Sometimes, Tad got off lucky. His dad would be out cold from so much alcohol, or his dad wouldn't be home. Sometimes, Tad didn't get off with as much fortune. There were days when Christopher, Tad's father, would just want to bash his son's face in for no other reason, but to just have something live to hit.

There relationship was nowhere hear pleasant. Tad was never allowed to have control of his own, if Tad did try to keep some sort of control, Christopher just beat his son until he felt tired and crawled into his own bed, or couch, to sleep off the alcohol.

Today, though, was not a familiar situation.

Tad was enjoying tea prepared by his house keeper. He was rather restless, considering his father called him down, which usually only meant one thing. The strange part, though, was that Christopher's aura had definitely changed. He was smiling, sitting up with a rather arrogantly content look on his face. Tad wasn't completely fooled. He knew Christopher's hate for him wasn't caused by the alcohol. He knew his father just hated him in general. Something had to have been up.

"Tad?" Christopher eyed his son up and down, noticing the new pair of pants his son was wearing that his insufferable mother bought for him.

"Y-yes, father?" Tad straightened his back, making sure to sit up as straight as possible to not anger his father for slouching.

"How are you enjoying your tea, son?" Christopher's arrogant grin faded into a relaxed smirk. He set his teacup carefully on the tray set decoratively in front of him on the dining room table.

Tad looked into his cup, it was still 3-quarters full. Tad felt rather uneasy about the whole situation. "It's lovely, father."

"I'm glad you think so. It's imported, you know?" Christopher leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes as if he were thinking deeply. "So, tell me, son, how's school?"

Tad gripped onto the cup tightly to steady his trembling hands. His father was usually never this relaxed. Tad was convinced his father was up to something of some sorts. "It's good. I've been learning a lot of, uh, stuff."

"I was pleased to hear that you've been doing well, Tad. A very good image you're giving our family."

Yeah, and you're the one ruining that image. Tad thought bitterly. He frowned, using the teacup to hide his expression. "Why thank you, father."

Pleased with Tad's reply, Christopher's smile brightened. "Would you like anything to eat? I ordered some French cakes, and I must say, they are quite delectable."

Tad shook his head, finally setting the teacup down. "No thank you, sir."

Christopher's smirk vanished. "What? You don't want any of the expensive and amazing sweets that I ordered, just for you?"

Tad realized his mistake. "I change my mind, father. I would love some." He couldn't smell the alcohol on his father like he usually could. There were the occasions when Christopher was just so disenchanted by his son that he would just mes with him sadistically. Alcohol, after all, was Christopher's excuse to beat his son.

"Lovely, Tad. I'll ask Maria to bring them. Oh, Maria!" He called out loudly, his voice was somewhat giddy and exuberant. Tad knew nothing good was going to happen.

Maria appeared in her uniform, a fake smile plastered upon her tan face. Oh, how she hated Christopher Spencer. "Yes, sir?" Her accent was thick, but she spoke English slowly so everyone could understand her.

"Please fetch some of the new cakes that came in. Tad would love to try them." Christopher crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knee. He was quite pleased with himself.

There were times when Maria felt more sorry for Tad than her own miserable, minimum-wage, self. She knew what went on, and she always wanted to help to poor boy, but she was under contract not to talk. "Yes, sir."

Christopher eyed her as she left to go into the kitchen which was on the other side of their large house.

"She should be fetching all of them. I do know how hungry you are, Tad."

Tad stopped himself from shivering in fear. He knew what was going to happen. It wasn't the first time Christopher decided to torture his son like that. "Why, yes, father. I'm starving. Thank you." The rules were simple. No talking back. No refusing the cakes. And, most importantly, no throwing up in the presence of his father.

Maria came back with a large platter with charming little cakes in neat rows. She set the platter down in front of Tad and left before she could see what poor Tad had to go through.

"Don't they look delicious, Tad?" Christopher asked.

Tad felt his heart pound in his chest. They did look delicious. There was a whole selection of small cakes and pastries, probably filled with pudding and strawberry sauce, maybe some even made with alcohol. Some of them had bright little pieces of fruit sitting on the top, with some of the finest whips of every color surrounding the fruit decoratively.

"Well, go ahead, Tad. They're all for you." The smile on his face frightened Tad. He looked so satisfied with himself.

Without words, Tad picked up the first cake. It was cool to the touch. Very spongy, but none of it stuck to his fingers. It was a dark chocolate. He brought it to his mouth and took his first bite. The filling happened to be in layers. Chocolate, rice pudding and mango sauce. Soon went the second cake, and the third. It wasn't long before he already felt full.

Christopher seemed to notice his son's distress, and his smile became even brighter. "They're so good, huh? And, look, there are plenty there for you."

Tad nodded, not meeting his father's gaze. He picked up his fourth sweet and bit into it. He knew if he were to chew it too slow, he'd taste it more, and he'd feel even more full. He had to eat fast, yet politely, to not rouse his father's suspicion. There were things Tad knew that Christopher didn't, and Tad was thankful for that.

Tad was starting on his seventh cake. He was about halfway done. His stomach didn't feel like it was bursting, yet, but he knew it would. He ate at a very rhythmic pace with a song in his head to help keep that rhythm steady.

Eighth cake. His stomach was so full, his mouth was numb with all of the sugar. He felt disgusted with himself. He felt as if he couldn't move. Christopher seemed to sit up at the edge of his chair as he saw his son's pace slow down. He knew Tad was at his limit, but he also knew there were four more cakes left for Tad to eat.

"Wow, Tad. You must've been starving. There's only four cakes left!" Christopher marveled falsly.

Tad wanted to shoot his father the dirtiest of looks, but, no. He picked up his ninth cake. His chewing slowed even more. He had most of it stored in his cheeks while he was chewing so he couldn't taste the burn of the sugar.

It was in the middle of eating his tenth cake, he stopped. He held the small cake in between two fingers, and looked his father straight in the eyes with burning displeasure.

"I'm full," He mumbled, his vision now aiming at the platter with the two remaining cakes.

Christopher folded his arms. "Eat more. There's still plenty," he ordered coldly. His smile was gone.

Tad shook his head. "I can't."

"You will." Christopher stood up, and forced the half-eaten cake into Tad's mouth. "And you will eat all of them."

Tad's breathing was unsteady. He blinked back tears starting to come down and swallowed the forced-cake. He picked up the next one. To his relief, Christopher sat back down. Tad bit into it. He became overwhelmed with the situation. He had no control. He hated being powerless. He hung his head low, still chewing, as his tears spilled onto his LS pants, leaving little tear-stained spots.

"Sit up, Tad. Unless you want me to tie you the chair for you to sit up properly."

Tad picked his head up and sat up straight. He could feel his father's eyes on his tear-stained face, but he avoided his father's gaze. He hated when his father saw him cry. It was shameful.

Last cake. Tad was almost done. He swallowed the last bite quickly, overwhelmed with all extremes of his joy, shame and anger.

"Very good. Well, I have business to tend to. I'll get Maria to clean everything up. Good evening, Tad." Christopher left the room, pleasant smile plastered on his face. He felt so very satisfied with himself.

As soon as his father was gone, Tad placed his head on the table and sobbed into his own arms. He was so full, he couldn't think properly, he couldn't decide what emotion he was feeling.

"Hey, chico. What do I have to clean up?" Maria came in, almost startled by seeing Tad like that. She has seen him cry, but not like that. Not with chocolate smeared all over his lips, not loud, choking sobs. She placed a warm hand on Tad's shoulder and smiled at him with as much compassion as she could muster for a Spencer. Tad was the only one she could feel the littlest amount compassion towards in the Spencer household. He didn't deserve all the shit he went through.

Tad didn't answer. He kept sobbing into his own arms. He was so tired, so full, so angry, so happy. So...so overwhelmed.

"Alright, I see." She pulled Tad into an awkward hug and smoothed his hair out of his eyes, using a clean rag in her pocket to help clean the boy up. "You're fine now. He's going to Canada for a business trip for a week."

Tad sniffled. "Thank you, Maria."

A week of safety was nice, but sometimes Tad wished that his father would die on the plane ride, maybe some gruesome crash, so Tad would never have to see the man who haunted him all of his life ever again. But that was wishful thinking, Tad knew, because his father was indestructible.

--

(A/N)

Poor Tad.

Well, this is a multiple-chaptered story I'm working on. Tad's was done first because his was fun to write. By the way, the cakes are about the size of CDs, that's why Tad struggled with eating twelve of them. And he probably threw up later.

I'm kind of done with Derby's, but the problem is I don't think I wrote it very well, so I'm going to re-write it later on. I'm about halfway done with Gord's, and I just started Bif's, but there's still Chad's, Bryce's, Parker's, Pinky's, and, uh, I think that's it?