it all the more frightening.

"Mr. Young, I have recently discovered that your son was being bullied by a couple of other students, all of which will be promptly punished," I bit my lip, knowing that my father's reaction to that could really give away what type of parent he was, if nothing else, reveal hints that he was an abusive parent. "I wanted to get with you about the issue and give you the safety of mind to know that I, as well as my faculty, will do whatever it takes to ensure nothing like this happens to your son, or another student, ever again,"

I know I was the only one who noticed the slightest of smirks popping onto my father's face but was quickly hidden behind a mock angry expression.

"Why didn't you just mention all this over the phone?" Of course, that was the first thing my father would be worried about. It isn't as if his son was sitting beside him covered in freshly developing bruises that would look absolutely hideous by tomorrow. Instead, my father was more worried about the fact that he had to leave work.

"Excuse me?" Mr. West asked as if he couldn't understand what my father meant, and he probably didn't. My father wasn't going to act concerned or sympathetic towards what happened to me; he only cared about himself and whether or not he'd have enough money to buy his next case of beer. Getting called away from work put his beer budget at risk.

"I asked why you didn't just say that over the phone and saved me a trip here," It was clear that my father's reaction was throwing Mr. West off, as even the principal was beginning to look uncomfortable.

"Because I wanted to personally inform you of the problem and give you the peace in mind knowing it wouldn't happen again," I hate to say it, Mr. West, but I could get bullied by anyone in this school, and I can assure you that my father wouldn't care.

"That still doesn't justify me being called to the school," My father argued, his voice getting louder. What would he say to me in private after Mr. West's listening ears were no longer there? "All of this could have been mentioned over a phone call, and it would have saved me time and money had you done so," My father leaned forward, moving to stand up. Mr. West, noticing my father's motion, moved to talk him into hearing whatever else he had to say.

"Please Mr. Young, if you'd allo-"

"You have wasted enough to my time as it is, Mr. West, so unless what you are about to say is vital for me to hear, I shall be taking my leave," My father stood and left the office, I could only glance back at Mr. West before standing as well. "Watson," My father hissed out, standing in the doorway of the office, clearly expecting me to have immediately begun following behind him. His stomping steps leaving the room echoed, encouraging me to follow in his stead.

"Excuse me," I mumbled before hurrying to catch up to my father. Was he going to make me walk home? I'm not entirely sure I would even want to ride in a car with him, as it would likely be a car ride that ends with me getting yelled at for my principal's actions. I wonder if he came to school thinking he would be questioned about the bruises . . .

Although the parking lot was relatively empty now, school had dismissed moments before I woke back up, my father remained wordless, likely holding back whatever he had to say for the privacy of the truck. I hesitated in opening the passenger door, but after receiving a death glare from my father, I hopped into the truck, debating on how likely I was to get yelled at before we got back to the house.

The roar of the engine filled the silence as I avoided kicking one of the many beer cans and bottles that littered the floorboard. I knew for a fact that there were more cans in the back seat, as the vehicle was the one place that I wasn't forced to clean regularly. I don't think he trusts me alone with the car, too afraid that I would get in and never come back. If I were smart enough to even consider that possibility, I probably would have done so by now.

After pulling out of the school parking lot, the safety net saving me from any of the vulgar words my father was just waiting to say was removed.

"Bully? Pfft," I couldn't understand why he thought abusing me was a good idea. What exactly is he gaining from pushing me down a few pegs? From harming me? "You're more pitiful that I give you credit for,"

I couldn't retaliate, my tongue felt like a sack of bricks, any word of defense on my part wasn't possible.

"You even snitched on the boys too, like the little p*ssy you are," My dad sneered at me. "Your lucky you didn't mention anything about me, boy. Otherwise, this conversation would be a whole lot less f*cking civil,"

You know, you'd think that an abuser would be worse while intoxicated, more uncontrollable, and unforgiving. When it came to my father, he was a whole different type of terror while he was sober.

"I don't want to see your *ss once we get home. Don't even think about sneaking downstairs for food, if I catch you out of your room, you'll have hell to pay," That's better than getting harmed, I'd prefer staying in my room anyway. I give it a few drinks before he comes banging on my door, a different mindset from the stay in your room one. "Do I make myself clear?" He screamed it after I didn't reply.

"Y-yes," I hated myself for studdering, knowing it only fueled his toxic masculinity and sense of power. It was the fear that he built inside me that made me stutter. If I didn't fear the outcome, I potentially would have argued back to him.

"Hmm, that's what I thought," He flicked the radio on, the heavy beats of rap covered the sound of the engine. I hated how this type of music sounds, but it was better than listening to him talk and scream.

I decided something while sitting in the truck that day. I decided it was way past time that I start planning how I would stop this abusive f*cker once and for all.

I'm done playing his game.