Daddy Dearest
Spoilers- None really, I don't think.
Disclaimer- I own none of the characters or settings used in this following piece of writing, I'm just kidnapping them for my own creative impulses.
Note- This fic was inspired by a line in Inca Mummy Girl, "My dad tried to mail me to some Armenians once…"
Note2- Okay, go easy on me, if you've read my other work then you know that I primary write humor and romance. This is my first really angst-y piece, so give me a break, kay?
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Alexander Harris huddled up against the wall of his living room; watching as his father raged, throwing his empty scotch bottle onto the floor. It smashed into small pieces, some flying up to hit Xander in the face; blood trickled down his face. He whimpered, reminding himself that he was a big boy now, and big boys didn't cry like girls.
Xander's muscles screamed in protest, as he remained crouched against the wall; his eyes shut tight as he prayed to disappear into the wall. He wrapped his arms around his legs and started to rock; he whimpered quietly to himself.
A shadow fell over him. Xander peered up as his father loomed over him, a monstrous expression on his face. "Are you crying, boy?"
"Leave the boy alone; he's only six for Christ sake." Mrs. Harris yelled from her chair, waving her bottle of vodka.
Mr. Harris turned to her. "I wasn't talking to you, you bitch. Why don't you just go back to your vodka?"
She staggered out of her chair. "You can't tell me what to do, you bastard!" She threw her bottle at him; it exploded against the wall raining glass and vodka on Xander.
Xander watched as his parents screamed at each other. He uncurled himself from the wall and crawled towards the stairs, hoping to escape to his room. Xander cried out in fright as a large hand wrapped around his ankle.
Waves of alcoholic fumes perfumed the air as his father spoke. "Where do you think you're going, you little bastard?"
"No-nowhere, sir." Xander stammered.
"Nowhere, sir." Mr. Harris mocked. He drew back his hand and let fly with a harsh backhand, the blood rushing to the area on Xander's face the instant the air hit it.
"That's the problem with you, boy. You have no respect for what we do for you. We give you so much; I put clothes on your back, I put this roof over your ungrateful head and food in your stomach. And what do I get in return for it? Nothing, not a friggin' thing." Rage distorted his features.
Xander tried to make himself as small as possible. "Sorry, dad."
His father let out a harsh laugh. "Sorry? Sorry? I'll show you sorry."
He pulled Xander to his feet, grabbing his arm in an iron-tight grasp. He pulled him over to the closet and yanked open the door. He rummaged around the top shelf, sending items flying. He pulled out a roll of Christmas wrapping paper and started to cover Xander with it.
"Send you away, show you how good you have it here. See how you like living with them Armenians." Mr. Harris snarled.
Mrs. Harris stumbled over and grabbed his arm. "Let him go."
Mr. Harris let go of Xander's arm and struck her in the face. They started to scream at each other, their voices ringing clearly through the house. Xander quickly shed the wrapping and scrambled up the stairs.
He hurried into his room, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it, covering his ears to block out the screams. Xander opened the door to his wardrobe and closed himself in. He sat among his shoes, clothes and comic books, a little nest he had constructed for himself. He leaned against the wall, his arms wrapped around his legs as he rocked backwards and forwards. It was then he started to sob, his fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the sound. Eventually his sobs subsided into even breathing as he fell asleep, there in his little nest. And as he slept he dreamt, dreamt of a better place filled with better people.