Chapter 2 - Turn to go

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t had been several weeks, and she hadn't come back. Does this disillusion fall in front of him when the heart falls? Deep inside I knew she wouldn't come back, but the other part of him felt and hoped she would. He indulged myself with those acts of thinking in that unbound way. The pain inside was building into a mask, and he was doing a fairly good job of it to. His father had gotten worse since his wife left. Yury would constantly wear the same sweater over and over again to try hiding the bruises with linen. No one asked. And He preferred it that way. Kill off the questioning so he wouldn't have to answer. The fragile soul was caught and tangled in the hands of a unfortunate fate that ones self couldn't escape out of. [br]
It had been ten o'clock and his father was still out. He knew where to. The finances were growing low, and his father had ben buried in debt. All the bills remained on the table, unpaid, let alone a call in. The phone kept ringing weekly as a reminded of the housing situation. This would worry Yury's mind. What would happen if they were evicted? Where would he go? He knew his father wanted nothing to do with him anymore. His mind was sinking so low, it made his nerves grow into the same burden as it would every day. He had no relatives that he could think of. [br]
As he popped a container of left overs in the microwave, he tried flushing the thoughts out of his mind. It would only work for the 3 minutes that counted down on the digital microwave. The deepen emotions filling his neptune eyes would be unseen to anyone else, and he liked it that way to. A perfume of pain covered his body with a secret only he would know. Will he ever be free from it? He knew the negative answer to that. The microwaved chimed and his hunger died. But he knew he had to eat since it had been days, and his body couldn't take the starvation much longer. Absentmindedly her grabbed the container from the opened door and felt the heat cover his hands. He placed it down for a few moments cupping the warmth from it with iced hands. His state of mind was indeed like a child's from this turning point, but no one really noticed through the hard exterior. [br]
He headed upstairs to cower in his room, refusing to leave only to be beaten down with later tears. As he entered his domain he noticed his room wasn't as up kept as it normally would be. But he wasn't in the mood to do much cleaning lately. He sat at his desk glancing at the left over food in the container taking few bites and going back to his text book. He would end up doodaling random things in the note book not having the mind to do any studying. He knew he wasn't the worlds Picasso, but it helped get his mind off other things. He had no mind to study. And he frankly didn't care. [br]
A sudden slam of the door caused his body to flinch and look at his closed door meekly. He just wanted the day to close to a ending. A few stumbles were heard, he was assuming against a wall or table, which made his body sink more and press against the chair as if trying to just hide away from the world. To reject it. [br]
"Yury!" the loud voice hit through the barricaded door and into the room. He crawled from his chair and opened it with much hesitation. [br]
"yeah?" his voice cracked a bit in a low tone. [br]
"Why aren't the dishes done? Honestly your useless!" he gripped the door knob upon hearing his own father say that. Was he useless? [br]
"I was going to do them once i ate something," even the mention of eating something caused his stomach to turn in sickness. [br]
"Get them done now!" frustration could be heard in the tone of voice. But he headed downstairs so it didn't cause any arguments. Once he got into the kitchen his father was hovered; sitting down at the table with a bottle of vodka placed on the table with a lit cigarette. He started the water filling the sink and put; what little, dish soap into it. His eyes watched the ripples form bubbles. " I got a call from your teacher. You've been skipping class again. To do what? This Beyblading thing?" [br]
Nothing came from Yury's mouth. Beyblading might of seemed immature to some parents, but it was the adrenaline rush he took such fascination in. [br]
"I asked you a question," Yury glanced back with fusion eyes and nodded a bit with heavy hesitation. "jesus your just like you mother. Thinking you can do whatever you want just because of some rebellious stage in your life."[br]
"Mom didn't rebel, you caused her to rebel," his words hissed from his lips with a toxic poison added to them. His very emotions were hanging by a thread, and it would drive him into insanity. [br]
"Don't pull that bullshoot on me! Your mother left because she couldn't handle having a son who did nothing! Maybe if you stopped skipping classes all the time she would of stayed!" Yury's head flinched to the side biting his lip to reframe from saying anything more. The bitter sweet flavor filled his dry mouth and burning the back of his through with tension. [br]
"Whatever," his voice trailed off and he turned back to the sink. His body lifted away from the water filled object and felt his body hit the wall. His hand flew to his side trying to regain his out of rhythm breathing. He managed to catch his self on the rail leading down into the basement feeling it sway a bit. If he was any heavier he probably would of felt his body cripple at the near bottom. [br]
He glanced up seeing his father in front of him while binding the fabric of his sweater in his hands, his fathers hands fisted in the front of his shirt. It seemed like minutes, but it was only seconds before her felt the bone hit the side flesh of his cheek. His hand lifted from his shirt touching the red liquid straining from his nose. Again he saw his own blood. The red liquid threw him into a obscene trance. He had heard words from his father, but they were but a blur in his mind. The sudden noise of glass shattering and the throbbing pain from the side of his arm drew him out of the trance. The transparent pieces of the vodka bottle remained on the floor. Broken. While some remained in his flesh. He winced holding his hand; shaking, over the gash mark the bottle had left. Before he could even realize his father was gone. The door was the last thing he had heard. [br]
His knees buckled from the pain coursing through his glass infested arm, and he kneeled over gripping it to try and stop the fluids from leaving his body. He tries to focus but everything felt twisted in it's own madness. Tears trailed from his neptune eyes. Not only from the pain coursing through his arm, but the pain of how things were. Puddles of blood formed upon the cream marble floor, in it's own abstract painting. [br]
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Once her managed to do a decently steady job on forming a bondage around his arm he headed outside for some air. Thoughts mingled in his brain all of which weren't comforting. False emotion was set in notion. He wasn't going to go back. He knew he had nothing to go back to at that point.

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