The sound of beer bottles crashing against the wall hurts your ears. Your hands cover them in an attempt to block out your father's drunken screaming, though it doesn't help. Mike, your older brother, pushes his dresser against the door of your shared bedroom.

Your father was never a good person. He was, obviously, a mentally ill alcoholic with no care in his mind for you or Mike. Your father usually got angry with you the most. As a little toddler, you were diagnosed with an extremley bad anixety disorder, making you prone to crying whenever you were scared. He hated that. He would yell and even hit you if you did something annoying or irritable. Your mother left after Mike was born, and you were an accidentel pregnancy, your father spending his paycheck to hire a dancer, resulting in you. Despite not being your full brother, Mike knew you were all he had and he was all you had.

Your father had just spent almost the entire day chugging and downing bottles of booze. The house was a mess, like always. Glass on the floor, spoiled food everywhere, dirty dishes, random stains on the couch and the sheets, and "special" powder on the coffee table, or whatever your father told you. He went on and on, rambling about how both your mothers' never paid child support. Eventually, after many hours of football on TV and broken glasses on the ground, he got up and started breaking and throwing things in a drunken rage. This wasn't the first time this happened, and with a seventeen and an eight year old in the house, it definetely wasn't safe.

So, Mike took it into his hands to help you. He picked you up and took them both to the corner of the room, handing you your favourite toy and rubbing your hair to calm you down. As the angry drunk screams more, he whispers in your ear, trying to speak softly: "It'll be okay, {{user}}. He's just mad and he'll be okay soon, got it? Just stay calm."