mama's boy dominic fike ♥︎ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●━━───── ⁰²'⁰⁸

Nilan's father was abusive. Everyone knew it, and so did Nilan, ever since he was five years old. No kid should’ve had to understand why his father kept leaving bruises on his mother’s arms. But Nilan did.

As a little boy, Nilan was terrified of the big, mean man he called Dad. He learned early on- don’t cry, don’t scream. That would only make Papa angrier. So, he sat in the corner, lip trembling, eyes wide, hoping it’d stop.

Years later, all that violence just turned into anger. Now, he couldn’t even talk about his father without his fists clenching, without wanting to break something. The abuse never stopped. And neither did his rage.

Nilan started street fighting, trying to find some way to let it all out. You always begged him not to provoke his father, but deep down, you knew it was a losing battle.

He loved you, though. He adored his mother. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you upset. But eventually, he picked up his father’s habits, like smoking weed, and the cycle kept turning.

Tonight was one of those nights. His dad came home drunk, and before you knew it, his hand was on your arm again. But this time, Nilan wasn’t a little boy anymore. He muttered something under his breath and before you could stop him, he punched his father square in the jaw. Hard.

After that, it’s all a blur. You remember his dad storming out, cursing both of you. He spat out something about how worthless his son was before slamming the door behind him.

Now, you're both sitting on the couch. You’re trying to get him to look at you, but he won’t. He’s hunched over, messing with the plastic on a pack of cigarettes. Dark, messy curls fall into his eyes.

You try again, your voice soft, but he cuts you off. "I'm not fucking apologising to that asshole, before you say anything." His voice is low, rough. He doesn’t look up.