"Rhett, my son. I need to have a word with you." I woke up to the most annoying sound in the world: my father's voice. I grumbled and opened my eyes to my favorite person ever: once again, it was my father.

"Yes. Robert?" I always referred to him by his first name since he hated it. To this day, I still refer to him by his first name. Well, actually I don't talk to him anymore, but that's another story I'll save for later.

"Meet me in my office, and get dressed, you have school in two hours." I remember being extremely angry at him for waking me up an hour earlier than necessary. He always ruined things for me. Even my sleep.

I had gotten up right as he left, climbing the stairs to my bedroom. I grabbed out a fresh pair of casual slacks and the usual polo. My mother always picked out my clothes, so I always looked like a preppy fraternity boy. I never really liked the outfits, but, for my mother's sake, I wore it anyway. It was only clothes anyway. They don't have to necessarily define me if I didn't want them to.

Once I finished getting ready, I slowly made my way down the stairs to my bastard-of-a-father's office. I never understood why my mother still let him waltz back in here whenever, but then I remembered they were still technically married for superficial reasons even though he had a girlfriend and another house in the city. They stayed together to avoid the unneeded media attention and for financial reasons.

It was pitiful.

The feeling of dread, like when you get scolded by your parent for coloring on the walls as a child or for punching your younger sibling, was very thick in the air. It clung onto my attitude whenever I had to face him. He's one of the reasons why I am like I am.

I knocked on 'his' office door, waiting for his usual reply of 'mhm come in'. Once I heard it, I opened the door, and was met with the image of my personal demon. The man who brought me into this world but also in my own personal hell that he carved for me.

He was typing away on his laptop, the newest version, of course.

"Sit down, son." I flatly looked at him, abiding to his command like I always had in the past. I always was a pushover.

Always.

"What did you want to discuss, Robert?" I tried to show no signs of emotion around him. I acted like the perfect robot he wanted me to be.
The cookie-cutter image he supposedly sculpted me to mimic. .

"Your friend last night. I don't want her here anymore. She looks like trouble, and I don't want our image tarnished." I scoffed at his ridiculous request. For years, he's the one that has made our family a mess, yet he would always blame it on my mother or I. I was surprised he would be seen in public with Molly. Then again, he always referred to her as his personal 'assistant'. Being a big hot-shot owner of a large, industrial tire company, he was able to pay off any media who suspected much more. It was all so disgusting.

"You don't even live here, Robert, so I think you don't get a say. Also, she is tutoring me." He clenched his jaw at my tone. He calmly closed his laptop, narrowing his eyes at me. It sickened me that I acquired my eyes from him. Except I tried not to ever narrow them. I didn't want to be like him.

"Why is she tutoring you? I thought you were doing well in your classes? Are you not the top student anymore? Is it because of her?" I pushed my chair out and stood up. Our eyes had fought a silent battle.

Father against son.

Son against father.

Owner against the owned.

Coward against the bigger coward.

He had won. Like always.

"Sorry, Robert." I sat back down. I knew he would do it again. "I am doing well, but I always strive to do better." He nodded, relaxing a bit in his chair.

"Son. I don't forgive you for your behavior. Grab me the belt. I thought you had learned this lesson long ago."
....

He gave ten lashes that morning. Ten lashes that were only a mere fraction of what he has all done to me. I honestly preferred the lashings over the other things. The worst was the taunting, the antagonizing threats; the psychological abuse.

That's what had truly messed me up.

He once put a gun to my head, declaring he'd shoot me if I told anyone. He abused me physically and mentally. I always took it too. I always took the blame for Ripley's shenanigans as well. It was usually him that caused the trouble, but I took the beating anyway. I didn't want him messed up like I was.

I had gotten used to it.

After the lashings, I had decided to walk to school, which only had caused my back to ache even more. Any pressure put on it would make it sear with a burning jolt of pain. This was how Noa found out about my beatings.

I was usually good about hiding them, even Beckett didn't truly know about them. He figured I was just depressed and anxious from trivial things, which was why I went to therapy. Little did he know, the depression and anxiety was all due to the abuse I had experienced over the years.

"Hey dude. How are you?" I turned around to see Noa giving me a small smile, her eye makeup was a bit darker than usual, and her outfit resembled that of a goth chick. It was a simplistic black dress with the white collar and white long, knee-high socks. She wore combat boots, of course.

Like always.

I was shocked she had even approached me, let alone ask how I was doing. Maybe she finally was opening up to me, I had thought. Little did I know, that seemingly crazy thought turned out to be true...partially.

"Hi Noa. I'm doing great. You?," I said with a bright smile, covering the pain like usual. She had quirked an eyebrow, knowing something was wrong. Like she had said the day prior, she was good at detecting lies.

"Bull fucking shit." She shook her head as she went to her locker and placed her backpack and unneeded books into it. She slammed the locker shut before walking away. I followed her because I didn't like when she was mad at me.
I still don't.

She had turned down a hallway, and then two more hallways, and another, until we were near the woodworking garage. Those classes never started until the afternoon, so I knew she picked the spot for the privacy.

She had placed a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes. "Tell me, and don't you dare lie to me. I'll shove my fist in your face if you do." I wanted to laugh at her 'joke', but I knew she wasn't joking. She's the only girl that meant it. Even to this day.

"Just had a talk with my father. He wasn't happy about me having a girl over." I said, half telling the truth. She knew I wasn't telling her everything, so she gave me a light shove. This caused my back to hit the wall since I wasn't prepared for the push. The slight impact of the wall on my back caused me to yelp in pain as I went down on my knees. Hot tears slipped from my eyes as my back continued to burn.

"Holy shit, Rhett what hurts? I'm so sorry..." She had helped me back up on my feet. Her eyes filled with so much worry. I stopped 'crying' and just let out groans. Her hand lightly touched my back, and I bit my lip from the pain. My back was still so raw that even her feather-light touch hurt.

She had lifted the back of my shirt, and let out a gasp at the raised marks that covered the flesh. She then slowly put the shirt down and went right in front of me. She held my face in her hands as she wiped the tears from under my eyes.

"Let's go to my place. I have ointment I can put on it. I'm not letting you suffer through the school day." I nodded, listening to her command much like I had with my father, but this time I didn't mind.

I remember being so grateful that she didn't ask me any questions in that moment. She had put the pieces together in her mind, not needing to ask. It was as though she knew the pain.

The pain of not trusting those that are supposed to love you, not hurt you.

———
A/N: This is unedited!

Much love,
~Madelyn Joy