AN: I had to write this while I'm still inspired.
Wally had been given, against his will, a week off from the Kid's Next Door. Though it had hurt him to tell them this, he had lyed and said he felt pressured to fight.
He couldn't tell them the truth. That his father abused him. Or that he might be slowly losing his mind.
Mr. Beatles's eyes seemed glazed over. He smelled of alcohol. "That hospitol bill is gonna cost me an arm and a leg, boy," He growled.
"I'm sorry, sir." Wally whimpered. He hated the sound of the fear in his voice.
The cold, bony fingers wrapped around the child's thin, boy arm. He held his son in the air. "Who could love something so worthless. So low. How could I father such a germ?" he spat and flung his son into the wall effortlessly. He approached Wally slowly and kicked him repeatedly in the stomach. "Repeat. After. Me." he said inbetween kicks. "I am lower than dirt."
"I am lower than dirt," Wally believed every word.
"I hurt anyone who I am around."
"I hurt anyone who I am around."
"Not even my own mother loves me."
"Not even my own mother loves me."
"I caused my sister's death." Mr. Beatles grinned evilly.
"I caused," Wally sobbed, "My sister's death."
Mr. Beatles stopped kicking his child. "Now get out of my sight."
Wally scrambled away.
He lay on the bed and realized his dad was right. Everything he said was true. "I'm the reason she's dead." he whimpered to himself. "If she had been born first, she would have lived. I'd be gone. She should be here, not me." he cryed to himself.
Wally pulled his shirt sleeves over the bruised arm where his father had grabbed him earlier. He pulled his shirt up slightly and looked and those bruises. He felt sick to his stomach suddenly.
Wallabee leaned over the side of his bed and vomited blood on the white carpet.
The clock ticked the hours away. Numbuh 4 looked at his new tatoo. It was sketched across his arm.
The words read 'MY FAULT'.
It was around midnight when Wally picked up the phone and dialed the memorized phone number.
"Hello?" A female voice yawned. "Who is this?"
"Kuki?" Wally asked tentively.
"Oh, Numbuh 4! What is it?" She sounded worried.
"Um, are you all there?"
"Yeah, at the treehouse. Sleeping."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. Um, look, I wanted to ask . . ."
"Oh Wally, we know you needed the time off. Its okay!"
"Um, yeah, well, I decided that I want to come back. I've had enough time off."
"No, silly. You need to rest."
"I DON'T NEED REST!" Wally shouted.
"Well fine then, Mr. Grumpy." Kuki hung up, then immediatly regretted what she had done.
You weren't supposed to insult a suicidal person, were you?
'Maybe I should call him back,' she thought to herself. She dialed the Beatles' phone number.
Wally heard the ring and gasped in horror. If his dad heard, he was dead.
"Telemarketers!" Mr. Beatles roared and answered the phone.
"Hello? Wally? I didn't mean to hang up on you." Kuki pleaded.
"Who is this?" Mr. Beatles roared. "Don't you realize what time it is?"
"Oh, hi Mr. Beatles! I'm Kuki Sanban!"
"Ms. Sanban's kid? I work with your mother."
"Yeah, I know. Can I talk to your son, please? He called me a few minutes ago, and I accidentally hung up and. . ."
"My son's asleep," Mr. Beatles said. "Maybe you can call back in the morning."
"Oh," Kuki was dissappointed. "Okay, then. Bye, Mr. Beatles."
Numbuh 4's dad hung up the phone, then stormed into Wally's room. "LATE NIGHT PHONE CALLS?" He roared.
He grabbed his son by the back of the shirt and dragged him down the stairs.