Okay, guys, here's a chapter where some of the hard stuff hits. I've been told it's a bit heartbreaking, so be prepared for that! My warnings apply here - don't say I didn't warn you :/
Things had never been what one would call 'okay' in the Reid house, but they'd gotten considerably worse since Spencer's mother had gone to the hospital three months back. She'd gone in just after Spencer's sixteenth birthday for a really bad chest cold that had turned to pneumonia and hadn't come back home. Spencer had overheard the doctor telling his father that there'd been an incident at the hospital when it came time for Diana to take her meds. Hearing it had made Spencer wince. He knew just how difficult it could be to get her to take her medications. Often, she believed she was being poisoned, or that 'the man' wanted her drugged so she'd be more compliant. Apparently, she'd fought the nurses so badly on taking them that they'd finally had to physically restrain her and then sedate her. She was kept after that for a mandatory psych evaluation. No one had been surprised when she'd been committed after that.
In some ways, Spencer found himself envious of his mother. Though she'd essentially traded one prison for another, at least at this other place she was going to be safe and cared for. She didn't have to be here. Deep inside, where he didn't like to admit it, he was jealous that she'd gotten out of here, and then guilty for even feeling that way. He should be happy for her! At least one of them got away. Diana was in a place now that would take care of her. They'd know how to handle her episodes, how to make sure that she ate and slept and bathed when necessary. They'd be able to give her proper care. All Spencer had ever wanted was for his mother to be safe and happy. That had been the motivation behind so much he'd done in his childhood.
But with her gone, there was no one else around to help bear the brunt of William's anger, and there was no one for him to lean on during the nights when things got really bad. Sometimes, on the nights when he could barely drag his body into bed, Spencer thought about leaving. What was there to hold him here anymore? His mother was gone. He didn't have to protect her anymore. But Spencer knew he wouldn't leave. Even with her gone, he couldn't go. William had made it very clear to Spencer what he would do if the boy ever tried to run away from him.
Something happened, though, that took the decision out of Spencer's hands. Just three months after his mother went into the hospital, three months of being left alone in the tender care of a man who hated him, something happened that changed the direction of Spencer's life.
Making dinner was one of the chores that Spencer had been doing for years. Since he was old enough to reach the stove, he'd been responsible for making their meals. Dinner was on the table by six, without fail, every night. Tonight was no different. There was a pan of lasagna in the oven that was just about done and Spencer was setting the table when he heard the front door open. Immediately his body tensed, an instinctive reaction to his father coming home. He forced the tension out of him as best as he could and made his hands stay steady as he set down the plate he held.
The sound of voices came to him next and Spencer's eyebrows shot up with surprise. William had brought someone home with him? It wasn't the first time that he'd brought someone home for dinnertime. Usually it was a client or one of his partners at the law firm. Someone that he needed to wine and dine and impress a bit. But he usually informed Spencer in advance so he could make something special and so he could make himself scarce.
"Spencer!" William stepped in through the kitchen door just far enough to be able to see Spencer. "We've got a guest for dinner. He's a very important client of mine, so you're on your best behavior tonight, am I clear?"
"Yes, sir." Spencer answered quickly.
Their guest was apparently someone extremely important, judging by the way that William was treating him when they sat down at the table. Irvin Locke, as he introduced himself, looked to be about William's age, with bright red hair and cold blue eyes that had Spencer shivering as he served the men their food. There was something about him that reminded Spencer of his father in some ways, only, colder. Spencer hadn't realized that was possible. But the way that Irvin looked at him, so cold and calculating, it made Spencer want nothing more than for dinner to be done with. He ate his own food quickly and quietly and, when he was finally excused, he rushed to the kitchen with a sense of relief. Much as he hated washing dishes, he'd much rather be doing that than be stuck out there with them. The distance and having a close door between them helped him to steady himself again.
What was left of dinner was already packaged and in the fridge and most of the dishes were done when the kitchen door opened. Spencer glanced up just as Irvin came walking in, dirty plates in hand. The man flashed a bright smile as he walked towards Spencer. "Your father asked me to bring these in."
"Ah, thank you." With one soapy hand, Spencer gestured to the counter beside him, hoping that his nerves didn't show in his voice. He had no idea what it was about this man that set him so on edge but he couldn't quite kick the feeling. "You can just set them right there."
Irvin put the plates down where Spencer indicated. He didn't leave, though, as Spencer had been hoping for. Instead, he leaned against the counter right beside them, just inches away from Spencer. Bracing his hands on the counter, he leaned back enough to catch Spencer's gaze, his smile growing. "You're quite a talented chef for one so young. Not many kids your age know how to cook, let alone make something so good."
"Thank you." Polite. I have to be polite. "It's my mother's old recipe. I just followed the directions."
"So modest." Irvin said. He reached one hand out and tucked a bit of Spencer's hair behind his ear, chuckling when the teen instinctively twitched back. "And shy, too. Surely you're used to hearing compliments?"
That weird feeling that had been sitting in Spencer all night was growing now. For the first time he actually found himself wishing his father would come in the room. Even if it was just to yell at him. Anything, to break up this moment and get Irvin away. Conscious of just how close they were to one another, Spencer shifted his weight to the right, leaning ever so slightly away from him. The move wasn't subtle and it seemed to only serve to amuse Irvin. "Come on now, Spencer." Pushing off the counter, he stepped up close to Spencer, fingers trailing up Spencer's arm from elbow to shoulder. "There's no need to be like that." Before Spencer could try to move away, Irvin twisted, putting himself right behind Spencer. The little fear that Spencer had felt before exploded through him like a wildfire the instant the man's body pressed up against his and he felt a terrifying hardness pressing against his backside. "No need to be so unfriendly."
Hands still buried in the dish water, Spencer let go of the plate he'd been scrubbing and curled his fingers around the handle of a knife, the only thing he had to protect himself with in here. "M-My father…"
"Who do you think sent me in here?"
Spencer barely had time to process the fact that his father had—had actually sent this bastard in here, had seemingly given his permission, before Irvin was pressing up against him and squishing him against the counter, hands bracketing him on either side and his mouth dropping to the curve of Spencer's neck and shoulder. Sharp teeth nipped there and Spencer let out a choked cry and bucked his body, hard. Irvin rode it out as if he'd been expecting it. He hadn't, however, been expecting the elbow that Spencer slammed back into his gut, and that worked to break his hold. The minute that Spencer was free, he darted away from the sink, the knife still held tightly in his hand. He held it tightly in front of him as he put his back towards the wall, wide eyes on Irvin. He didn't even notice as a small tongue of orange fire traced over the edge of the blade to lick around the tip. "Get out!" Spencer spat the words out, fighting hard to get them past the pounding of his heart and the heavy lump in his throat. "Get the hell out of here!"
Irvin was no idiot. He may have had a taste for feisty young boys, but he wasn't stupid about it. He had no wish to tangle with the kid who was clutching a knife that was on fire. "Forget this." Irvin snapped, all signs of friendliness gone, leaving his expression dark and twisted. "Fuck you, kid, and fuck your father's deal." With that, he spun and marched out of the room.
Relief had Spencer sagging. The panic fueled adrenaline was still burning in him and he had to grab the counter to brace himself up so he wouldn't slide down to the ground in a shaking, quivering mess. His hand trembled as he dropped the now normal knife into the sink water. God. God! That man, he'd almost…and William had…he'd allowed it? Spencer pressed one hand against his stomach and tried not to bring up his dinner.
The kitchen door snapped open with enough force to bounce off the wall and Spencer barely had enough time to lift his head before a backhanded blow sent him flying into the counter. He caught himself with one hand on the countertop, his other hand going up to his face, only to be caught by another blow. "You little shit!" William snarled out. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Coming at my client with a knife?"
"D-Dad, he…"
This time the blow was hard enough to send him crashing into the doorframe. Spencer cried out as his ribs hit the frame and his body crumpled to the floor, half in and half out of the kitchen. A few hard kicks had him scrambling back, into the dining room. His father caught hold of his shirt front and yanked him up to his feet until they were face to face. "I know what he was doing!" William looked furious, eyes wide and bright and full of that hate and disgust that always burned at Spencer's insides. Still holding Spencer's shirt tight, he used his other hand to slap him. "All you had to do was one thing." Another slap. "One simple thing. And you couldn't even do that right! You think all this comes free, boy? You think this food, those clothes, that they're just free?" Another slap, and Spencer felt dizzied with the blows, his head spinning. He felt himself yanked in close until his father's breath was hot in his face. "It's about damn time you earn your keep around here!" The man snarled at him.
What it was that prompted him to speak, he didn't know. Maybe the blows to the face had left his brain too scrambled to think clearly. He knew better than to argue or to even try and say anything other than an apology in moments like this. But instead, he found himself gasping out "I w-won't be a whore for your clients!" The instant the words were out, he wanted to draw them back. The fury in his father's eyes grew and Spencer knew he was in so much trouble. He'd never seen him so angry before. Then again, he'd never argued with him before. Never defied him like this.
He hit the ground with enough force to snap his teeth together and jar every single joint in his body. The pain ripped through him and he curled in on himself with a whimper, his head swimming. It was clear enough, though, to hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled. "You're going to learn your lesson." William snarled over him. Metal jingled and then there was the hiss of the belt as it was removed from the belt loops. Spencer had just enough presence of mind to drop his face and bring his arm up to shield it before the first stroke fell. His cry echoed through the dining room as the belt connected over his side and back.
The strokes started to fall in quick succession, one right after the other without any pause, whipping across his back and shoulders while William's furious voice echoed around them, his words punctuated by each stroke. "You do not," snap "disrespect me" snap "in my" snap "house!" snap "You filthy" snap "little" snap "freak!" The last blow fell across Spencer's arm, the tail end of it curling around to snap across his cheek and Spencer couldn't hold back his scream. It only spurred his father to hit harder and faster.
The beating stopped as quickly as it began. Spencer lay in a ball on the floor, whimpering, his whole body trembling with the pain. Above him he heard a disgusted snort. "Clean yourself up." William snapped at him. "And clean this mess down here up. I'm going to go take a shower. By the time I'm out, I want you upstairs. I think it's time to remind you just who the boss is around here."
Spencer lay there and listened to his father's footsteps as they left the room, traveled up the staircase, and then went down the hall to where the master bedroom was. It was only when he heard the kick of the water heater come to life that he finally pushed himself up off the ground. Climbing to his feet was a long, painful experience that even moving slow couldn't help make easier. This was one of the worst beatings he'd received in a long time and he knew he'd be feeling it for a long time to come. All because I wouldn't turn myself into a whore for his clients, Spencer's mind whispered. The thought made his gut clench and his heart pound. William had done this, reacted like this, all because Spencer had told a client 'no'. He'd set the whole thing up. That hurt Spencer more than anything else. It shouldn't have come to any shock, not with everything else in his life, but it did. He'd come to expect and accept the things that his father did. But he'd never expected the man to use him that way. To whore him out to secure a client or as some kind of, of payment.
He couldn't stay here.
The thought hit Spencer like a jolt of lightning.
There was no way he could stay here. Not after this. Because Spencer knew his father and he knew that this wouldn't be the last time something like this happened. He would punish Spencer tonight, remind him of his place, and then he'd do this again. He'd bring someone else over and expect Spencer to, to…A shudder ran down him. No. No. He couldn't stay here and live like that. He just couldn't. That meant he had to go. He had to get as far away from here as possible. That thought gripped Spencer and it wouldn't let go. It filled him with a certainty he'd never felt before.
He didn't know what gave him the courage. Maybe it was knowing that his mother wasn't here anymore for him to have to protect. Maybe it was knowing what his father had tried to allow to happen to night—had, in fact, encouraged. Whatever it was, it gave Spencer courage. Before he could second guess himself, he was moving, knowing that his time was limited. William would be done with his shower soon and he'd be expecting Spencer there. He had to be long gone by then.
The pain was pushed back under the adrenaline that flooded through him. Spencer moved quickly, wasting no time. He didn't bother going to his room to gather his things, though he mourned the loss of his letters that were hidden under his bed. Nothing else in there was important. Nothing in there couldn't be replaced. Hurrying, he went straight to the living room closet and grabbed the zip up sweater he kept in there. With quick, wincing movements, he pulled it on and zipped it up, flipping the hood over his head. Then, on impulse, he grabbed the jean jacket in there as well and pulled it over top. No telling how cold it would get tonight or where he'd be. Better to be prepared. Last, he dug to the coat that hung in the back, hidden by the others, and reached down into the pocket. It was where his father kept the emergency stash, he knew. Just a few hundred dollars. It should be enough to get him away from here.
Spencer didn't give himself time to second guess what he was doing. He stuffed the money down into his pocket without even counting it and then quickly shut the closet door. One last check to make sure his wallet and ID were still in his coat pocket and then he was hurrying towards the front door.
He never once looked back.
Adrenaline kept Spencer going. It kept him from giving in to the fear and turning around to go back home. Fear licked at his insides, coiling through his belly like a snake that he knew could consume him if given half the chance. But the adrenaline of leaving, plus what he thought might be a touch of shock, kept him going, kept him moving. It kept his brain from focusing on what he was leaving behind and instead put his focus with sharp clarity on what he needed to do. That, he could focus on. That, he could use to anchor himself.
His plan was simple, really. Nothing complicated to it. He needed to get as far away from his father as possible and there was only one person in the world that Spencer could think to run to.
Remy.
There was no doubt in his mind that Remy would take him in. The question of it never even occurred to him. His best friend would help him, he knew. All he had to do was get to him.
That part was proving trickier than he'd thought. He'd figured it would be simple. A plane was out of the question, what with his age, and a train was too expensive. That left the bus. But he quickly discovered that it wasn't going to be that simple. The woman at the counter calmly informed him that a ticket from Vegas to New Orleans was going to run him around two hundred and eight dollars. Spencer had already checked the money he'd taken from his father and his stomach sank when she told him the price. He only had one hundred and twenty on him. Spencer couldn't back down, though. Backing down meant giving in and giving in meant going back and that was something he couldn't do.
Tilting his head up, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried to make his voice steady. "How close will a hundred get me?" He made sure to keep twenty out of that, just so he could get something to eat and make sure he had money for a payphone. He was going to have to call Remy at some point.
The woman behind the counter felt her heart clench a little as she looked at the youth in front of her. She could clearly see the marks on his face he was trying so hard to hide underneath his hood and she didn't miss the careful way that he stood. Someone had hurt this boy and hurt him pretty badly. With the practice of someone who'd worked this station for years and who'd seen plenty of people come and go, she could see clear as day that this boy was running. Underage and running. Rightfully, she should call the police and report him. But one peek at those uniquely burning eyes, which he worked so hard to keep sheltered under his hood, and she knew she couldn't turn him in. Whatever he was running from, it was bad, and she knew she couldn't live with herself if she sent him back. "That'll get you to Albuquerque, New Mexico." She told him. When she rang him up, she added a student discount, hoping the little extra it would save him might help.
That was how Spencer ended up tucked into the back of a Greyhound bus, leaving behind the only life that he'd ever known. With thirty dollars in his pocket and not a thing to his name, he was finally doing the one thing he'd dreamed up; he was getting the hell out of here and as far away from William Reid as he possibly could. And he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he never went back. Staring out the window, he watched as the bus rolled down the highway and the lights of Vegas slowly faded into the dark.