Pyro (controlledburn) wrote in genome_project, @ 2010-06-03 00:42:00 |
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Current mood: | discontent |
Entry tags: | june 2010, solo |
Who: Sam (Solo)
What: More parental crap
Where: Sam's house and then school
When: Wednesday evening
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Solo alludes to self harming and some parental problems, much the same as Sam's previous post. Don't read if this sort of thing upsets you.
Sam was stood, motionless, as his mother once again took it upon herself to render him incapable of speech. It was amazing, the talent she had for saying things that cut him open, left him bleeding, and how she just didn’t care. It was one thing to say something in anger, but another to say it without feeling and no remorse. She was good at it, too good. His father wasn’t much better, he’d rather pretend Sam didn’t exist, pretend that he didn’t have a son, didn’t have a son that did nothing but disappoint him.
And now look at him, he’d chased off his only friend, his only chance at being normal, was he happy now? They’d asked him that question several times in the last few moments of this heated exchange, laughing at his responses and sneering like a pair of jackals with the smell of blood in the air.
He bit out a short sharp laugh and felt his hand curling into a fist at his side, but he was unable to lash out at them the same way he did everybody else, it was almost as if he was paralysed by their venomous words. He hated it, hated the control, hated the way they could affect him and how they seemed to know his every insecurity.
How was this normal? How was this okay?
Parents were supposed to love you, not hate you. They were supposed to be there for you and they were supposed to accept you for who you were and not who they wanted you to be. His had just made him feel unwanted in his own home.
Unable to do anything proactive about the slurs Sam could only turn on his heel and run for lack of a better word, needing to put distance between himself and the people who passed for his parents. He needed to breathe, needed space, needed to be alone, needed… Well, he needed a lot of things, but it wasn’t like he would be getting any of those things so what was the point in needing them?
Like always his troubled steps found their way to bleachers, a familiar safe haven, where he hit the seat with a heavy *thud*, hunching forward to bury his hands in his hair. The tips of fingers pressing against his scalp and fingers tightening to the point of where the knuckles turned white, breathing short and ragged.
God, he needed-
He just had-
There had to be more to life than this, than hating himself and being hated by his parents. But what was the use in hoping considering all hope did was get you crushed, ground you into dust beneath its unforgiving boot. Sam kind of hated that he wanted a hug. Hugs were for girls, but sometimes, just sometimes you needed somebody to tell you that things were going to be okay when it felt like nothing would be okay.
“Stop being such a pussy,” Sam muttered to himself, anger and self disgust clear in the tones of his voice. He swallowed hard, pushing the all consuming emotions back into a dark place, where they belonged, and just steel himself through the hurtful words echoing in his head until he couldn’t tell where they began and he ended.
A hand strayed to a pocket and his grip curled around the lighter - the one really solid thing in his life - and just brought it out, flipping it open until the flame illuminated every dark circle and haunted feature.
“I just want it to stop hurting.”