Another one. Another fucking one.
His uncle was going to murder him this time. Literally, murder him. And he'd probably get away with it too. Say it was suicide or something. Say the kid was tired of his life, tired of the torment, and found killing himself to be the better option.
But as he walked up the grungy, old, noisy steps to his uncle's camper, tucked away in the back of a swampy trailer park, he knew he was about to regret the decision. The door creaked as he forced it open, inching quietly into the musty smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol, slipping his shoes off and placing his sock clad feet on the dull, maroon carpet beneath him.
Shutting the door softly, he poked his head around the corner of the hallway, eyes narrowed and searching, landing on the motionless figure of his uncle, beer bottle in hand, head flat against the vintage couch cushions, mouth open and snoring - and drooling too, by the looks of it.
Rolling his eyes in frustration, William hurried off towards his room, ducking past the sleeping form of his uncle and into another corridor, destination in his line of sight, only to be dragged away from him at the sound of a cold, harsh, raspy voice.
"Hey," the groan was loud and biting, "Twink. Is 'at you?"
William closed his eyes, shaking his head in pure dread, before nodding to himself, too weak to turn around and meet the man's eyes, "Yeah."
"Come 'ere," His uncle snapped, grunting strenuously as he lifted himself on the couch cushions, eager to sit upwards and continue watching the show muted on the television screen. William turned around, lips pursed as he took in the sight of his "guardian".
The man was wearing a white tank top, far too small on him, stained with what was most likely splotches of alcohol, chest hair protruding from the low cut collar, legs clad in ripped jeans, of which appeared in need of a good wash. William cringed upon facing him, and decided to simply drop his eyes, adjusting the strap of his black backpack whilst observing the dirty carpeting.
"What's that?" His uncle growled, clearing his throat sternly, glaring at William's skinny, lanky physique, all thin arms and long legs.
"It's nothing, Stan," William spat back, rattling his head from side to side in denial, "Just a couple of stupid guys from school."
"Lift your damn head."
With a sigh, and a wince, Will glanced up at the man that was supposed to be his loving uncle, eyes fierce, expression timid and expecting. Stan let out a sharp laugh at the sight of him, grinning mockingly, nodding his head in approval, grabbing hold of his beer bottle and lifting it to his lips, sipping the rest of whatever was left.
"Why'd they give you that?" He asked, lifting his opposite hand to point sharply at William's eye, bruised and swollen, black and blue and purple.
"You know why," Will admitted, dropping his gaze downwards again, eager to dodge the hateful glare locked onto his entire being, turning his blood cold.
"Because you're a fairy," Stan snapped, bobbing his head in agreement, and chuckling wildly whilst lifting himself up from the couch and stalking over to the indoor bar, a small, cheap little thing with a wide selection. After pouring himself a small glass of whiskey, he hobbled back over toward the cushions, lowering himself slowly down and grabbing hold of the television remote in order to turn on and up the comedic channel's volume.
"Here, Twink," He boasted, reaching forward towards the cigarette packet lying symmetrically along the surface of the coffee table before him, "'Ave one of these."
Removing a smoke, he tossed it at William, of whom quickly caught it, gripping it tightly in the pale palm of his hand. Will shook his head in aggravated amusement, aggravated at both himself and his uncle; his uncle for obvious reasons, himself because he knew he would smoke the cigarette later and it would feel amazing.
"Who knows," Stan spat, smirking widely, bearing his teeth in pure torment, "Maybe it'll make ya straight."