Absence Does Not Always Breed Fondness

!!TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of alcoholism, depictions of child abuse, mentions/allusions of spousal abuse, brief descriptions of choking!!

“What about you, Vince, you got anything fun from your childhood?”

The question wasn’t a surprise, given everyone at the table was sharing fond memories, but Vince still didn’t know what exactly to say to it as his friends leaned in expectantly. His eyes jumped from face to face as his brain worked to form an excuse, his hands pulling his coffee closer to himself. “Uh, I don’t remember much from back then. I don’t really dwell on it,” he said carefully, relaxing slightly when it seemed believable enough for his friends.

Eden had nodded slightly in acknowledgment and shifted the question towards another, Lucas jumping at the chance to take the spotlight. As the sounds of conversation started around him again, Vince’s gaze shifted to the window as his mind began to wander. His excuse was a lie; he remembered a good chunk of his childhood, especially his teen years. Both of which in more detail than he’d prefer. 

He was never fond of his memories of his father.

Don’t get him wrong, they had long since stopped being a triggering subject for him, but it was never a pleasant experience, recalling the bastard that had sired him. Or the mountains of apologies people came up with for him. Or the excuses they made for Vince to still care about him. Or how it brought down the mood of those who took his trauma seriously.

A silent sigh left him as the sounds of his friends faded to a background buzz, and he couldn’t help but slip back into the memories of his past.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m talking! And fix that fucking attitude!” 

Vince winced and shrank away from the yelling man, tears welling up as pain bloomed where his father had hit him. It took a lot to not start bawling as his cheek stung and his lip ached. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth from where the inside of his lip had busted on his teeth from the slap. 

He had only tried to explain his side of the story.

But that was a bit tamer, wasn’t it? Vince had dealt with his father’s random blows constantly from a young age. And he was consistently drunk and angry, wasn't he?

Cowering against the wall, Vince ducked his head and avoided eye contact. His shoulder and hip ached from being thrown into the wall, and his neck hurt where his father had gripped it. Tears slipped down his cheeks as fear filled the boy’s chest and made his body tremble as the man loomed over him. The smell of alcohol clogged his throat, a reminder of every time his father's temper broke, just like now.

Vince had only been trying to sneak his phone. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to, but this was too much. Right?

That was an interesting time. So easily pushed to violence over nothing. What was surprising was the lack of threats spat in his face that night. His father Always had been fond of such a thing.

“Do that again, and I will throw you out of this fucking window,” his father snarled as Vince leaned back as far as he could and struggled to keep his expression neutral. The threats had gotten worse as he had gotten older, and it was hard to keep his own temper in check when his father was spitting in his face and drunk now that he was fifteen.

Breaking bones, beatings, throwing him out of windows. Even threats on his literal life. Vince had heard some variation of it all, and by now, it was getting really fucking frustrating. It was real damn tempting to call the old bastard’s bluff, but he knew better to keep his mouth shut. At best, Vince would probably get a new bruise, and at a concerningly likely worse, his father would act on it.

Did that man even love his child? Sometimes, it had seemed he had only ever wanted Vince for the power trip. Gods, the number of times that bastard practically laughed about being a controlling prick and getting his way. He couldn’t forget the rampant narcissism, either. The damn bastard could never, ever be wrong of all things, and Vince was a child. Of course, Vince was stupid and didn’t know anything at all about anything being talked about in his father’s eyes.

He was honestly surprised his father hadn’t beaten him for being correct when his father wasn’t.

But then again, his mother was the reason he survived that hell, taking the brunt of it when she could. Maybe she stopped him from flashing a hand out anytime he was even slightly inconvenienced when drunk like he always seemed to be. Vince was quite sure that poor woman was the only thing that had kept him from consistent abuse, rather than the spaced-out beatings and semi-common threats. The screaming matches certainly reflected that theory.

“You’re both nothing but ungrateful slobs!” rang through the house, Vince curling up in his bed as he tried to tune out the shouting. He was sure he was fine, the fights much more of a nuisance than anything now, but his door was still blocked off in case. Father Dearest did like to come after him sometimes when his mom was done with his bullshit. Vince was pretty sure it was just to keep the argument going, the asshole always throwing a fit when he wasn’t in control.

Back and forth, back and forth, the argument continued. It was just the same as every time they fought. Father got drunk and angry, and Mom wouldn’t deal with his shit. It often dissolved into screaming matches and Vince was getting sick and tired of it, ignoring the constant fear that curdled his stomach. Usually, the fights stayed verbal, but he didn’t dare forget the nights it turned physical, waking up to his mother’s voice too hoarse for a simple screaming match and her lip busted. 

Honestly, Vince hardly ever got any sleep on these nights, nodding off right as the milky horizon of dawn began to shine through his window.

He never understood why that poor woman ever stayed with his sire. She always defended him, saying he used to be good. That he only was bad when he was drunk. This and that and the other. It always broke his heart to hear her rationalize staying with his father, knowing that each and every time the bastard had hurt or scared her, she forgave him.

His mother had always been a sweet woman and too quick to forgive. It hurt Vince that she didn’t leave his father when things started to really get bad, but he knew she was too good at heart.

Far too good at heart. He would have left his partner at the earliest fucking convenience if they had threatened either his or his child’s life so blatantly.

Vince sat in the car seat, pulling his knees to his chest as he tried to focus on the music that was playing. His mother and a family friend stood outside the window as they spoke to the police. Fear gripped his heart as he stared past them, swallowing thickly. Tears stung his eyes as he thought about what his mother had told him as she ushered him into the car and relayed as it all played out. 

He hunched further over his knees, biting back a sob as he couldn’t stop thinking about what his father had threatened. 

He shouldn’t be this fucking scared of his own father. He should not be afraid that his own father was going to hurt or kill either him or his mother. He should not have to live through this fucking trauma when he knew the fucking drunkard wasn’t even going to fucking remember what he did.

He remembered that far too vividly. If he had to be truly honest, two things still bothered him, even now. Even nearly fifteen years later. And that was one of them. The other one wasn’t as dramatic, but it still was horrifying to even think about.

His lungs screamed as he tried to draw in a breath, but he couldn’t. He could fucking breathe! The hand around his throat seemed to only tighten, Vince grabbing at his father’s fingers to try and loosen them. The man’s face loomed in his vision, anger the only thing visible in his features. His lips moved, but Vince couldn’t process a single thing past the fact he couldn’t fucking breathe. His own father was strangling him. 

What was probably seconds seemed so much longer as he strained to take in a breath before he suddenly could, his mother having shoved his father off of him, screaming that he was choking Vince. He honestly couldn’t pay much attention to the conversation, a hand going to his own aching neck, tears spilling over his cheeks as he took in a deep breath before coughing and retreating to the living room.

Vince honestly didn’t remember much past that from the exchange except for three things: His father showing not a single ounce of remorse and proceeding to taunt Vince about being willing to strangle him to amnesia, the haunting knowledge that his own father is the reason he knew books were wrong, and that his father likely doesn't remember a single fucking thing he did to him that night.

The memory haunted him for years, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it would for many more. But he was okay. He was out of that hellhole. He was safe. 

“Hey, Vince! Get your head out of the clouds!” Lucas crowed, startling him out of his thoughts. 

Vince smiled slightly as he turned his attention to his friends, tuning into a story Felony was telling. 

He had his friends. 

He didn’t dwell on his childhood, but he’d dwell on his present.