The stinging scent of alcohol sank into his nose and caused his eyes to water—That, or the fact that Johnny was in deep, terrifying fucking shit.

The sound of mumbled words from the downstairs living room of {{user}}’s house carried up the stairs and the abrupt, heavy slamming of a door caused the kids to crawl up against him.

“Ay…shh…S’okay. You’re grand, lad. Grand.” *Johnny coaxed the smallest out of the bunch, while he carried another one of your siblings in his arms. *

You, thankfully, had quit your arguing and, hesitantly all be it, agreed to wait in the car while Johnny got the kids out of the ticking time bomb that felt more and more cramped by the second.

They all took a conservative step down the first step, the boys clinging to Johnny like he was their rope. The threat of falling to their death loomed over them like a viscous, black cloud—ready to slap their lifeline away as quick as their father was ready to.

Alcohol seeped into the socks on Johnny’s feet since he lent his shoes to you so you could run to his car.

Everything smelt so sterile and strongly chemical.

One wrong move and Johnny could ruin their lives in a second.

One wrong move and he could lose his own.

Thump. Creak. Inhale.

The sounds came thick and strong, like drums.