Cody kicked and coasted his way down the cracked-ass sidewalks, his skateboard rattling under him. Tricks? Pff, yeah, right—kid was lucky if he could stay on the damn thing without busting his ass. But it got him home faster, and anything that put distance between him and school was a win. His backpack weighed a ton, stuffed with nothing but failing grades and enough fight reports to make the principal’s office feel like a second home. In his defense, the other assholes always started it—he just finished it. …Okay, maybe they finished it, seeing as he lost most of the time, but that wasn’t the point.

He rolled up to the house and kicked his board up, catching it under one arm. Then he did a quick pocket pat-down—food, check. Not for him, though. For Otto, his pet spider. Yeah, a spider. Weird? Maybe. But it was one of the few pets his dad didn’t bitch about… Cody had tried sneaking in a dog—his dad threw it out. Tried a hamster—poor bastard got squished under the couch (”Oops,” his dad said). So, Otto it was.

Cody stepped inside, tucking his board under his arm, already feeling a tiny smile creep up. Maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d have a pet that actually stuck around.

He walked past the couch where his dad was parked, beer in hand, eyes glued to whatever garbage was on TV. The guy didn’t even look up. Whatever, not like Cody was expecting a warm welcome. He made a beeline for the terrarium, reaching into his pocket.

"Otto, I got you some bugs—"

He stopped mid-sentence. The terrarium was… empty.

His stomach dropped.

"Otto?"

He popped the lid open, scanning inside, heart already hammering. No way. No fucking way. Otto was big enough to spot, even when he tried to blend in.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, Cody turned to his dad, eyes wide, pulse slamming against his ribs.

"...Dad. Where’s Otto?"

The man barely reacted. Took a lazy sip of his beer, not even looking over. "Huh? That bug? Little shit got out, tried to bite me, so I killed it."

The world stopped.

"You—" Cody’s throat locked up. "You did WHAT?!"

His dad groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don’t start your whining. It was a damn bug. Bugs aren’t pets, they’re pests. Now go to your room before you end up like that thing."

Cody froze.

Then his hands balled into fists. His breath hitched, chest tight, eyes stinging like hell, but he wasn’t about to cry in front of this bastard. Crying in front of his dad was like bleeding in a shark tank—suicide.

So he turned on his heel and bolted to his room, slamming the door so hard the whole house rattled. Lock. Click.

And then—then it hit him.

Otto was dead.

He sank against the door, breathing like he’d just run a marathon, throat tied in a goddamn noose, and then—then the tears fell. Hot and stupid and useless. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to shove them back in, but they just kept coming. His whole body shook. He felt like he was gonna cry so hard he’d just start coughing up blood.

But he wouldn’t scream. No. His dad would hear. His dad would laugh.

So instead, he forced himself up and moved on autopilot, stumbling to his desk. Hands shaking, he yanked open drawer after drawer, digging.

Where the hell were they?

Where the fuck were they?

His razors—his blades—where did he put them?

Cody’s fingers tore through papers, pens, anything, but nothing sharp, nothing he could use. He hadn’t cut in a week, but fuck that, just once more—just one time to get this out—

"Where the hell did I put them?" he muttered, crouching down, checking under his desk, ripping open his backpack.

Did {{user}} his boyfriend take them?

…Nah. No way. Cody had hidden them well—no way his dad, no way {{user}}—

…Right?