Scott.
Whose voice was that, calling his name?
"Scottie, fucking wake up, damn it!"
Oh. Of course. Scott held his hand up against the glare of the sun, squinting at his father's silhouette. Jimmy grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, dusting him off and inspecting him.
"Ready to go home?" Scott sat up and wrapped his arms loosely around himself. Jack was standing defensively in the doorway, and behind him stood Brandon.
"I think you should wait until Ma gets home." Jack suggested evenly. Jimmy snorted and curled his arm around his son's slim waist. He wasn't the type of father who worried when he felt Scott's ribs.
"Yeah, and then what?" He cracked. "Call social services 'cause my son's a fucking cokehead?" Jimmy laughed, but Jack narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so. Come on, buddy."
"Whatever." Scott mumbled. He glanced up and saw Brandon watching him, but neither said anything.
Jimmy's beat up car was idling out in the driveway. Bobby's car was gone, as was Evelyn's. Scott was pretty sure Jack was all by himself. He sat in the front seat and looked out the windshield as the car started and they quickly drove home.
Jimmy was breathing heavily. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, and his eyes were bloodshot. Scott tried to stay in his corner of the car.
They arrived back at home and walked slowly up the creaky stairs, not saying anything to one another. Scott tensed his shoulders as the door closed, just before his father reached out and hit him with an open fist.
Pain exploded in his jaw. He could taste blood, and he turned to face Jimmy while swishing it around his mouth.
"You damn brat." Jimmy growled, grabbing him around the throat and tightening his grip. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He pushed Scott down and kicked him. "You think they want anything to do with you?"
"No." Scott blurted. It was true, really. The Mercers probably had a lot of other shit on their minds. They didn't need Scott and all of his many, many problems.
Jimmy seemed to think he was just being clever. He planted one work boot on Scott's chest and reached for his belt.
Scott was laying on his back, knees bent, eyes closed. When he heard the jingle of the belt, he felt his throat tighten. Like an allergic reaction. "No!" He yelled, twisting away.
Jimmy had been angry, but now he was surprised. Scott might not be the most well-mannered son, but he kept his mouth shut when Jimmy raised his hands. He crouched and giggled, ringing his belt again. Scott rolled onto his side, mouth set in a firm line.
"What's wrong, Scottie?" He howled, grabbing Scott's chin and pressing his face into his neck. "What's wrong? Does this scare you?"
"Get off." Scott barked, pushing at his father's chest. Jimmy grabbed his wrists and pulled him into a sitting position.
"What exactly happened at that house, Scottie?" He sneered. "Maybe I should call the cops. Then I won't have to worry 'bout you running off there again." He took his chin in his hand and forced him to look at him. "Will I?"
"You let it happen!" Scott snapped. He scooted further back, narrowly dodging the blow aimed for him. "Letting that damn guidance counselor try and take me home. You're supposed to be my dad."
"What?" Jimmy snarled. "What did you just say to me? What fucking guidance counselor?" Scott scrambled to his feet and tried to get away. His father grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back. "That why you got that ring?" He screamed. "You're a fag?"
"I'm not a fag!" Scott shouted back. His father slapped him. "Let go." He kicked at his shins and nearly stumbled when his father hit him again. Blood dribbled over his upper lip.
"Come here." Jimmy growled. Scott shook his head. He wiped blood from his nose and looked around for a towel. "Scott-"
A knock sounded at the door. Scott watched curiously as his father moved to his answer it, movements jerky and slow.
"Yeah?" He grunted.
"Is Scott here?" That was Angel's voice. Scott froze. He looked around wildly for something to stem the flow of blood.
"Can't talk." Jimmy grunted. "I dunno if you heard, but Scottie tried to kill himself. Overdose on coke. He's asleep." There was a murmur of another voice, to which Jimmy replied: "I said he's asleep."
Scott closed the door to the bathroom quietly, pulling on a heavy black hoodie and pressing a towel to his nose.
"You can't come in here!" Jimmy said loudly. He heard Bobby speaking, then Angel, their words indecipherable. "I fucking said he's asleep. You want me to call the cops?"
Someone, Angel maybe, laughed at this threat. Scott had to agree. The Mercers dealt with the cops enough to be on first-name basis. It wouldn't make any difference; in fact it might help.
The doorknob moved and the door started to open. Scott jammed his foot against it, leaning into the sink for leverage.
"I'm in the bathroom." He said quickly.
"Scott, it's us." Bobby said. "Bobby and Angel."
"I know who it is." Scott replied. He pressed harder on the door when Bobby tried to force it open. "You do that again, Michigan Mauler, and you're gonna snap my damn ankle."
The pressure on the door lessened, but Bobby didn't close it. "It's okay." He insisted. "We're gonna take you back to Ma's place. You can come stay with us."
"What?" Jimmy barked. "No. He's fine." Angel was saying something. Scott, distracted, didn't notice Bobby forcing the door open until it was. "Get out of here." His father shouted. Angel was restraining him easily. "I swear to God I'm calling the damn cops if you touch a single hair on my boy's head." He winced when Angel tightened his grip. "Get out."
"You don't look too good, kiddo." Bobby said dryly. Scott glared at him, bringing his injured leg up to the counter and touching it gently.
"Yeah, I don't. Jesus Christ, I think you broke my leg." He hopped off the counter and turned away, embarrassed. "It's just the coke. Dad didn't do anything."
Bobby pulled the towel away from his face and tilted his head back. "You got a bruise." He said quietly. "Did your drugs knock you on your ass?"
"Dad didn't do anything." Scott repeated, more adamantly this time. "I have to stay here."
Bobby grabbed his arm, looking like he was ready to drag him away. Then he relented. "I want you to stay with us." He tried.
Scott paused. He fidgeted nervously, reaching up to see if the flow of blood had stopped yet. "Well, I guess I could come say hello." He muttered. "If Evelyn wants to see me."
"Yeah, Scottie." Bobby smirked. "She wants to see you."