i feel tragic [1/?]
I Feel Tragic
Status: Work-in-progress; no schedule
Rating: T / R
Warnings: in tags
Word Count: WIP
It's when the TV in the family room turns to fuzz that Trevor finds himself in the most of company. He's been alone since his fifth birthday, when his mother ran out and his father left him in the family room for a drink at the local bar. Scared and alone, little Trevor picked up his ratty old stuffed rabbit, a hand-me-down from his older sister April, and stumbled through the house, too terrified to turn on any lights out of fear the bad people would come get him.
Today, he wishes he wasn't so afraid of those bad people when he was younger. He wishes he would have wandered out into the street and found something, anything.
The television buzzes and pops, cutting from the snow to a rainbow of colors and a high-pitched tone that hurts his ears. Still, he stands, staring, waiting.
"What the hell are you still doing up?"
"Sorry," Trevor responds, voice raspy. "I know, I'm supposed to be in bed by eleven."
"Ten thirty. You have that presentation tomorrow." vaguely, Trevor feels hands clamp on his shoulders. "You forgot your meds again, didn't you." It isn't a question, but Trevor hadn't expected him to ask if he'd forgotten
Trevor shrugs, the hands falling from his shoulder. "Left them in your car."
"Come to bed."
He can't imagine sleep will help him. "It's fine. I'll be up soon."
"It's three AM, Trevor."
He thinks about going upstairs, but ultimately, it won't make a difference. "It's just a few hours," he says. "It's not going to make any difference."
Status: Work-in-progress; no schedule
Rating: T / R
Warnings: in tags
Word Count: WIP
It's when the TV in the family room turns to fuzz that Trevor finds himself in the most of company. He's been alone since his fifth birthday, when his mother ran out and his father left him in the family room for a drink at the local bar. Scared and alone, little Trevor picked up his ratty old stuffed rabbit, a hand-me-down from his older sister April, and stumbled through the house, too terrified to turn on any lights out of fear the bad people would come get him.
Today, he wishes he wasn't so afraid of those bad people when he was younger. He wishes he would have wandered out into the street and found something, anything.
The television buzzes and pops, cutting from the snow to a rainbow of colors and a high-pitched tone that hurts his ears. Still, he stands, staring, waiting.
"What the hell are you still doing up?"
"Sorry," Trevor responds, voice raspy. "I know, I'm supposed to be in bed by eleven."
"Ten thirty. You have that presentation tomorrow." vaguely, Trevor feels hands clamp on his shoulders. "You forgot your meds again, didn't you." It isn't a question, but Trevor hadn't expected him to ask if he'd forgotten
Trevor shrugs, the hands falling from his shoulder. "Left them in your car."
"Come to bed."
He can't imagine sleep will help him. "It's fine. I'll be up soon."
"It's three AM, Trevor."
He thinks about going upstairs, but ultimately, it won't make a difference. "It's just a few hours," he says. "It's not going to make any difference."