Anonymous said: “I raised you better than this.”
from here
Noah’s trembling the entire two and a half mile walk home from school. Choosing to go to the party instead of studying for a final had been stupid. Fun as hell, but the hangover had been a bitch and any semblance of understanding of the content had been lost to the pounding headache and rolling nausea. And now the C is burning a hole in his backpack, searing hot and heavy against his back. Because his dad is going to know.
It takes three tries to get the key in the lock, he’s shaking so hard. His mom’s car is missing from the parking lot, meaning the forthcoming conversation will be all the more violent. Noah sucks in a shaky breath and pushes the door open. His father appears from the kitchen as Noah is kicking off his shoes. It’s immediately apparent that his dad is in a foul mood. Shit.
“How was school?” A question which Noah has come to interpret as did you fuck up at all today?
“It was fine.” Meaning: no, dad. But Noah makes the mistake of breaking eye contact, shifting his gaze to the stretch of carpet between them. And that means: I’m lying. Noting the subtle tightening of his father’s jaw, Noah takes a half step back. “I, uh, got my midterm grade back.”
No response aside from the slight lift of his father’s brow.
The answer sticks in his throat. “I didn’t fail.”
“Did you get an A?”
Noah hesitates and then shakes his head.
“B?”
Noah just looks down. “C,” he whispers.
“I raised you better than this.”
Noah isn’t even given the chance to apologize before his father is grabbing his arm roughly and dragging him toward the kitchen. His shoulder burns and Noah has to scramble to keep from tripping as he’s dragged down the hallway.
“How about some tea, son?”
Noah shakes his head. Clenches his jaw and takes a breath to prepare himself for the familiar punishment.
“Sit.”
As soon as his arm is released, Noah reaches over to rub at his shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, Noah sits down. Closes his eyes tightly as he listens to the soft clanging of the kettle and slow boiling of the water. The wait is almost worse than the punishment itself. The cheerful humming from his father sends a chill through Noah’s whole body and every muscle is tight. When the kettle starts whistling Noah jumps. Fingers curl around the edges of the seat and Noah has to physically hold himself to the chair to keep from bolting. Breath is already coming in short, quick gasps and his heart is pounding so loudly that Noah is fairly certain his dad can hear it from across the room.
His father approaches slowly, offers a deceivingly gentle smile as he hands the small ceramic mug to Noah, who nearly drops the cup as he accepts it. Heat radiates from the kettle and the moment the water begins to spill from the spout and into the mug, steam swirls through the air.
The mug is half-full and climbing quickly. “Dad--- Dad, wait!” The hot water is already heating the mug and burning into his hands.
“You need to learn, son.” The statement is emotionless, almost casual.
“Dad!” But the water is already spilling over the edges and burning his fingers and it takes everything Noah has to keep from dropping the mug as the boiling water continues to overflow.
