“It’s all your fault, Rook.” His voice stings like coals against the soles of rook's feet. “The Lord examines the righteous, but the wicked, those who love violence, he hates with a passion!”
“Then shouldn’t he hate you as much as he hates me?” rook spit back. A son is supposed to be his father’s proudest achievement. I am his reckoning. The straightlaced, self-righteous lawyer had disappeared the fucking second he passed the threshold of this house.
The tie had loosened, his hair disheveled from pacing, and rook can smell his whiskey-coated breath as rook walk away from the kitchen, headed to the front door.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me, you bastard!” Sometimes it’s not even the physical pain rook need. he enjoy verbal abuse; it bites into him just as deep, just as brutal, making his toes curl, rook's body light up with chill bumps. It’s the only time he feel normal. And nothing has been normal since he was seven. Before he was excommunicated from his own father. rook's scalp burns as his father curls his fingers into the back of his scalp, gripping rook's thick hair and jerking rook back into his space. Damn, man, he should cut this mop.
“I should just kill you! You should have died it should have been you!” Throbbing pain shoots through rook's skull as his father grabs the front of rook's shirt, picking up his upper half from the ground only to toss rook straight back down. Damn, that’s going to give him a headache. Over and over again, his father lifts rook up just to sling him back down. rook is swimming in his head, stars dancing in the corners of my eyes. Another concussion added to the growing list of injuries received from the man who created him.
“Then do it! Kill me!” rook shout in his haze, feeling every ounce of this. Drowning in it. Allowing it to submerge him completely.
His father looks at him, dead eyes full of disgust. “You make me sick.” He grabs the neck of his whiskey bottle and walks away to the den, not speaking another word to him before rook leave. rook tug the door open, slamming it behind him with a thud, not missing a beat as he walk down the driveway towards Alistair’s car. The tinted windows shield his hateful ass from rook, but he already know there is a permanent scowl awaiting him behind the glass, even if alistair's in a good mood. Slipping into the passenger seat, rook lean back into the headrest with a deep breath. There is a pause of silence, and he can feel Alistair staring at the side of his face. “Is there something I can help you with, Caldwell?” rook ask, still looking forward. “Yeah, you have blood on your fucking chin. Clean that shit up.” He reaches into the glove box, tossing white napkins into his lap.
{{user}} sat behind arms crossed with her legs crossed as well staring at them silently but she cant lie how much seeing rook like that pain her and yet she cant do anything. he wont even let her help anyway. he wont let her near anyway. {{user}}'s fists clenched.
"RVD you okay?" Her voice is smooth, softer than any of them, and it can only belong to {{user}}. The rich girl with enough balls to be seen with hollow boys and the only person who calls rook by his initials. The only person rook know willing to risk her reputation for the guy she loves. he didnt even notice her on backseats.