"Quincy! Turn that shit down before 'Roy comes down and shoves it!" Quincy's mother screeched down the hallway, her feet were heard stumbling bare on the wooden floorboards, closer to his door and her speech was slurred again.
Her tired face appeared in his doorway, she had her blonde, stringy hair pulled back into a loose bun and yesterday's makeup smudged and faded on her face. Strands of hair were left out of the bun, though not deliberately, and her grey square-neck vest had drops of liquid down it. Her jeans weren't tight, but not loose either, and a bottle of Budweiser was held loosely at the neck in her hand.
Quincy stopped playing and turned around, looking coldly at his mother, saying nothing and standing still. His guitar rang out, the note sending vibrations from the amp and through the floorboards.
"I'm sick of y-you," she hiccupped, "Givin' me this silent t-treatment all the fuckin' time. You think you're better than me? Do ya? D-do ya?". Her voice was rough and dry, Quincy guessed that was a long-term effect of alcoholism.
His mother drank pretty much everyday. Feeling happy, get drunk. Feeling sad, get drunk. Feeling stressed, get drunk. Hungover, get drunk. Quincy wondered if she even drank normal things, like water or something. Not that he really cared, he just wanted his mother to piss off when she interacted with him.
His mother had never really been there for him, she wasn't even the one to put him in school, it was his grandparents who took care of him until he was 7. After that, his grandfather died and his mother announced she was moving in with a guy she had been seeing. Her mother tried to convince her to think it through more, since it was dangerous to move in with someone with nowhere else to go. Quincy's mother, of course, told her mum to fuck off and left as soon as she could, taking Quincy with her. Things just went downhill from there.
Quincy stood and stared at her still, and her face grew into a frown. "Oh fuck it then! Fuck you!" she turned around sloppily and slammed his door. Quincy heard her hit the wall on the other side of the corridor as she left, obviously she was too drunk to stand and stumbled.
He sighed to himself, relaxing his shoulders and taking off his guitar by the strap. If he just pissed off his mother, then Leroy would probably get mad at him too, and Leroy was a violent guy.
Quincy unplugged his guitar from his amp and pushed it all the way under his bed carefully; if Leroy got angry, he'd attack either Quincy, or the things he loved most. He could hear them talking in the living room, then again, they're both rather loud.
"The fuck has the boy done this time?"
"Ah don't..." Quincy couldn't hear all of what she was saying, "..You... The boy!"
"Oh fuck off Margot. Piss me off and I'll do something you'll regret makin' me do" Leroy wasn't shy about his volume, he couldn't care less about who heard him saying what.
"I'm sorry! It's... I won't..." His mother often lowered her voice when talking to Leroy, she did anything he said and it really bothered Quincy. Why couldn't she just stand up for herself? She was so dependant on him, it was sickening.
"It's those fags he hangs around. That's why he's fucked up."
"We can't... We don't-"
"You're not fuckin' listening!" Leroy started shouting at Quincy's mother, and Quincy sat himself on his bed. That familiar feeling in his stomach had come back, it made him feel physically sick. It was like his insides were being sucked into a pit in his stomach. He knew what was coming next, there's no way Leroy wouldn't hit him now that he was shouting. Quincy couldn't hear his mother anymore, she had certainly shut up after Leroy had raised his voice, that would've "put her back in her place", as Leroy would have told him.
It was wrong. It was all wrong. Quincy knew that Leroy was an asshole, but he didn't fully understand the seriousness of their situation, even at the age of 16. It was all he had ever known, and of course he hated it, but he didn't understand it all completely.
He pressed his palm to his forehead, soothing his headache. He took a deep breath and exhaled, running his fingers through his umber hair. Quincy braced himself as he heard heavy footsteps coming down the corridor, much heavier than his bony mother's. Here we go, he thought.
His bedroom door flung open and smashed into the wall, making the previous hole in the wall even deeper. His jade eyes shot to the big figure in his doorway, and his arms shot to his sides ready to pull himself up and run.
"The fuck has happened then, boy?" Leroy's voice was like thunder through their small house.
Leroy struck fear through Quincy's body, he was the only person he was scared of and the only person he would answer to.
"Nothing, I didn't do anything." He replied, though quieter than his usual tone.
"Fuck off, tell me what you did." He leaned his body against his doorway, folding his arms and tucking one leg behind the other. He seemed at most ease when being a dick.
"..I didn't do anything." Quincy locked eyes with Leroy's cold, bronze ones. Their stare-off lasted a while, both standing or sitting dead-still, though one out of fear and one out of spite.
"Whatre' you staring at me for?" Leroy demanded an answer, you could just tell through his body language and tone of voice.
"Nothin." Quincy immediately looked down, towards his feet. Leroy's uncomfortable glare seemed to sear through Quincy's skin like a sunbeam under a magnifying glass.
"I'm gettin' tired of you." Leroy took a step towards Quincy, his fists fell down by his sides. Quincy flinched at his mere movement, yet stayed put.
"C'mere."
"I said c'mere, boy."
"Come on." Leroy took another, yet swifter, step forward, grabbing Quincy by the neckline of his shirt tightly. Quincy panicked, his eyes getting wider and his body stiff. Leroy's face was just inches from his, Quincy could feel him breathing deeply with rage.
Quincy was frozen still. There was no expression on his face, but his fear was prominent and foul. He could smell the beer on Leroy's breath as he spoke, he could feel his spit on his face as he grew more aggressive with each word.
"Do as I say when I fuckin' say it, boy." Leroy's voice turned to a low growl. Distracting them both, Quincy's mother appeared in his doorway.
"Leroy, baby, p-please.. Let him be, b-baby.. Somethin' arrived for y-you at the d-door.." Her voice was timid and cautious, though her hiccups still prominent, Quincy wondered if she was trying to save him, then saw a small white envelope in her hand by her side.
Leroy's neck and cheeks flushed an angry shade of red. If looks could kill, Margot would be a massive crimson stain on the washed-out walls around her. Quincy was dropped to the floor, landing on his knees.
"The fuck are you sayin'?! Get the fuck outta my sight!" Leroy grabbed Margot by her shoulder and shoved her into the living room. Quincy heard her fall to the floor with a thud, but she didn't get back up immediately. She should've just left it on the counter, now she's in shit too. Not that Quincy cared very much at all, she was an asshole and needed to learn to kick out abusive husbands like Leroy. Then again, he was the only person earning money to keep the shitty counsel-estate they lived in.
Quincy breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't actually hit this time, meaning whatever Leroy was reading was probably serious, but that didn't involve Quincy. He shifted on the floor, crossing his legs and resting his head on his bed. Quincy reached up to run his fingers through his hair, he didn't want to stay there. Surprisingly, the worst part about moments like that weren't the violence or shouting, it was the moments after. The shame and guilt you felt after being backed into a corner and beaten was almost embarrassing. Quincy hated having to face Leroy after giving him exactly what he wanted: raw fear.
Quincy glanced towards his window, his friends were always out. Maybe what he needed was a distraction, and his friends were quite distracting. He sighed, then got up off of the floor. His knees were sore from landing on them, but it didn't bother him much. He looked around for his shoes and jacket, both of which were thrown in the same corner as usual. His shoes were black and scraped up, they had mud smeared on the edges and the black laces were torn. He probably needed a new pair, but he had just spent all his money on his guitar so he'd have to sell a little more to get new shoes. He also had a bomber jacket, but worn out and quite big. It was also black, it helped with not being seen at night. Plus, black goes with everything.
Once ready, Quincy lifted his window. It was strange, the house was quite quiet for once. Whatever was in that envelope was definitely serious, but it really didn't bother Quincy. He was under 18, so if anything bad happened to his parents he would be sent into care, which didn't seem all that bad considering his current position. Stepping over his window sill, he carefully shifted and lowered himself to the soft earth below. Whatever was going on inside, stepping outside was always a massive relief to Quincy. He took a breath of fresh air, and started walking.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
