AMBER.


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         ‘  i  really  wanted  that  cookie.  ‘

@smartmcuth.

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          a glance down at the cookie in hand precedes lips pressing together. it’s hard to begrudge her food when he knows how hungry she is. after a beat, it’s held out for her to take.      last one, alright? you’re gonna get a belly ache.   

 

@bcbykarev | my muse’s reaction to | accepting
↳ ♟ patching up a wound

       the skin of his knuckles is a canvas for deep purples and blues, the bones more akin to gnarled tree roots than anything resembling the human anatomy. he attempted to wash the BLOOD — his father’s & not his own, for once — away before seeking out amber, but the swelling of his hands prevented him from noticing the dried red flakes in the spaces between his fingers until the moment he enters her room. with an awkward shift of the ice pack he’s holding, clumsy fingernails scratch the flakes away to the best of his ability — as if somehow cleaning himself of his father’s blood excuses the fact that his hands are mangled.

       but he couldn’t help fighting back this time. this time was different. usually it was him who took the brunt of his father’s anger, purposely making snide remarks so that drunken fists and open palms would find his body instead of aaron’s. this time, though, that son of a bitch struck AMBER — the b a b y. ( he’d yelled at her before, sure, threatened her and gotten in her face — but he never laid a finger on her. ) she had come back into the living room when he told her to get out so he could watch his show, and that apparently warranted a backhand.

       at least, that’s what aaron told him when he finally got home from wrestling practice an hour later. she had to sit there, crying silently with aaron who was trying (and failing) to console her until alex returned and saw the mark left upon her cheek. that was when every ounce of his training, his strength, his adrenaline, his pent up anger came to a peak. he took his father down with a charge that should have put him on the football team right there, and then he punched and punched and punched. all the years that alex didn’t go to bed for hours until the pain subsided enough for him to fall asleep, all the tears he refused to shed, all the sleeves he had to pull down to cover the bruises that were dangerously close to being seen, the childhood he lost at the expense of a man with a bad temper and a penchant for addictive vices — the weight of it all found his fists until his dad was unrecognizable, at the brink of death. ( even then, he wanted to keep going; but he knew that he’d go straight to JAIL, and that would leave aaron and amber alone with his crazy mother. ) james left soon after, with a firm reminder from alex never to come back again. they’d be better off without him. it’d be hard, but it’d be better.

       now, having sat down beside his younger siblings on the bed, he takes a moment to calm himself down. he offers up an unconvincing smile — a bit too weighed down by the waves of pain emanating from his hands — before lifting the ice pack to his sister’s cheek, trying to reduce the redness and swelling. he grits his teeth when she winces, his heart skips when she leans into his side, and he blinks away the tears stinging his eyes before he shifts enough to meet her gaze.   don’t worry, okay? he’s gone now,  alex murmurs. a quick glance up to aaron as he adds:   for good. ❜  

       he feels simultaneously lighter and heavier, free and constrained, and certainly older than his years would suggest. he recognizes this feeling. it’s the same one he felt when his mom watched vacantly as his dad beat him and didn’t move to protect him, didn’t say a word; the one he felt when he iced his own split lip at eight years old; the one he felt the first time he stole some chips and a coke from the store to feed his siblings because his dad spent his paycheck on heroin and his mom was too out of it to go out and work.

              it’s the feeling of his youth slipping away.
                   somehow he knows this is the last
                        time he’ll feel this feeling.

 

atlas carries

today's the day my life begins. all my life i've been just me, just a smart mouth kid. today i become a
M A N.

the world

ind. pri. sel. alex karev
penned by sabrina
est. april 9th, 2016
#smartmcuth

dutifully 'pon

drafts: 20
asks: 15
starters: 13

weary shoulders

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previously bcttleworn