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Ethan blinked awake, the remnants of a wild dream clinging to him like cobwebs. It wasn't the usual apocalypse fare, but something more unsettling, a feeling of disquiet that lingered even as he sat up, stretching his cramped muscles. The sun, a brazen intruder, peeked through the blinds, painting the room in harsh strips of light. He groaned, the weight of yesterday's late-night painting session settling in his bones. "Damn, I'm late," he muttered, glancing at the clock that mocked him with its digital smirk.
The idea of school, with its fluorescent lights and droning lectures, felt like a physical blow. He flopped back onto the bed, the sheets tangling around him like a reluctant embrace. "Screw it," he mumbled, half-heartedly considering playing hooky. But the thought of James, his ever-reliable friend, sending frantic texts and possibly even storming his apartment, spurred him into action.
He rolled to the side of his bed, a symphony of creaking joints accompanying his every movement. His phone was his first priority. As he scrolled through his phone a notification chimed, shattering the silence. It was James, his message a barrage of exasperated questions: "Where are you, dude? Class started ages ago!"
Ethan winced. Skipping school was one thing, but letting James down was another. He grabbed his phone, the warmth of the screen momentarily distracting him from the woman curled up beside him. His memory, foggy from sleep, flickered back to the previous night's blurry encounter. "Right," he muttered, a pang of awkwardness twisting in his gut.
He gently nudged the woman awake, a wave of apology washing over him. "Hey, sorry, gotta go. Classes and all that," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. She stirred, her eyes sleepy and unfocused, before nodding and slipping out of bed.
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, painting stripes across the woman's face. She blinked, disoriented, the remnants of a dream clinging to her like cobwebs. A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with confusion.
"Huh… Is it morning already?" she mumbled, her voice raspy from sleep. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Ethan scrambled across the room, his movements a frantic ballet of pulling on clothes and shoving things into his backpack.
Ethan paused, casting a sideways glance at the woman. "Yeah, you gotta go," he said, his voice strained. "My parents wouldn't be too thrilled to find a stranger in their house." His eyes flickered to the window, a glint of something unreadable in their depths.
The woman's brow furrowed. "But this is the second floor," she pointed out, her voice laced with a hint of panic. The image of a fall, of concrete meeting bone, sent a shiver down her spine.
Ethan's gaze darted around the room, a caged animal searching for escape. "Sheesh, whatever," he muttered, his nonchalant facade cracking for a moment. "What was your name again?"
The woman swallowed, her mind a whirlwind of questions. "It's… it's Amelia," she stammered.
Ethan's lips curled into a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Never mind, not that I care. Just… jump from the window. The dumpster below should… cushion the fall."
The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable dripping with a cruel indifference that sent chills down Amelia's spine. Was he serious? Was this her only option?
The desperation radiating from Ethan was unnerving. Amelia, heart hammering against her ribs, felt a tremor of panic loosen her grip on logic. He wasn't just afraid of his parents, she realized, he was terrified. A bad boy like Ethan, notorious for his nonchalant swagger, quaking in his boots at the thought of parental intrusion? That spoke volumes about the iron fist gripping this household.
"U-uh, alright," she whispered, her voice hoarse with apprehension. Ethan, already halfway across the room, didn't even turn back. He was gone in a flash, leaving Amelia trembling on the precipice of a second-floor drop.
Gingerly, she clambered onto the window ledge, the ground yawning beneath her like a hungry maw. The dumpster, a rusty metal eyesore, looked far less inviting from this close. Fear, cold and clammy, snaked its way up her throat. Was this truly her only option?
Suddenly, a booming voice shattered the silence. "Where do you think you're going?"
The morning light filtering through the blinds found Ethan frozen in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, hand hovering on the doorknob. The air in the living room crackled with a tension thicker than fog, radiating from the hulking figure sprawled on the sofa. It was Ethan's father, a man whose back seemed to fill the entire space, even while slumped low. An empty vodka bottle perched precariously on the coffee table beside him hinted at a night darker than Ethan's own anxieties.
"School," Ethan mumbled, the word falling short and hollow under the heavy weight of his father's silence. He shifted, a desperate attempt to break the suffocating tension, but a firm grip clamped onto his wrist, halting him like a fly snagged in a spider's web.
"Did you think I wouldn't hear what happened last night?" The voice rumbled out of his father's chest, each word a tremor shaking the fragile silence.
Ethan's stomach clenched. It wasn't the first time he'd snuck a girl home after curfew, but this time, this time, he'd been caught red handed, left bare before the storm brewing in his father's eyes.
"How dare you bring a woman to my house!" The words exploded, each syllable laced with an icy rage that sent shivers down Ethan's spine. "Do you think this place is some… some cheap playground?"
His father rose, a towering redwood looming over Ethan's small sapling comparatively. Ethan would have retaliated and fought back against his father if not for the fact that his father was also an MMA World Champion. A single smack from him had sent him flying across the living room. it sent shivers down his spine just by remembering it.
"You're a damn lucky bastard," his father hissed, the words barely escaping his gritted teeth. "If not for your mother… if not for her…" the rest of the sentence dissolved into a growl, swallowed by the thunder of unspoken threats.
He stalked towards Ethan, each step a heavy. A fist, corded with years of combat, clenched at his side, knuckles white against the raw skin.
“Aw shit.” Ethan thought. Was he about to have bruises and beating for breakfast again? He didn't know if it was the alcohol that got to him but his father was more agitated than usual this morning. just when he was about to lay his hand to Ethan and give him a severe beating.
*Thud!* *Crump!*
The father got distracted by the loud sound of a thump like a sack of potatoes falling from height coming from the backyard. It sounded like a heavy object had fallen off the ground on their property.
“what the fuck was that!” he turned his attention away. that loud sound must be the girl fell off the second floor. Seeing his chance, Ethan slipped away, melting into the shadows and making a dash for the door. School, suddenly, seemed far more appealing than facing the storm his father had become.
