Beckett P.O.V

The warm air around my body couldn't stir me- until the sprinklers came on, spraying jets of cold water directly into my face. I sat with my back against the cold garden wall, knees up to my cheeks. I felt like the world was spinning, my head like it had been jumped on by an idiot in cleats. Groaning, I used the wall to pull myself up, making sure to pick up the small plastic bag lying by my side. If my mother found it- well, there'd be hell to pay with dear old Ronald.

Ronald had been my mother's husband of six years now - and a major pain in my ass since then. He was the principal of the local high school, and had been for almost thirty years. When my mother met him, he was drinking in the diner down the street with a gun in his back pocket, his hand wrapped around a cheap bottle of beer. I had no idea how and why she had fallen for him- he had about as much charisma as an old boot, his wrinkled face covered in scars from countless bar-brawls. Thinking about him made me want to throw up, I clutched my stomach, staggering towards the back door. Once again I had found myself sleeping in the backyard for no good reason. Sighing, my damp hand pushed on the wood of the door, my mind making efforts to remind myself to pick up my feet unless I wanted to fall onto the kitchen floor.

My mother, Judy, was waiting for me at the stove, impatiently tapping her foot against the floor. She was disappointed- she always was disappointed in me. When she first held me, she probably looked me square in the eyes and told me that I would never amount to anything- and boy, was she right. I had no dreams, ambitions, hopes- my sporadic cocaine habit made sure that they were erased in an instant. She cocked her head to the side.
"Beckett James King, I don't appreciate it when you sleep in my garden. I bought you a bed for a reason." She said with a sigh, wiping her exasperated face. I nodded to appease her, sitting at the small breakfast bar, resting my aching head against the cold marble. It was incredibly soothing, until she put her mouth to my ear. "Do you understand Beckett? I'm sick and tired of it. Anything that you've got I want you to hand it over." She said, her old hand gently brushing against my cheek.

I reached into my back pocket, placing the bag into her open palm, patting it for good luck. I knew exactly where it would be going- straight into the drain. It didn't matter to me anyway, I still had a huge hoard of the stuff under the floorboards in my room. She'd never find it. Or, she knew where it was, and couldn't be bothered to interrogate me about it anymore. I grumbled, as she pushed a plate over to me, the smell of waffles filling my head. Picking up my fork, I used the edge of it to neatly cut my waffles into pieces, lining them up in size order. I heard the patter of feet, as my younger brothers came cruising into the room. My mother, flustered, hurried to shush them before seating them at the table. They sat there obediently, their little blonde heads waiting eagerly for their food.

Smiling, I swallowed, fingers drumming against the countertop. My rings clinked against the marble, eyes gazing off into the distance. The other two children skipped in, one of them was a favourite target of Ronald's; he didn't believe that he was his son. He looked more like me than the other three, which was probably why the poor boy had to put up with his indecent behaviour more than any of the others.

Everybody froze.

He was up, I could hear him creeping around upstairs. My mother began to panic, as she hastily shoved plates at her oblivious children. I, on the other hand, stared at the doorway, waiting for his sorry-ass to make his holy appearance. The floorboards screamed underneath his excessive weight, as he got closer and closer to the top of the stairs. He began to whistle, my mother stood statue-like by her babies- as if she believed that by standing still, he wouldn't abuse her. The dreaded whistle grew louder and louder, the creaks likewise. I could feel anger already bubbling inside me, threatening to overflow as his wrinkled face entered my line of vision.

"Good morning, family," He said slyly, his arms tucked behind his back. He looked at me, his smile wry, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, "And Beckett." His cruel words rolled off the tip of his tongue, sinking into the floor. He wandered into the room, sitting at the table, all four of his children looking down at their plates. They were terrified of him, he bullied them too. His eldest son, Bryan, was just seven years old. He was the main target. He belittled him, made fun of his hair, the fact that he could never say his words properly.

"Where's my food?" He called to my mother, who was now standing behind me. She scurried over with a plate, piled high with five waffles. The fat pig was never full, if he could he would've eaten anything and everything in the house. Luckily, we rarely had enough money to stock the fridge entirely. He didn't bother to say thank you, as my mother scurried over to stand in front of me.
"Bryan," He said, his voice thunderous, scaring the living daylights out of the poor boy, "Mrs Evans has expressed more concerns about your speech. Have you improved?"
Here we go, I said in my head, knowing that poor Bryan's day was to begin with a beating instead of the warmth of love.

"I-I'm t-trying d-dad." He said, instantly looking down as though he was ashamed. Ronald sat back in his chair, releasing an loud sigh like a deflating bouncy-castle.

"Not hard enough!" He barked, Bryan shuddered, his hair standing on end. This happened every single morning, of every single day, of every single year. The poor boy never got any respite. I rolled my eyes, finishing off my food, putting my plate into the sink.

I decided to leave the kitchen before I found myself attempting to pummel Ronald's stupid face into the kitchen floor. I could hear him yelling at Bryan as I scaled the stairs, sighing as I got to the top.

My room was at the end of the hall, The furthest away from my mother and Ronald's room. I twisted the handle, pushing the door, revealing the neatness of the room. Everything was in its place, everything was tidy. Closing the door, I took my clothes off, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor. I wandered over to my dresser, pulling out a white shirt. I customised all my shirts, it gave me something to do when I was high, and it helped me to look somewhat original. Today's shirt read 'Mantra', as my own was repeated daily by my peers.

Pulling it over my head, I watched myself in the mirror, examining my face. It was nothing like my mother's- in fact, I looked nothing like her. Sure, we had the same blonde hair, but everything else about me was completely different. Her eyes were blue and full of life, mine were black, lifeless, dead. I smiled at myself, pulling up my black jeans, shaking my head so my hair became messier than before. Tucking a hand into my pocket, I noticed the time on the wall. I was going to be late, but I would rather be so than spend any amount of time in the car with Ronald. He listened to the news, and he spat out of the window, managing to swerve back and forth between lanes with his shaky alcoholic's hands.

"Beckett! You better hurry up or you'll be late!" My mother called, the front door slamming shut. I was glad that he was gone, so I could saunter to school without having him breathing down my neck.

"I know, Ma." I said quietly, refusing to raise my voice at her.

Downstairs again, I pulled on my long, navy-blue coat. My fingers fiddled with the 'B' pin on the collar, as my mother handed me some money. "What's this for?" I asked, watching her cross her arms. She looked down at the ground as I frowned.

"Please, just be good today. Okay?" She asked, cupping my cheek, dragging her thumb across my skin. There was a mark on her cheek. A bruise? I frowned harder, disgust filling my body.

"Momma is that a bruise? Did he hit you? Did he hit the kids?" I asked furiously, feeling my face go red.

"No. No honey, it's nothing. The kids are fine. Lucy came for them it's-"

"It's not okay. It's not okay that your husband beats you, and pisses your money down the drain!" I said angrily, my hands balling into fists. She raised her finger at me, instructing me not to use swear words in her home. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head.

"I-I'm sorry momma. I'm sorry. Keep your money, I'll be good. I promise." I said with a sigh, she nodded her head with a sniffle, patting me on the back as I left the door.

If there was one thing that I did know, sooner or later, Ronald would pay for his crimes.
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Song Of The Chapter- Come Together by The Beatles

A.N
So, new chapter, new story, new radical character to fall in love with?? I adore Beckett and I've got some wicked little plans for him- he's a cunning bastard let me tell you <3

Don't forget to comment and vote, because it really helps me out <3