Chapter Two-Hundred and Seventeen
Thomas watched as John picked at his food, afraid that he might stop eating again. "John, eat your dinner." He took a bite of his hamburger, pointing to John's plate. "Beef isn't cheap."
John shook his head, pushing a pickle around on his plate. "Not hungry."
Thomas rubbed his head, the headache from work only becoming worst with John's sour mood. "Eat it."
"I'm not hungry." John replied, propping his head on his hand.
"Johnathan." Thomas snapped, irritated that John refused to take care of himself but also allowed them to waste money trying to feed him. "Eat."
John looked up at him, his eyes black as night. "I'm not fucking hungry!" He shouted, slamming his hands on the table.
"Go to your room!" Thomas ordered, to annoyed from a hard day at work to deal with John's shit at the moment.
"I'm already there!" John grabbed his crutches, forcing himself up and limping up the stairs to his room. "I didn't want any fucking dinner anyway!" He slammed his bedroom door, taking off his shirt and tossing it into the hamper as he started on the makeshift jeans that they'd altered to fit with his cast. He flopped onto his bed, catching sight of his new scars in the mirror. "Scars… goddamn fucking scars…" He sat up, running his hand over the pink scars of the burns. "I hate these." He glared at his reflection, balling his hands into fists as he looked at the scars. "Fuck you!" He screamed, throwing a pillow at the mirror. "Fuck you…" He curled around his pillows, tears tracking down his face.
He'd been strong through the entire healing process after the burns, pushed as many emotions as he could down after the rape, but he couldn't do it anymore. Chance was his baby, and he couldn't stop it anymore. He couldn't take it. He let a scream rip from his throat, holding the pillow against his face as he tried to muffle the sound. He beat his fists into the bed, letting his emotions out until the fight was gone, leaving him as a hollow shell of the man he had been.
Claire knocked on his door, gently pushing it open to see that John had zoned out into his own world. "Sugar…" She sat on his bed, tracing her fingers over the cast. "You alright?"
He didn't react, just slowly blinking at the wall.
"Dad didn't mean it…" She whispered, laying so that her body matched the curve of his own. "He's just dealing with a big case right now."
"It's not him." He mumbled, taking her hand and placing it over the worst of the burn scars on his chest. "It's these…"
She kissed his ear, her lips slowly traveling down the back of his neck and all the way down his spine to just above his hips. "I love every inch of you. Scars and all." She moved her hand over his waist, pulling him to lay on his back. "Nothing can change that." She climbed on top of him, pushing her hands onto his pecs and gently bouncing on his hips.
He gave a little smirk, slipping his fingers into the neckline of her t-shirt and pulling her into a kiss. "I love you." He breathed, letting her hands trace over his skin.