Chapter Text
Jay walked down the street, passing through a block of luxury apartments that faded in and out with the luxury houses in the city. You knew you were rich when you had a house. In a city. He turned up to his house, sighing as he opened the gates with his key, turning off the automatic function so as to not be loud. He pushed the gate open a slight crack, before slipping through. He pushed it back to close, and locked it from the other side. He began to walk up the driveway, before looking back at the sidewalk. He could vaguely hear music, which was a few blocks down. Some kids were having a dance off, and he couldn’t help himself but watch.
He loved music. It was happy, it was sad, it was angry, everything and anything you wanted it to be. It was flexible, and he liked that. It had no boundaries, and you could constantly make new things and express yourself without consequence.
Everything unlike his own home.
He opened his phone to silence notifications from the cameras around the outside of the house, and carefully opened the door.
The stench of alcohol and whatever other ugly smells attacked his nostrils, and it took a lot not to gag. He clutched his backpack full of new tools and parts he needed for a project. (Project due to the fact he had no idea what it was. A tinker? An invention?) He looked around for his dad, and he saw him sitting in front of the TV, with some fancy shmancy spirit in hand.
God, how many fans of his he’d lose if they saw him like this.
So… so many.
For somebody who was all about “Publicity this! Publicity that!” he was sure well..
A bum.
After taking another step, he stepped wrong, and the floor creaked. He froze, like a deer in headlights as he felt the gaze of his father. He felt it turn from confusion to rage, and he slowly turned himself to face him.
Even drunk, his dad wasn’t stupid.
“Where did you go.” He growled, and a small shiver went down Jay’s spine. No matter how many times his father reprimanded or yelled at him, he always felt that shiver. Always.
“Jay.” He said, and a bunch of responses came up at once.
Then they all vanished as he was about to pick, leaving him with silence.
He stared at his father, before he got up.
Uh oh
They exchanged absolutely zero words, but instead of yelling, his father raised his hand to smack him, and he braced for impact.
The punch was harsh, pent up rage releasing all at once. He looked at the floor in the direction his face went as the blow hit him, and his father began to yell.
He tuned it all out. It was the usual. How he wasn’t grateful or accepting. How he was a failure, a waste of space, time, resources and money. Cliff threw in a few words about how his mother wouldn’t be proud, which hurt him more than he’d like to admit.
After he felt like his father was finishing, he turned back in.
“-don’t know how I fucking put up with you. Go to your room.” He monotoned.
“Gladly” Jay thought to himself
He walked up the stairs slowly, making sure his father satiated his big fat ego by watching his own son be defeated by his words and actions. When he got to the top of the stairwell, he quickly looked inside the bathroom, clicking on the light. He leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the top of his cheek.
“..that’s going to bruise.” He said to himself, touching it slightly and wincing in pain.
He turned off the light and walked into his bedroom, opening his bag and setting down the parts he needed on his desk and got to work.
—
“Pack your shit” said the voice from Jay's door, startling him and causing him to drop his screwdriver and his project. (Which he had decided was a tinker, due to it being a mechanical bird that flew when you pushed a button)
“What-”
“Pack. Your. Shit.” His father repeated, before walking back into the hallway. He couldn’t think, just managing to stare blankly with his mouth agape at the doorframe. Moments later his father returned with a suitcase, and Jay recognized it as their crappiest one. The zippers were hard to pull, and the handle was screwed on wrong to the point where you could rotate one side of the handle and it would come off from the suitcase entirely. He had tried to fix it, but to no avail. On the inside he remembered there was an unidentified mysterious stain that was dark, and always smelled bad no matter how much cleaner he put on it.
“Where am I-” He began before Cliff cut him off.
“For fucks sake Jay,” He replied, kicking the suitcase about 3 feet in front of him. They had a small staredown for a moment before he came up with a reply.
“With some of your moms old friends. They’ve got the privilege of not knowing you well. Lucky them” He said in something between a snarl and a laugh.
He didn’t let that comment bother him to the point where his father could see that it had affected him. “..For how long?”
“You and the fucking questions!” He barked, stomping over to Jay's closet, opening it without a care for the doors hinges. His closet was filled to the brim of clothes his father had gotten him for “publicity”. Suits, Tuxes, (Which felt like the same thing to him) Designer brands (What was the point of a plain white tee with a fancy logo on it? And the 200$ upcharge?)
He began taking clothes from the closet and throwing them on the floor behind them.
“I’m not going to wear-” He murmured, but his dads supersonic selective hearing caught it before he could even finish.
“Fine, pack yourself.” He snapped before murmuring something to himself. Jay didn’t catch it.
After he left the room, slamming the door behind him, Jay took a minute to process what just happened. So many questions flew through his head.
Where specifically was he going?
Which one of moms friends? Had he even met them?
Why was he leaving?
Well, that one was kind of obvious but the yelling and hitting was normal. What changed?
And most importantly, when was he leaving?
Knowing his dad, as soon as possible.
He went to his closet to find the stuff his mother had bought him when he was little. All he had (that fit him) was a sweater. It was huge on him when he was like 7, but now it fit perfectly. It was a blue sweater with a smiley face patch on the back looking at him. He smiled back, and put it in his backpack due to the fact his father absolutely hated that sweater. He’d wear it on the way once his father was out of sight. He knew damn well he wasn’t coming with him. He looked at his tinker and a wave of anxiety hit him.
Was he even coming back?
This house was all he knew. He didn’t have friends in the city except for the little kids in the homeless shelter near his favorite sandwich shop. And they were kids. He was homeschooled by this prestigious teacher that retired awhile back, in his own fancy house. Mr. Sanderson was nice, but he would go on tirades about the “gay problem” in the city, and his lesbian neighbors.
(God it was absolutely insufferable to listen to)
“What do I pack?” He asked nobody in particular, rummaging through his closet once more. He found the few hidden gems he had got at the mall when his dad was out of town. He used all of the money his dad had given him for the week on these bad boys. He folded jeans, jorts, tees and a few overshirts and sweaters into the suitcase. He didn’t have much, and it only filled half of the suitcase.
He looked at his desk, and saw the little sunflower his mom had welded for him. He smiled and closed his eyes, remembering when she made it.
“What's your favorite flower, blue jay?” His mom asked, holding his hand in a flower shop.
He looked around, squinting his eyes at all the options, and looking back at her.
“What’s yours?”
“Tulips”
“That’s mine too!” He said, wanting to relate to his mother any way more than he already did. She smiled down at him, her beautiful smile that made any man (or woman) melt.
“Come on, what are they really?” she asked, and Jay looked back at the rest of the flowers before his eyes landed on a sunflower.
“That one,” He said, pointing. He liked how tall it was.
“Sunflowers? Those are pretty” She said, taking a plastic pot holding one.
“Like you mama”
She laughed, ruffling his hair with the hand she had used to hold his.
He woke back up, his daydream fleeting from him, and he realized he was holding the sunflower. His mom had welded it for him for a birthday gift, and he had kept it ever since. His father had always opposed it, saying it was “for girls”
His mom had always told him right back that there was no such thing, and that anybody could like flowers.
Jay believed his mom with that kind of stuff, knowing his dad was an ass and she well.. She wasn’t in the slightest.
He put it in his suitcase, wrapping it in a hoodie to make sure it was safe and secure. He went to put all of his tools and parts you couldn’t really find anywhere else but the city unless you wanted to pay way more for shipping than usual in a box, and put that in the suitcase as well.
Jeez he didn’t have much else to pack.
He looked down at his suitcase before remembering that he’d also need socks and briefs, and he put those inside too.
He laughed to himself quietly, as that would’ve been terrible.
He looked at his bed, and saw his favorite stuffed animal (also from his mother) and he held it in his hands before deciding that it didn’t matter if it was childish, he was still bringing it. He put it in his suitcase before shutting it with struggle.
He looked at his backpack before stuffing a picture of (you guessed it!) his mom.
For somebody who was no longer a part of his life, she sure occupied a lot of space.
He put his wallet, headphones, and phone charger (along with his phone) in the bag. He opened his door carefully, creeping to the bathroom to retrieve his toothbrush and hair products. He put those in the bottom of his backpack, rearranging everything so they were at the bottom, assuring full functionality of what he would need on his trip. The hair products were at the bottom of the list, so bottom of the bag. He grabbed his eyeliner pencil, and looked at it for a moment.
His dad was a firm believer that boys didn’t wear makeup, however he had bought him the eyebrow pencil in the first place. He called it “guyliner” and he was unsure how he had even known the phrase to begin with. Cliff had to have been the first man over 20 to ever say that anyways.
He stared at himself in the mirror, and pursed his lips. He felt dreadful about leaving, but he also felt hope even though he knew there would probably be nothing new wherever the hell he was going.
He just hoped it wasn’t as terrible or (worse) than here.