This is just an idea I decided to attempt... Pleas tell me what you think. I would really appreciate views on my writing and whether I have managed to kept Blaine and co. in character. :) I realize that may be a bit difficult at first as I'm portraying a young Blaine in this chapter. Anyways... Enjoy :D x
Blaine cringed as he heard the familiar sound of a large bottle being placed onto the coffee table. Slowly, he looked up from his homework, half hiding his brown curls behind the seventh grade math book. Sure enough, he spied a large bottle of vodka precariously standing at the edge of the table by his father's knees.
The man himself was sitting in his usual position on the sofa, one arm still grasping the top of the vodka bottle while the other clasped over the television remote control. He was leaning forward towards the television as if his life depended on it, eyes furiously concentrated on the football game he was watching. It was the last minute of the game, and his father took a swig of vodka in an attempt to calm his nerves. He licked his lips as once again he set the bottle back down and nervously began to bite his yellowed fingernails. Blaine had no idea why this game was so important, but he knew better than to ask.
He turned back to his homework, attempting to make sense of the math problems he had been given. He took a second to concentrate, biting his lip in an attempt to work out a particularly difficult sum. After a while the answer came to him and he smiled to himself, he always felt better when he threw himself into his work, for a while he could focus on something other than his day to day life.
"Fucking hell!"
Blaine's head shot up in surprise as he heard his father shout from the sofa. For a second he wondered why, until he gazed over at the television and realized his father's favourite team had lost.
Not good. He thought, as he buried his head behind his upright maths book once again.
"I can't fucking believe this," his father raged in the living room as he stood up and took a few swigs from the vodka bottle. Each gulp seemed to be taking him further and further away from reality as he kicked over the coffee table and once again let out a frustrated cry.
Blaine wondered why the game meant so much to his father, sure he was interested in football but the team had lost before… he had never gone into such a rage, though. However he knew better than to ask questions and instead focused on a menial task – sharpening pencils.
His father had seemed to calm down for the moment and Blaine saw him reach for the phone, drunk hands attempting to dial the appropriate number. Finally he managed and impatiently pressed the phone to his ear.
"You promised me you bastard, you said they'd win!" The man shouted down the phone, a blue vein clearly throbbing on the side of his neck. For a second he stopped and listened to the answer before cutting in to the other person.
"I don't care if you were just telling me the odds, you made it sound pretty fucking clear! Clear winners you said, definitely worth a bet! Well I did bet, a lot in fact, and I lost fucking everything you son of a bitch!"
It all made sense now to Blaine, the good mood his father had been in before the match, the anxiety once the team had started to lose, and now the anger. His father had bet money on the game and had lost it all… just for a quick pay out. For a second Blaine was struck with anger as he thought of how limited their money was already, he would not be surprised if they were completely broke now. However, the anger was soon replaced with fear once he saw his father throwing the phone at the wall. He winced as it broke apart and he realized just how mad the man was. Quickly, Blaine gathered up his books and headed for the stairs, hoping that he would pass by unnoticed.
For a second he thought he had made it until he felt a hand gripping the collar of his t-shirt and pulling him back fiercely.
"I need to borrow some money," His father stated slowly, trying to speak clearly. His breath stunk of alcohol and Blaine turned his head away slightly so as not to smell it.
"I don't have any dad, you haven't given me pocket money in weeks," the boy answered, trying to keep his voice calm as he stared up into his father's blood shot eyes and looked him over. His greasy hair clearly hadn't been washed in weeks and his sweaty palm still clung to the collar of Blaine's t shirt. The other arm was holding onto his son's right arm roughly and Blaine cringed as his father's fingers pressed down hard enough to bruise him.
"Don't lie to me," he slurred, "I hate it when you lie to me. I need that money!"
Blaine knew full and well what his father needed the money for, to buy more of the death drink that he seemed fit to consume every waking hour of the day. However he only had a few dollars left and he needed it to buy lunch at school… it wouldn't even be enough to buy any bottle of alcohol, let alone the expensive vodka his father was partial to.
He was knocked out of his thoughts as his father shook him roughly by his collar, scaring him enough for tears to gather in his eyes.
"I promise dad! I don't have any!" He pleaded, hoping his father would just let go of the subject and believe him. For a second he thought he had as the hold on his arm slackened. However, his eyes grew wide as his father stumbled towards the living room table where Blaine had been working and he grabbed his schoolbag. In a few seconds he had opened it and turned it upside down, dumping its contents onto the table. Blaine held his breath as his father reached into the mess of books and pencils and grabbed hold of the few dollars in the mess.
"I-I need that for lunch, d-dad," he stammered, taking a step back as his father turned his angry eyes on him.
"You lied to me son," was all he had to say, and before the boy could react he was in front of him and had backhanded him to the floor in a fit of fury.
"I'm sorry," he cried as he attempted to crawl away from his father's large feet. Blaine had always been dwarfed by his tall father, but now he felt towered over. He screamed as a kick was aimed at his exposed stomach and he attempted to protect himself with his arms as the kicking continued. Finally, after Blaine had started to sob and the pain seemed to be unbearable for the boy, his father stopped and reached for the money before heading out the front door.
Blaine had always been an only child, but he still was not his father's first priority. As he lay crying on the living room floor, he knew that when it came to importance, he was replaced by a foul smelling drink.