Anonymous asked:

Prompt: What was one time you were so upset you couldn't control yourself?

Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence

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His blood was racing when the front door opened. He knew exactly who it was and, while he’d usually be happy to see her, he had a sneaking suspicion that she had been up to something that he would not like. Spencer didn’t like Emily spending time with the Simmons, at all. Julie, despite being his girlfriend’s best friend, was an annoying bitch who was constantly judging his relationship with the blonde. The rest of the family was pathetic, but his real problem rested with one of the twins. Physically, he couldn’t tell one from the other. He’d have a hard time pointing Luke out if it weren’t for the constant look of pining in his eyes, directed for the only girl who was, without a doubt, spoken for.

Spencer found the older Simmons’ crush on his girlfriend both pitiful and infuriating. It didn’t help that the sickeningly loud rumor mill never stopped spitting out stories of affairs between the two. Often, Spencer could get through it, knowing that Emily would never do such a thing to him. She’d never hurt him, because, if she did, he’d hurt her, worse, and they both knew it.

They’d talked about Emily going to Julie’s after school in their last class together, but the conversation was brief and Spencer wasn’t given the chance to argue it. That frustrated him, so, when he got home, he cleared his mind in the best way he could think of.

He wouldn’t have an addiction if it weren’t for his mother, but instead of holding that against her, he saw it as something that brought them closer together. Not many sixteen-year-old boys could sit on the couch with their mom, shooting up, together. His mom was different, and he loved that. She introduced him to heroin, sure, but she also let him embrace the dangerous addiction without putting boundaries on him. Most days, when Emily wasn’t around, he’d go over to the house he grew up in to spend the time getting high with his mother. Today, though, he gotinto the small stash he kept in his apartment.

After his injection, time slowed and, while his body felt like it was moving faster than humanly possible, he had to wait alone for Emily to get home. As each minute passed, his blood grew hotter. He became angrier. At first, he was unable to identify an exact reason for the temper, but as the time passed, he had come up with enough crazy ideas to become furious, and all of them had to do with the same girl that was finally walking in.

He looked at her with what felt like narrow eyes, though he couldn’t be sure exactly what he looked like to her, or anyone else, for that matter. “You’ve been gone for hours,” he said, his voice stern, with just a slight whine to it, that only a trained ear would be able to catch.

“Julie ended up being busy when I first got there, so I hung out with Luke.” Spencer rolled his eyes at her. “What?” she asked. “He’s my friend. It’s not like I’m going to run away with him.” A small voice in his head told him that she was most likely kidding, but that voice was easily drowned out by his drug-induced rage. That was, after all, exactly what he’d been worried about. So often, Spencer had to hear rumors that were mainly focused on Emily and all of the other alleged people she was seeing behind his back. It was enough to drive anyone crazy, but his addiction definitely fueled the fire. With a bad temper off of the drugs, he could hardly contain his own body as it leaped from the seat he’d had on the couch.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked, incredulously. His eyes grew wide.

“Spence, I’m kidding.”

He hated the tone of her voice. He hated that she wasn’t riled up like he was. He hated that he couldn’t be sure if she was kidding, or not. He hated so much about her, in that moment. He threw his body forward and, in one, swift movement, he had his hand around her neck. With a tight grip on her, he pulled her face towards his. He brought his nose to her mouth and took a deep breath in, in an attempt to smell some physical proof that another pair of lips had been on hers. Her tone quickly changed; her attitude completely different than the somewhat sassy one she’d come home with. A small noise escaped her.

He looked at her. Even scared, she was beautiful. It was obvious why other men would be interested in her. “Whore,” he growled, pushing her back, and letting go of his hold on her. Her body landed against the wall behind her with a small thud. He turned away from her, unable to look at the girl that he was so convinced was unclean.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she yelled, sounding more confused than anything. He paused. Ignoring her tone, he slowly turned.

He raised his eyebrows. “What was that?” He didn’t let her answer. He was not going to let her yell at him. Not in that moment. He was back in front of her in what felt like half of a second, with a fistful of her shirt. He threw her to the kitchen floor, coming down on top of her. He pulled her shirt so that her head came off of the ground, and her face closed in on his. “Don’t you dare,” he screamed, “Ever talk to me like that again.” His free hand balled into a fist. He swung his arm until his knuckles collided with her face. He raised it again, without hesitation, punching her twice in a row in the exact same spot.

Hurting Emily gave Spencer a lot of different things to think about. He didn’t understand why the sight of her hurting could be so appealing to him. He hated himself. He was never going to be deserving of her. He couldn’t fathom why she would stay faithful to him. The smell of blood reminded him of his childhood. Unfortunately, his hazy mind refused to think too long on any of these things, and instead, only worked well enough to allow him to raise his fist again.

The blow connected with her nose, and he heard a crack. Over her cries and pleading for him to stop what he was doing, he could hear the physical impact he’d had. That was enough to stop him. He looked down at her bloody face and his fist unraveled, trembling. “I-“ he tried, but there was nothing he could say. He stood up, over her, and then scooped her into his arms. He had to get her to the hospital. 

Anonymous asked:

Prompt: Describe Spencer and Emily's prom date (if there was one).

Trigger Warning: Heroin Use

—-

It was almost incredible: just how itchy this rental tux was. He pulled at its collar, hoping to separate the cheap fabric from his irritated skin. Spencer had to rent the cheapest tuxedo that the entire town of Renata had because, although he’d promised Emily a special night, he could not imagine spending any more of his hard earned money than the sixty dollars that he had spent. That alone was a critical hit to his personal finances. Upon the purchase of Emily’s corsage, he realized that his rent would be late, again, this month. At least he didn’t actually have to pay for tickets. He’d taken care of that with the threat of beating up the skinny guy that had been selling them in the cafeteria during school.

She backed up into him. Seth stood a few feet away from them, with a disposable camera in his hand. Spencer gave his neck one more scratch before moving his hand to his mouth and removing the lit cigarette that had been balanced in his lips. The other hand snaked around Emily’s tiny waist, as if by instinct. The position was unnatural. The couple would never stand like this. He put the cigarette back to his lips and took a drag, sucking hard at the cotton filter. He scowled.

“You could try smiling,” Seth called, laughing. “And, seriously man, did you even brush your hair?” He lifted the camera to his eye.

“Go fuck yourself,” Spencer said, the cigarette bouncing in his mouth. The camera flashed as he lifted a middle finger at his best friend. The smile came after the flash. He hadn’t brushed his hair.

He wasn’t one to stand around and have his picture snapped. They only took one the whole night. He didn’t need multiple pictures to remember the way that Emily’s strapless pink dress hugged her very slim body or the way some her curls fell around her face while the rest had been pulled back for the first time that Spencer had witnessed or even the heavy spots of makeup that covered, or, at least, attempted to cover the bruises on her pale skin. His hand dropped from her waist while the other hand moved up to pluck the cigarette from his mouth. He crossed the grassy spot that they were on, which was really just a green patch outside of their apartment complex used to make the place seem like less of a shithole than it actually was and punched his best friend playfully in the arm.

Seth wasn’t going to the prom. Not this year. Maybe, like Spencer, he’d wait until his senior year to actually participate. Both boys found the event pretty stupid. Without Emily, he was sure that neither he nor the blonde boy would have actually known the date of the dance. The two exchanged a few light punches before Emily broke them up, laughing just as much as the boys were. “It’s time to go,” she said. Spencer threw his cigarette to the ground and stepped out the small butt that was left of it.

“Okay, babe,” he said, leaning down to her and planting a kiss on her mouth. “Let’s go.” Seth slipped a flask into the pocket of Spencer’s tux before he and Emily took off.

They walked to the school, skipping a fancy dinner that neither of them could afford. By the time they’d arrived, a swarm of losers were already in full swing. A DJ played a record that Spencer couldn’t recognize. Or stand. He wasn’t crazy about any music, but the stuff that blasted through the speakers seemed to threaten his ears with the possibility of bleeding and/or falling off. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have even stepped into the school gym, where the dance was centered. He knew that this was something that Emily really wanted, though, so he tried his best to turn the volume in his head down. When that didn’t work, his hand fell upon the container in his pocket.

The flask was small enough to be inconspicuous on the way in, but large enough to get he and Emily sufficiently intoxicated. It was brushed silver and one of the flashing red lights that the school had hung up glinted off of it in a rhythmic pattern. He suspected that Seth has swiped it from his father, along with whatever nicer-than-usual alcohol filled it. By the time the small bottle was empty, Emily was hanging off of Spencer, giggling. He liked getting her drunk; it made her so delightfully comical. Their bodies swayed together to the slow song that the DJ had decided was appropriate although, admittedly, they were somewhat offbeat. Spencer, however, was too distracted by his hand rolling over the swell of her backside to care.

The music cut off abruptly enough to snap even a drunken Spencer out of his mindless swaying. “Can I have your attention?” A nasally voice blasted through the speakers, becoming something that Spencer hadn’t previously thought possible: a less desirable sound to listen to than the night’s music had been. Spencer didn’t recognize the woman who was now rambling about Prom King and Queen. He didn’t know many teachers by face, much less the people he didn’t have classes with. This woman could have easily been the principal. His attention was already moving to Emily.

She looked sad. He hair was falling out of whatever she’d pulled it up with. Her eyes, which had just been full of inebriated joy, now looked subdued; far off. He knew that she had been nominated for prom court. He assumed it was her friend Aiden who put her name in and he really didn’t give a fuck about it, which was why he couldn’t imagine why she’d be upset about getting kicked out of the running. They told her that her grades weren’t good enough to represent the school, but Emily was the smartest person Spencer knew. It could have also had to do with her disciplinary record which, although it wasn’t quite as colorful as his, had its marks.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, his lips close to her ear so that he didn’t have to speak louder than his natural growl. When she looked up and nodded at him, he wrapped his hand around hers and tugged her off of the dance floor.

They could have left. Spencer could have pulled Emily right out of the building, walked her home, and fucked her until she forgot about the prom court, altogether. He had a different idea, though, and led her down the halls of the school. When they reached his locker, he slammed the side of his fist against the lock. The now bent-out-of-shape metal door sprung open to reveal his now complete carved list of things that he loved about Emily. 1. Beautiful 2. Sexy 3. Beautiful figure 4. Great sense of humor 5. Makes extremely interesting conversation 6. Witty 7. Has beautiful eyes 8. Has fab taste in clothes 9. Has the most beautiful wet pussy in the world 10. Even has sexy feet 11. Is extremely smart 12. A great Hustler His personal space was almost completely empty. There were no text books, no papers, nothing more than a few squashed packs of cigarettes and a small brown paper bag. He grabbed the bag, slammed the locker, and pulled Emily to the closest bathroom.

It seemed that they were the only two who were willing to miss the crowning of the King and Queen. The bathroom was empty and dark, until the motion sensor detected them. The lights snapped on and Spencer pulled Emily into a stall. By the time he let her go, there were red spots around her wrist, where his grip on her had fallen. He was sure that they’d bruise in the morning, but he was too intent on retrieving the contents of the bag to care. The idea of shooting up, alone, got his blood pumping.

He fished a rubber tourniquet out of the bag and pulled Emily’s arm into a straight line. He tied her off. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the crease in her arm, which was covered in track marks, already. He then slapped the same spot until a vein made itself predominant. He then reached back into the bag and pulled out his one, emergency stash that he kept stored at school. With his teeth, he pulled off the cap that kept the needle sterile.

He pushed the needle into her skin, watching her eyes more closely than the dose he was giving her. They widened and quickly slowed. He could remember the feeling that she was experiencing well and he wanted it so bad that he ripped the tourniquet off of her arm and turned his attention on himself. He shrugged off the itchy jacket, which he’d dealt with all night. He then began unbuttoning his shirt. The whole act was made more difficult with the confined space that they were working in. He pulled the white shirt off, revealing a white, much more casual tank top. He wrapped the rubber around his large bicep. It cut his circulation off with more ease than it had Emily’s, only because his arms were so much more muscular. He pressed the same needle into his arm that he’d injected Emily with; it was not their first time sharing a syringe.

As the heroin entered his bloodstream, his entire body warmed. Everything became heavier, but all he wanted to do was run around. His eyes fell on Emily. Actually, he decided, what he wanted to do was ruin her dress. He wanted to have sex with her in the stall. He wasn’t sure, though, if that was the drug or just his reaction to her. He threw his head forward, bring his lips crashing down on hers. He dropped the syringe in the toilet and moved his hands to her hair. The remaining pulled back parts of her hair came loose as his fingers twisted in her blonde curls. “I fucking love you,” he said.

As his vice started bringing him up, Spencer could no longer focus his attention on making out with his girlfriend. He wanted anarchy. He wanted to cause a riot. He pulled his white shirt soppily back on, but didn’t bother buttoning it. He flushed the toilet, grabbed the itchy suit jacket, and kicked the stall door open. The lock snapped off and fell to the floor with a clatter that seemed intensified in his ears. He made his way down the hall, back to the dance, with Emily in tow.

Everyone in the gym had continued dancing. Somewhere in the crowd, two people that Spencer didn’t care about wore crowns that would probably break by the end of the night. He decided to go on a hunt for the Queen’s crown, convinced that it belonged to Emily. Every person that stood in his path was shoved out of the way. Before he even had a chance of reaching the Prom Queen through the ridiculous crowd, chaperones were on their way over to him. Too many pathetic wimps made too many stupid protests to his agression in the crowd.

“I’ve been waiting all night to throw you out of here, Ferdinand,” said a man who, he was almost positive, had once been Spencer’s history teacher. That seemed unfair to him. He had been on his best behavior for a good portion of the night. He responded by spitting in the teacher’s face. “You little bas-” The man stopped himself: a perk of the public school system. Spencer could do whatever he wanted and most teachers wouldn’t do or say anything back, in fear of losing their pitiful jobs. “Are you drunk? Jesus, you’re probably on drugs. You and your trashy girlfriend. Get out of here,” he said, bringing his hands up as if to heard Spencer and Emily out of the gym.

“What did you say about her?” he said. He could feel his anger rise inside of him just as his fist raised to hit the dance chaperone. Before he could hit the guy, he felt a strong hand on his forearm. He looked up to Asher Clarke, his art teacher; the one teacher he could actually name. He liked Asher, for the most part. He let Spencer sleep in his class, without questioning why he was always so tired.

“Take her home,” he called over the music. He smelled, very distantly, of weed. That made Spencer like him even more. “Save her the trouble.” The look in Asher’s eyes made it clear to Spencer that letting the fight go would be better for Emily in the long run. He dropped his fist and let Asher lead him away. When he passed Emily, who had watched the whole thing with wide eyes, he grabbed her hand and tugged her along with them.

They left the gym, left the school, and walked home. Both were way too fucked up to have been allowed to go without supervision, but that was how they lived their lives together. With each other’s help, they got to the apartment, to their bed, and undressed.

Anonymous asked:

prompt: your first time

TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE AND DRUG USE. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE. For formatting obsession reasons, I can’t link you to a text post, and I’m sorry for that.

-

The sound of people yelling and laughing traveled down the hall, through his closed door, and into his bedroom. It was a school night and any other kid would have been worried about not doing well the next day. Spencer learned to give up the dream of being an outstanding student long ago. The fourteen-year-old sat up in his bed, listening to the dull roar of his mom and her friends, having their own style of party that was probably spread out across the kitchen and the living room. A loud crashing sound came from what he assumed to be a glass bottle breaking against the dirty, linoleum kitchen floor. “Aw, what the fuck?” His mom’s voice became shrill over the rest of her guests. “Marty, I’m not cleaning that shit up. Do it yourself, for fucks sake.” A smile danced across Spencer’s face. His mother was strong in his eyes. She didn’t take shit from anyone. She did, however, let almost every one of her boy friends give Spencer shit, and never did a thing about it. In fact, at that very moment, he had a large red welt on his forehead from where her latest boyfriend, Rich, slammed a beer bottle into his skull. He still wanted nothing more than her love, though, and he appreciated her strength with others from afar.

He didn’t bother trying to sleep. Old rock was blaring through the tiny apartment, but drowned out by how loud the partygoers were. He sat, completely still, in his bed, which was still covered with the same bed set that he’d had since he was a child. It was covered in trucks and reminded him of his dad. Before he could get swallowed up with sad memories of his father who had left ten years ago, the knob on his bedroom door turned. His breath got caught in his throat and his small, malnourished body became paralyzed in fear. There had been countless nights that his mother’s boyfriends came into his room, to blow off any steam that they had; using him as an outlet for any anger or pent up frustration. In times like that, he had nothing that he could do but sit and take it, and, finally, whenever they were done, he’d climb, wounded, out of his second story window, fall into a patch of bushes, and take off running towards Seth’s house. 

The face that appeared in his doorway, though, was not Rich. It was not a man, at all, but rather a woman with stringy, black hair. Her body looked weak. The hand that she held the doorknob with was shaking and her other hand was clutching onto a syringe. She had a crazed look in her sunken back, brown eyes. She looked like she could kill him with more ease than any man that had stepped foot into his bedroom. “Spencer, right?” she asked. Her voice was husky from what he assumed was multiple packs of cigarettes a day. He willed his head to move and, with a stiff neck, he nodded. “Great.” She smiled, exposing crooked, stained teeth. She stepped further into his room and shut the door behind her. It closed with a soft click.

She moved like a snake, slinking across the room in a black shirt that seemed to be too small for her tiny body and a black skirt that seemed too small for her age. Spencer didn’t like the feeling growing in his stomach. She came all the way over to him and plopped down at the foot of his bed, coiling up on top of the trucks. “Do you know what this is, Spencer?” she asked, holding the syringe up. He wasn’t sure if she was purposefully waving it around, or if her hand was shaking so violently that it was just shaking in the air. He had seen similar objects the few times that he’d been taken to the doctor’s office, but never filled with the murky, brown substance that this one was filled with. So, he shook his head. “This, my dear boy, is better than candy. Do you want a taste?” He nodded, his neck finally becoming less stiff. “Give me your hand.”

He reached out, and she took his small hand in hers. His arm was shaking because of the feeble hold she had on him so, when she pushed the needle into his arm, it hurt. He didn’t cry, though. He’d been hurt worse. “Just a little taste,” she hissed, and pulled it out of his arm after only injecting a small amount into him. She dropped his hand and turned the needle on herself, injecting the rest of the drug into an already irritated looking spot on her arm. She sat back and looked as if she’d been taken over. Spencer felt sick. The same kind of sick as when he got a cold, and his temperature was high, and his body was hot. He wanted to lie down, but the woman took up too much room on his small bed, so he pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

“Spencer?” she asked, after a few minutes had passed. He looked at her and she looked back at him with a venomous look. Without another word, her hand slid up the covers and pulled them back, exposing his boney body. The warmth was starting to fade and his heart was starting to race. The last time that he’d had new pajamas, he was six. They didn’t fit him anymore, though, so when the blanket was taken off of him, he was left sitting, curled up, in his boxers. He didn’t know why she was doing it, but she started to slither up, running her fingernails against his thighs. He pulled his eyebrows together and pressed his his lips into each other until it hurt. Her hand ended up on his crotch and reached into the hole in his underwear. She pulled his most private part out and quickly covered it back up with her mouth. He wanted whatever was happening to stop, but his prepubescent body reacted differently. When he was sufficiently hard, she brought her entire body atop of him and sat down.

The feeling made him sick. The sight was even worse. It was like she was a constrictor, wrapping herself around him until all of his weak bones broke and he suffocated to death. That was exactly how ehe felt when she finally climbed off of him and stumbled out of the room: dead. Afraid to move, to make too much sound, he was stuck, but he couldn’t spend another second in his bed. He rolled out of his bed, crashing onto the hard carpet that lined his bedroom. His body was shaking, just like hers had been, and his heart was beating so fast that he was sure he couldn’t really be alive. He curled into the fetal position and his eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t even get up to get to his window, to get to Seth, and, this time, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. How was he supposed to explain what had happened to his younger best friend? He cried, wide awake, until the drug wore off and, finally, he passed out. He missed school the next day.

Anonymous asked:

Prompt: What was the turning point in your life? What was the event that happened that made you change your outlook on everything?

Spencer sat in his room, rolling a plastic truck along the carpet. His small hand barley fit around the top of the blue toy, but it was his favorite. He had had it since he was four; before his mother stopped buying him toys and started spending her money on heroin. The plastic toy was from the better part of his life and, everyday, he wanted to hold onto it. “Vrooom,” the six-year-old growled as he pushed the truck around. He was used to playing alone. He didn’t have any friends and, even if he did, they wouldn’t have been allowed to come over. His mother, too often, had friends, men, and drugs around for any other child to witness. 

Without warning, his door swung open and smashed against the wall behind it. The little boy jumped, letting go of his grip on the plastic truck. He looked up, suddenly terrified. His mother’s latest boyfriend stood in the door frame, breathing heavily. The white tank top that he wore was stained brown with what looked like pure filth from his body. His face was sweating and his eyes were crazed. Spencer winced at the sight of the large man. His name was Ray and he hadn’t been around long. In the short time that he had been around, though, Spencer’s mother had been much more distant than usual. He’d hardly seen her, at all. She spent most of her time with Ray behind a closed bedroom door, making loud noises that made the young boy uncomfortable. 

“We got a call from the school,” Ray stated, breathing heavily. He reached into his pocket and fished out a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one between his lips and reached, again, into his pocket. This time, he pulled a lighter out. The lit cigarette made Spencer’s room smell and he scrunched up his nose. He wasn’t sure what school would be calling his home, or why, so he remained quiet. “You missed your first day and got your mom in a lot of trouble. The lady was asking a lot of questions.” As he spoke, his voice slowly crescendoed into an angry scream. “You put your mom in a really bad position.”

“But-” Spencer tried.

“Don’t interrupt me, boy!” Ray shouted, stepping into the room. He slammed the door behind him. Spencer wanted to get up and run, but he was paralyzed in his spot on the floor. Ray stepped closer to the little boy. His pupils were so small, they were almost invisible. He looked inhuman. “Why would you want to cause your mother harm like that? What if she hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse for you, you useless piece of shit?”

“I didn’t know,” the young boy said quietly.

“What was that?” Ray roared over him. His cigarette dropped from his lips onto Spencer’s bare foot. He watched with wide, blue eyes as the cigarette burned into his skin. He was too scared to move; too scared to even shake the cigarette off of him. His eyes swelled with tears at the mixture of pain and terror. 

“I didn’t know that I had school today,” he cried. “No one told me.”

“Is that our job?” Ray reached down and pulled Spencer to his feet. The six-year-old’s knees were weak with fear. His entire body shook in front of the large man. “You’re old enough to take care of yourself. You can’t be putting your mother at risk like that.”

“I’m only six,” Spencer pleaded. Ray looked taken aback; shocked at the boy’s words. It was like Spencer had offended him. His hand curled into a fist, and, before the little boy knew what was happening, he felt the bones in his face cracking under pressure. The pain was quick and hot. It spread through Spencer’s cheek into his eye, around his forehead, and back behind his ear. Ray’s fist was so large against his face that the punch almost completely knocked the boy out.

He fell to the ground. Tears fell, uncontrollably, from his eyes. He wanted to curl up into a ball until Ray left. The pain in his head had cancelled out the pain in his foot, which was no longer being burnt. The smell of something burning told him that the carpet was the cigarette’s next victim. His body laid paralyzed on the carpet. He wondered if apologizing would stop the man, but he couldn’t will his lips to move.

The next blow was to his stomach. His body slid backwards on the carpet, away from the force of Ray’s boot. He instinctively curled up and groaned. He wrapped his shaking arms around his stomach, wanting the pain to stop. “Please,” he whispered through his tears.

“Listen, you little fuck,” Ray spat down at him. “I don’t care how fucking old you are. Your mother has more important things to focus on than getting you to school. It’s high time you grew up and I’m going to teach you how.” With that, the man began unhooking his belt.

Spencer tried to see where the clinking sounds were coming from, but one of his eyes was swollen almost completely shut, and the other’s vision was blurred in a pool of tears. Without warning, he was hit again. The pain was different, though. The stinging slap of the belt pulsed through his leg. It was quickly joined by a similar pain on his side.

As the whipping went on, Spencer’s body became numb. He ran out of tears and laid quietly. Ray hit him, repeatedly, until he finally stopped. The little boy had lost count of the amount of times the belt struck his body. His listened as the large man fastened the belt again. Without a word, he turned around and left. He closed the door less violently this time.

Spencer looked up, blinking the tears out of his eyes. A string of white smoke came up from the spot in his carpet that had been burnt. His plastic truck laid on its side, too far away for him to grab. He tried to move, to get closer to his toy, but every inch of his body refused. He remained still and quiet until he fell asleep. 

Anonymous asked:

Prompt: When did you know you were in love with Emily?

This prompt has been answered.

Anonymous asked:

Prompt time: What was one time you lost something?

The front door slammed and, for the first time in five months, the screaming stopped. Spencer shot up in his bed. The loud sound had pulled the four-year-old from his sleep, easily. The silence that filled the apartment was foreign and made the little boy weary. Slowly, he moved his feet off of the bed and jumped to the floor. His bare feet landed with a small thud against the dirty carpet that lined his bedroom. He walked slowly through the room, trying to fight off his childish fear of the dark. His mom had bought him a nightlight, once, when he was three. It was in the shape of a blue truck and created a small, blue light when it was on. Neither of his parents had noticed when the bulb burned out, though, and the young boy knew better than to remind them of something so trivial. They each had more important things to worry about; that was made clear in their constant fighting.

The door knob was big in his small hands, and he had to use both to twist it open. As he pulled the on the door, it creaked. The sound seemed to echo through the entire apartment. He peaked his head out of the small crack that he’d created and looked down the hall towards the kitchen. Light spilled from the room. It made Spencer feel safer. He stepped out into the hall and slowly padded towards the light.

A quiet sobbing became audible as he neared the kitchen. He ran his hand over his hair, in an attempt to smooth it out. If his mom was upset, it would help if Spencer looked his best. Maybe it’d cheer her up. He stepped into the kitchen, his small feet instantly becoming colder when landing on the linoleum. His mother was sitting at the table. Her face was buried in her hands, completely hidden to her young son. “Mom?” he asked, quietly. 

She lifted her head at the sound of Spencer voice, but she didn’t stop herself from crying. Her brown hair fell in stringy clumps around her face, some sticking to her wet cheeks. “What do you want, Spencer?” she asked, sounding exhausted and slightly drunk. Spencer stepped closer to her. The little boy wanted nothing more than his mom to be happy. He frowned slightly and reached out for her. His small hand landed on his mother’s thigh, but she moved her leg away from his touch. 

“Mom, what’s wr-?”

Before he could finish his question, the front door flew open. His father stood in the doorway, looking frantic. ”Where is it, Tally?” he yelled as he stormed into the kitchen. Spencer winced at the harshness in his tone.

“What are you talking about, Cam?” she asked, still sounding exhausted.

“My fucking lighter, Tally. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You took it out of my truck.” Spencer thought of his father’s pick up truck. It was red and had an off-white stripe going around the middle. On good days, when his parents weren’t fighting too much, they’d put Spencer in the middle of the front seat and drive out of town until they were lost. It didn’t happen often, but the young boy cherished the memories. 

“Did you even check the bedroom, you asshole?” His mother’s spunk was coming out, again, stepping on the exhausted tone she had before his father came in. Tears still fell down her face, but anger replaced her sad expression. His dad didn’t respond. He stormed off down the hallway. Spencer could hear things being thrown around in his parents’ bedroom, but the sound wasn’t unfamiliar. The entire scene was all too familiar. His parents fought almost everyday, and their arguments were always quick to escalate. Even at his young age, he had quickly become accustomed to it.

Calmer, his father walked back into the kitchen. A cigarette was balanced between his lips. He flicked open his silver lighter. The American flag on the front caught the dull light in the kitchen and shone as he created a flame and lit his cigarette. The apartment had a permeant stench of stale cigarettes, but the burning one in the room caused the smell to become overwhelming.

“So, what?” his mother asked, looking at his father. “You’re leaving for good now?” Her voice sounded weak, despite her attempt at sounding indifferent. Spencer looked at her with wide eyes, understanding, now, what exactly was happening. His parents fought often, sure, but neither had ever threatened to leave. He understood why his mother had looked so distraught. 

“What?” the little boy squeaked, looking at his father, who was looking at his mother with hatred in his eyes.

“You know I didn’t want him to know, Tally,” he growled.

“What did you think was going to happen in the morning?”

“Dad?” Spencer asked again, stepping away from his mother. His father kneeled down in front of him, exhaling a lung full of smoke into his face. Spencer wanted to turn away, but he felt his own eyes swelling with tears. “You’re going away?”

“Yeah, Spence. I am.”

“But why?”

“Because your dad doesn’t love you, Spencer,” his mother said from behind him. “Or me.”

Tears fell from his eyes as Spencer looked at his dad. He wanted to beg the man to tell him that what his mother said wasn’t true, but he knew that if that were the case, his dad would’ve argued. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette and put his hand on the four-year-old’s shoulder. The look in his eyes told Spencer everything he needed to know. His mother was right.

The small boy backed away from his father. His cold feet moved slowly until he bumped into his mom’s legs. He watched his father stand up and leave the house without another word. The door was shut quietly, this time. Spencer couldn’t hold his tears back. He craned his neck towards his mother. He needed reassurance. He needed a hug. Instead, she looked down at him through her own tears and muttered, “This is all your fault.” She stood up from the chair, pushing it angrily against the linoleum floor and creating a loud screeching sound, and left the kitchen without another word. 

A slam came from down the hall: her bedroom door. Spencer jumped at the loud sound, but was much more scared of the eerie silence that filled the apartment afterwards. 

Anonymous asked:

Prompt: What was one time you lied in order to protect someone?

The knocking echoed through the apartment. Spencer looked away from the white ceiling that he’d lost himself in towards the source of the sound. As the seconds passed, it became obvious that his mom wasn’t going to answer the door. She must’ve been too tired to answer the door. The seven year old rolled his eyes at the thought, angry at his own naivety. He knew, better than anyone else, that she was most likely passed out in her bed, next to some guy that smelled like whiskey and vomit. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and jumped to the floor. The knocking persisted as he stepped out of his doorway, into the small, dimly-lit hallway that ran down the center of the apartment.

His eyes landed on the small gap that parted his mother’s bedroom door and its frame. Any other child his age would have had no problem pushing the door open and asking their mom to answer the door. The knocks were strong and scary to the young boy, but not nearly as scary as what he’d find in the dark room across from his own. He was only four when his mom started doing drugs and bringing strange men into their home, but it didn’t take long for Spencer to learn that he should stay away from any adults in his house, his mother included.

He sighed and turned away from the door, starting towards the front door of the apartment. Muffled yelling had started coming through the closed door. He padded down the hall. The air was cold against his bare feet and ankles, which were exposed due his pajama pants being too small. He hadn’t had a new pair of pajamas since he was five. It didn’t take long for the growing boy to become too big for the black pants that were decorated with trucks. Sleeping in pants, though, however small they were, made Spencer feel safer than sleeping in anything less. There was no telling who would enter his room while he slept.

When he arrived at the door, he unlocked it and pulled it open. Two huge men in suits looked down at him. Spencer stared, wide-eyed, at them. He had never seen such clean cut looking men. For some, unfathomable reason, though, he had never been so terrified. “Spencer?” one of them said, kneeling down. “Are you Spencer Ferdinand?” He nodded, quickly, wanting nothing more than for the man to not ask anything else. “I’m Stan. I’m with Child Protective Services. This is Erik,” he gestured to the man that was still standing. “Is your mom around?”

The little boy’s stomach dropped. His home life wasn’t what anyone dreamed of, but a life without a home was much worse. He looked back into the apartment. It was a mess. There was hardly any furniture. Anything that his mother had thought would make any money was sold years ago to pay for her addiction. It wasn’t much, but it was all he knew. He didn’t want to go anywhere else. He looked back to Stan, shaking his head. “She’s at work,” he lied. He tried thinking of the day, wondering if he was missing school and if he needed to come up with an excuse for that, but nothing came to him. He looked down at his hands, which were folding over each other in panic. 

“We’re here because we got a call about a lot of yelling coming from your apartment a few nights ago. Can you tell me anything about that?”

Spencer thought hard about which night they were talking about. Yelling was not uncommon in that apartment. He remembered his mother bringing her friends over a few nights ago. They had gotten pretty loud, but that happened many times. He couldn’t think of why anyone would call about that, now. His mind then settled on the memory of the night after that. His mom had brought a new man home, without telling him that Spencer existed. He hadn’t taken it well. Spencer had to watch from his bedroom door while his mother was thrown into a wall. He wondered if that was what all of this was about. He looked back at Stan and shrugged. “The walls are thin,” he said, honestly. “It must’ve been another apartment.” For a brief second, he was overcome with relief that he didn’t have any visible bruises. 

“Are you sure?” Stan asked, looking at Erik, who remained silent. 

“I’m positive.”

“We’re going to come back when your mom’s in, and talk to her, is that okay?”

Spencer nodded in return. At least, now he could warn his mother. He wondered if she would do anything different, to keep him safe from these men. He wondered if she cared enough to keep him around. “Okay,” he said, quietly. Stan reached into his suit and pulled out a small card.

“This is my phone number,” he said. “If you ever need anything, just give me a call.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said, as politely as he could. He reached for the door and swung it shut. He locked it and turned away from it. He raced into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and jumped into bed. With the covers pulled up, over his head, he let himself cry. The stress of the two men being at his door and the realization that his mother was probably going to let him be taken away was too much for the little boy to handle. He sobbed until he was exhausted, and eventually, he fell asleep on his tear stained pillow.

Anonymous asked:

Prompt 1: "Describe the first time you saw Emily. Did you love her at first sight?"

It was the start of a new era. Spencer stood in front of Renata High, smoking a cigarette. It was a habit he’d picked up from his mother’s latest boyfriend. When the fourteen year old boy had left the house that morning, the older man, whose name was Bryan, had slid an almost empty pack of Marlboros across the table. His mother was still passed out in her bed. “Don’t go telling, Tally,” Bryan had said to him. He nodded quietly in response, scooping the squashed box off of the table and shoving it into his front pocket. Bryan was one of the less intimidating men that Spencer’s mom had brought home, but that didn’t mean he was going to go out of his way to cross him.

The high school looked foreign and terrifying, but the tightness of his jaw would’ve never let anyone else in on his fear. He took a deep drag from the cigarette. When he first opened the box, he had been delighted to find a black lighter shoved next to three cigarettes. They were slightly stale, but the young boy was glad to have his hands on the nicotine source. The smoke swirled down his throat and into his lungs. He watched his new peers greet each other, glad to see each other after the long summer. The front lawn seemed more like a social event than a school day. Standing on the opposite side of the road, knowing that smoking was illegal on campus, Spencer was an outsider. He exhaled, smoke flowing freely from his nostrils and lips. People began to file into the main doors. After one last drag, he flicked the butt into the grass next to him, and crossed the street. It was time for the first school day of a new year to start.

Finding homeroom was difficult. The halls weaved around each other like a maze. A few students littered the hallway, despite the fact that the bell had rung two minutes earlier. When he finally found room 304, he pulled the door open and stepped in. The look the teacher gave him made him feel like he was supposed to feel guilty. He couldn’t manage the actual emotion, though, and he shrugged. “You are?” The woman’s voice was deep and drawn out.

“Spencer Ferdinand,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Are you Mrs. Crawford?”

“Yes. Please find a seat, Mr. Ferdinand.” Her tone made it obvious that she was not pleased, at all, with his tardiness. The usual repercussions that Spencer faced when displeasing an adult made him quick to follow instructions. He turned to face the room. There was only one open desk. He walked back to it, his pace slightly quicker than usual. When he arrived at the empty seat, he slid into it. He looked around the class. His eyes landed on the girl a row over and a seat up from him. She had blonde hair and blue eyes.

The desire to talk to her was overwhelming. It was an instant attraction that Spencer hardly understood. He stared at the back of her head until, as if she sensed him, she turned and looked at him. She smiled and he felt the corners of his lips turn upwards. It was the first time he’d smiled for as long as he could remember. “Hi,” he whispered. “I’m Spencer. What’s your name?”

“Emily,” she whispered back. She immediately turned back to the front of the class, but Spencer continued to smile at the back of her head. He wanted, so badly, to get to know her, but he had no idea why. It was as if no one else would ever make him happy the way she inevitably would. It was like she was his soul mate, and he knew it just from seeing her so briefly. 

Daily Challenge: Describe what your character was like when they were younger (high school, elementary school, etc.)

It had taken him two years to save up enough money, but Spencer had finally gotten his own apartment. It had one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and a kitchen, and it was extremely small. It also wasn’t far from his mother’s house. He was only seventeen, but when he’d informed his mother that he was moving out, she hardly reacted. She was coming down. He never saw her any other way. If she was high, she was out of the house with her friends, not around her son. Needless to say, she had bigger concerns at the time than Spencer moving out.

He’d only been in the apartment for a few weeks. Every night she could manage to get away from her house, Emily stayed with him. The second she was old enough, he planned to ask her to move in, permanently. 

The only downside to his residence was that it was further away from Renata High: the daily hell that he had to endure. He hadn’t adjusted to the longer walk, though, and was later than his usual five minute delay to school. He smashed his hand into the door, pushing it open. It slammed against the wall behind it. The loud crash echoed through the empty hallways. At least he didn’t have to deal with any of the other students. There were two people in the entire high school that Spencer could even stand to be around: Emily and Seth.

His tardiness didn’t concern him. He leisurely walked through the halls towards his locker. The combination lock fought him like it did every other day, rejecting the password, even though what he spun was the correct set of  numbers. He slammed his fist against the top corner, and the metal locker sprung open. He swung the door open. The locker had no books in it, but rather, a squashed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The inside of the door had a blurry picture of Emily, under which he had begun to carve a list of things he loved about the girl with his pocket knife. 1. Beautiful 2. Sexy 3. Beautiful figure 4. Great sense of humor 5. Makes extremely interesting conversation The letters were messy, but the list was readable. He’d been working on it since the school year had started.

He looked at the clock. Class had been in session for twenty-four minutes. He reached for the pack of cigarettes and, looking around, placed one between his lips. He threw the pack back into the small space and reached for the lighter. Leaning into the locker, he lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. He exhaled into the metal space and quickly took another drag, before putting the cigarette out against the bottom of the locker. He dropped the partially smoked cigarette into the locker and slammed it shut.

The hall was still empty. Everyone else was in class. Spencer headed for the staircase to get to his first class of the day: history. He shared the class with Emily. As he walked through the halls, he passed small girl. He assumed she was heading for the bathroom. As they crossed paths, he threw a fist against the row of lockers that lined the walls. When the girl jumped, he laughed. 

His history teacher was a lecturer. He spent the entire class talking about various things that had happened so long ago, Spencer had a hard time understanding why he had to learn them all. Instead, he usually spent most of the class trying to distract Emily. When he threw the door open, the teacher stopped talking and gave Spencer an angry look. “Sorry,” he offered. “Traffic.” With a smirk, he made his way to his desk. Though the class didn’t have assigned seating, the other students knew to leave the desk next to Emily’s empty. The history teacher continued rambling about something Spencer knew nothing about. He dragged his desk across the floor until it banged against Emily’s. The teacher stopped talking again, but Spencer was too busy sliding into his seat, focusing on Emily, to look up. 

The teacher’s lecture quickly turned into a dull roar of background noise. Spencer wrapped his arm around Emily and he leaned over to kiss her. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Come over after school.”

Friday, Feb 24th & 8 notes