I don't own The Breakfast Club
A/N: I want to point out that there are some situations in this chapter that are trigger warnings for John Bender's chapter.
Once the morning hours came, he thought that he was never going to wake up. Miraculously, it was another night that he had survived. Letting out an annoyed groan, John Bender threw the bed covers over his eyes to shield them from the sun. The moment he was awoken from his sleep, an incoming headache suddenly took over him causing the greatest amount of discomfort that he couldn't handle. There were headaches where he could handle them, but this one was just the worse. He didn't know what would be best for him. Laying down or just getting up? Lying down didn't seem to help so he slowly lifted himself on the bed. His head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds but at least his vision wasn't as blurry as he thought it was going to be.
He stumbled over to the bathroom and clutched the sink of both sides. His eyes stared at the sink's drain before they lifted up and saw a horrific reflection before him. Hello old friend, he scoffed as he looked at his reflection. Good to see you again. Right in front of him stared a teen the same age as him, but instead of having perfectly polished features with a dazzling smile, it was anything but that. Right on the side of his forehead, what was once flaming red had turned into an ugly black and blue color. He gritted his teeth at the sight of it. He didn't know why he wasn't strong enough to defend himself, but whenever he was faced in these situations, no matter how hard he tried to be tough there would always be an underlying factor that stopped him from taking action.
Feeling something cold drip from his nose, he ran his finger against it and saw that it was blood. Ever since last night, he thought that his nose had gotten messed up due to the force that he was faced with. He had lost track of how long it had taken for it to stop bleeding but at least there wasn't too much this morning. Slowly, his headache began to recede.
Finally! he thought to himself as he turned on the faucet and threw cold water onto his face. Looking at his reflection once more, he noticed a strand of white hair in his front bangs. Whether it was natural or paint, he didn't know nor did he care to find out about it. The paint incident happened last week and by then, it should have gone away. That was an incident that he was never going to forget, and he had the scar to prove it. Who knew that his old man would get angry over spilt paint. There was that saying 'don't cry over spilled milk' but in the Bender household it was 'don't get angry over spilled paint.' John felt that no matter what little thing he did or said, he would always get some form of punishment for it. He couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol that had impaired his father's mind or if his father just naturally hated him.
Hatred. John was sure that it was hatred, though his father was not the only one that expressed it. His mother also showed her side of neglect and would take her husband's side, and she would also get punished for it as well. It was messed up and everyday, John was living in it. However, there were some days that he considered to be good ones. Ones that included his father passed out on the couch and his mother minding her business and John would be invisible in their eyes. If only invisibility was a superpower that he could have, then he wouldn't have to feel the pain that came along with his life.
He headed back into his room and change to his usual clothes, not even caring that it was already past the time when he would be out the door. Shermer High was not his sanctuary. It was the same as entering the doors of hell and dealing with snooty rich people, jocks who thought they owned the world, nerds who wouldn't think of themselves, tortured artists, and those who were unhinged. However, John had learned his lesson of what would happen if he skipped school. Playing hooky was fun if you were not caught, but when John had done it, he was one phone call away from getting punished his father for doing that. That had been a surprise to John, for he thought that his father wouldn't care...or was it just another excuse for him to get hit? Whatever the case was, John's main objective was to just survive the days until he was old enough to leave. Then he would never return to this hellhole let alone see parents.
Throwing on his trench coat, John headed to the hall and as he was about to head out the door, he heard snoring coming from the living room. John slowly peeked over and noticed his old man sprawled on the couch with a bottle of beer clutched in one hand and a remote in the other. His old man loved that beer so much that it was an equivalent to a child sleeping with their teddy bear. Right on his knuckles, John saw bruises and blood that was crusted over due to last night's events. He wondered if his mother also faced his father's wrath when John managed to escape to his room. He was willing to go as far as possible to let his anger out until he had enough or when the alcohol numbed him. John was surprised that his father wasn't dead yet from the amount of alcohol he drunk. It had been a thought that had crossed his mind, but he didn't want that to happen. His father was more than a jerk but wishing death on someone didn't make John any better as a person.
Glancing over at the clock once more, the time indicated that he should have left the house fifteen minutes ago. Oh well, he was going to be late again and this time it was going to be a lecture from the vice principle. Though that was going to be an entertainment for John. What better way to start the day then with a debacle on Mr. Vernon's wardrobe.