"ARE YOU ON something right now?" Tobi asked Wyatt on their way to Spanish. He was smiling, and he never smiled before Spanish. Nobody smiled before Spanish.
"I don't know." He shrugged with a blissful smile and began to flutter his lashes. "It's Friday, and life is beautiful."
"Should I be worried?"
Wyatt's expression turned deadpan. "Fuck you, and fuck off."
Tobi laughed, flashing a set of straight whites at him before slinging an arm over his shoulders.
"Just be careful, okay?"
Wyatt shrugged him off, murmuring a defensive I know without having to ask what he was supposed to be careful of, and both boys continued on in silence.
The rest of the day flew past and Wyatt managed to keep his mind from dwelling too much on Rashad, melancholy momentarily forgotten in wake of the budding excitement he could feel unfurl inside him.
By the end of the school day however, he found that there were questions he hadn't let himself consider, like how he would sneak out without alerting his father; or how long he would have to spend at the party before returning back. Other minor ones followed too: What would he wear, how much he'd let himself drink, etc.
These thoughts flittered through his mind when he got home to found that it was empty. His father was still at work. It always surprised him, how Regan could get as drunk as possible and still wake up the next morning fully functioning, hangover be damned.
He got to his room, stripping as he went over his options, and felt a twinge of regret go through him as he remembered his phone. A video call with Viv could've sped up the process, or made it more bearable at least.
Ordering Chinese with the outdated Nokia his father kept in their hallway drawer for emergencies, Wyatt rummaged through his closetâonly taking a break to eat when his order came in and finish up the last part of his Biology assignment, which he'd started in school because there was no chance in hell he'd spend his weekends on homework and it was due Mondayâuntil finally, he settled on an extra-large band tee, which he tucked into a pair of baggy chain-link blue jeans he thrifted over the previous summer, finishing up his ensemble with his long trusted Doc Martens.
He considered faux earrings and bracelets but shook his head after settling on a simple chain choker, deciding that he didn't want his early 2000s inspired look to come off as if he'd been trying too hard, especially when he thought of how he was a plus-one and not on the original guest list.
As he admired himself in the full-length mirror, Wyatt heard the front door open and cursed, stripping quickly and stuffing the clothes into a Ziploc bag which he deposited under his bed. He glanced at the clock to find that it was a few minutes past seven p.m. and marveled at how he'd been so caught up in his own little world he didn't notice how dark outside it had become.
"Wyatt?" his father's voice called out, and he cussed softly under his breath, changing into a pair of shorts and a tank top.
"I'm coming!"
He ran a hand through his hair, which snagged through a rough tangle making him wincing, and then he stepped out.
"You called?"
His father, attired in a black Adidas tracksuit stood barefoot in just his socks and waited in the hallway, running fingers through his own hair in the same way he had only just moments before.
They were both nervous.
"Hey," Regan greeted sheepishly, gesturing to the living room. "What's up?"
Wyatt exhaled deeply. He had never been good at lying or keeping things secretâespecially from Viv. And while his father was not usually a problem, in moments like these, after big fallouts, his parent radar went on full alert.
Act cool. Be cool. He can't tell anything.
"Nothing." He shifted from one foot to another. "Just school and some homework: I'm not planning to go to a party or anything."
Shit.
"Like I'm grounded, so obviously nothing's up," Wyatt rushed to add.
"I didn't say you were going out partying, but okay." Regan wore a bemused expression, and motioned towards the living room. "We should sit."
"Yeah, sure," he replied after a guarded pause. "We should."
The silence grew stifling as their feet shuffled until they sat on sofas on opposite sides of the room, and only the sounds they made as they breathed punctuated it.
"So," Regan began, "I just want to apologize for yesterday. I never meant for you to see me like that."
Wyatt paused, sizing his father up slowly and not bothering to hold back his scowl.
"Okay, stop right there. We've talked about your drinking problem so many times and I really, really don't want to get into it right now, if that's okay with you."
"I'm trying, Wyatt. Real men take responsibility for their actions. They also understand that those actions have consequences, and I'm so sorry."
"Real men?" he asked with a scornful laugh. "Well, it's a good thing you aren't one now, isn't it?"
Regan stilled, going silent as his words hit the mark.
"I know I'm not a good role model," he continued shakily. "And I struggle, a lot. I'm not perfect. I know I say some really fucked up thingsâ"
"But what," Wyatt barked, cutting him off midsentence. "You don't mean the things you say when you're drunk. I want to believe you, but you always so articulate."
"Do you literally even listen to yourself?" he continued, finding himself unable to hold back. "Do you even care about me?"
"Wyattâ"
"Don't," he interrupted, holding up a finger. "Let me get this off my chest."
A long moment passed, and then Regan dipped his head in a nod.
"We always go down this road every time shit like this happens."
"Watch your language when you speak to me, kid. Despite my shortcomings I'm still your father."
"So you get to say that you fuck things up and when I say shit you come for me? Wow, father of the year."
Regan fidgeted in his seat, clearing his throat. "I'm trying."
His sounded smaller than Wyatt could ever remember hearing him. He felt a spike of white-hot guilt lance through him, and was surprised to find his vision start to blur with tears which he angrily dashed at.
"Well try harder," he scoffed. "Because in case you haven't noticed everybody is moving on. Mom remarried, she and Viv are settling in just fine in case you want to know. I'm getting over a breakup whose apartment I destroyedâ"
Regan's mouth fell open.
"What do you mean destroyed? Backtrack a bit, is that where you got those bandages are from?"
Wyatt felt his mouth fall open in disbelief, and he cocked his head to one side.
"That's the only thing you got out of all I said? You know, I think you're really crushing this dad thing."
His father sighed tiredly. "Wyatt, stop."
"What, you can't take it?" he goaded. "Being the world's biggest mistake should have that effect onâ"
His head snapped to one side before he felt the searing sting of his father's palm making contact with his cheek, and involuntary tears spilled down his cheeks as disbelief set in, slowly.
Regan had never hit him before. Threats, yes, but never anything he acted on.
Beyond the shock, he wondered on what amount of concealer he would have to apply if the blow bruised his skin.
"Are you insane?" he spluttered, getting up with a hand placed on the place of impact. "Are you kidding me?"
His father looked equally as shocked as he felt, and stared down at his own hands as if they had grown scales.
"I'm sorry," he said weakly, and the apology only served to fuel Wyatt's rage.
"Is this why mom left you? You hit her? You fucking coward."
"I never hit your mother," Regan roared, "didn't even dream of it!"
But Wyatt was done. He was done listening to anything his father had to say, and channeled his reserve of energy into doing the one thing he did best: Hurting him.
"You know," he began, eerily calm. "I might apply for emancipation, because you just proved you're an abusive piece of shit. Hell, this family isn't even a family anymore, and you're just a sad old man with his life behind him.
Now you live with regrets, and that's all you'll ever have. That's all you'll have when you die alone with nobody, because you're a disgrace who threw away his life."
He paused to catch his breath, swallowing convulsively. "There's leftover ramen in the fridge if you're hungry. Eat it, don't. I don't care."
Regan's eyes were wet, but he said nothing as Wyatt stalked out of the living room.
It was his fault, everything that had led to him getting hit: his barbs and venomous temper. He was also aware of the fact that his anger was misplaced, and perhaps internalized. But he refused to acknowledge it and made his way to the bathroom, where he locked himself in and inspected his reflection.
If there was one thing he liked about him skin it was his tan, and that fact it was did not bruise as easily as one would've thought, which meant that other than a now fading palm print there was no evidence to point that he had just had his senses slapped out of him.
On the bright side, there would be no need to apply concealer as he couldn't afford to have it run if the party turned out how he expected it to, with sweaty bodies, loud music, booze, and boys.
Or maybe one boy, he thought as an image of intense brown eyes crossed his mind.
Wyatt showered, taking time to shampoo his hair and lather soap onto his body, scrubbing till his skin turned slightly red. He rinsed himself under the spray of clear running water and stepped out, padding to his bedroom, where he shut the door softly behind him.
He hadn't heard movement and suspected that his father remained in the living room.
Crawling into his bed, he sighed deeply, thoughts veering towards chaos. He imagined that if the fifteen-year-old version of himself could see him now, he would probably just crumple into a ball and die wallowing in a pit of self-pity. Though in all honesty, he felt like crumpling into a ball right then and there, and crying himself to death in his current state.
The urge to call Viv and just listen to her talk swept over him once more and he was already reaching out for his phone when he remembered he no longer had it.
Letting out a drawn out sigh, he crashed back into his mattress, drawing the duvet up his chin and staring listlessly at his bare ceiling.
Wyatt had almost drifted off when he heard the unmistakable sound of feet ambling towards his bedroom.
Holding his breath he watched as his father's shadow paused in front of his door through the gap under it for a considerable amount of time, and then a feeble knock followed. In the darkness of his room Wyatt shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep until the knocking stopped and Regan's shadow disappeared.
The lights in the hallway clicked shut, bathing everything beyond Wyatt's door in darkness, and an eternity later Wyatt got up to retrieve the Ziploc bag from under his bed.
Pausing to ensure that he could hear no telltale signs of movement outside his room, he tiptoed to his window, pulled it open and slid out into a frigid October night.
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n o t e
truth be told i didn't think i would be posting this chapter. after the whole novelhd/truyen stint i took a step back to think on what it was i was trying to achieve in putting this book up on here, and a couple of days ago i typed out a long letter where i announced i wouldn't put up another part till the whole thing blew over.
yesterday, however, i was going through a couple of new comments on this book and laughed till i could barely breathe, which made me realize i really missed that feeling.
i'm still trying to figure things out, but while that is happening here's a chapter that i hope you like even though it doesn't exactly show wyatt on his best behavior.