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Hadi and Cyril walk in on Greg's Dad grabbing him just a bit too harshly. They help him treat the bruise.
warning for bruises, child abuse, mentions of death and corpses, blood, & decapitation. if u read the book ur probably fine but better safe than sorry
"I think I flunked the test."
Hadi glances over Cyrils hair to look at Greg. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I didnt understand the majority of the questions on the sheet." Greg says, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. "Half of it I didnt even recognize."
Hadi just furrows his brows. "Is it because of..." He trails off.
"Yeah." Greg confirms what Hadi had been thinking. "It's gotten worse, I think. But..." He sighs. "I don't know."
Hadi and Cyril stop on the sidewalk they'd been walking on to get to Greg's house, and Greg instinctively pauses as well.
"Nothing you've tried to help has worked?" Cyril asks.
"No... well, I don't know. I havent really tried anything." Greg says, running the hand that's not holding on to his backpack through his hair.
"You need to try to find something online tonight, dude." Hadi suggests. "Try anything. If it works, it works. If it doesnt, then no harm done."
Greg supposes Hadi's words ring true, but he still frowns.
What is he supposed to do, anyway? He's pretty sure remembering something bad that happened to you is something everybody goes through. Besides, even if he did try to search for a solution online, what is he supposed to search?
'How to stop remembering how an evil dog that loved you too much killed your crush, bit off your uncles finger, and killed his neighbors dog and delivered their corpses to your front door in class so you can focus and stop flunking'
Yeah. It sounds as crazy as he thought it would. Another thing hes sure of is that what he went through wasn't normal. And normal problems don't have normal solutions that you can find on Google.
"I'll try." He says anyway, because at this point, he's willing to try anything.
It's not that he's not smart enough. He's had good grades all of his life. He likes science, and with science comes math, and like his friends and the other kids always like to say, if you actually like math, then you're a nerd. And if you're a nerd, then you're really smart.
It rings true, he guesses. But that's not what's holding him back, anyway. It truly is just that he doesnt know. If you asked him, Greg couldn't tell you what was taught in any of his classes yesterday. Or today, for that matter.
He can't stop seeing visions of the bloody, beige sheet sitting in front of his bathroom door, or the neighbors dogs organs spilling out onto his front porch beneath his eyelids in the middle of class. And with that comes missing every single word said by his teacher as he desperately tries to send the memories away.
It's taking its toll. The fact that it happened at all is already bad enough, the fact that his failure is always plastered against every wall of his mind, pushing through every thought to remind him of the dog, finger, or person he couldn't save...
Kimberly's parents moved away. His neighbor got a new dog. A cute, fluffy brown dog that reminds him too much of him. Uncle Dare still talks about 'The Magic Finger Of Luck', and Greg still desperately tries to shove away the memories before they creep back up on him every time he does.
Hadi and Cyril are the only other people that know, and they try their best to help him, even though they didnt see what he saw.
"Let's go." Cyrils voice rips Greg out of his thoughts. "Let's get to your house so we can help you study."
Greg rubs his eyes again, but he's thankful that his friends are willing to help him get caught up so he doesn't get into even more trouble.
"Okay." He says, and it's not long before they get to Gregs house.
Greg tries not to look down when he steps onto the walkway leading to his front door, and eventually his 'welcome friends' mat, and just uses his keys to unlock the door.
The car in the driveway goes unnoticed as Greg steps into the house, Hadi and Cyril caught up in some hushed discussion behind him, but he pays it no mind, just kicking off his shoes and slinging his backpack off of his shoulder to bring it to his room upstairs.
He gasps harshly when a hand suddenly grabs at him, fingers curling around his forearm tightly.
He tugs on instinct, and he can hear Hadi and Cyril have gone silent behind him.
The hand tugs back. Greg finally forces his head to swivel to see who the culprit is.
His Dad stares back at him, something angry in his eyes with a sneer on his face.
Greg immediately knows what's going on.
His Dad doesn't usually bother him, only when he does something he doesn't like, or... sometimes what he doesn't do.
But Greg was sent to the principal's office today because of how much his once perfect school performance had plummeted in such a short amount of time, and...
Crap. Why did he not realize this sooner?
He glances back to the front door, where Hadi and Cyril hang back, a confused expression on their faces as they duck behind the frame of the doorway.
He almost curses. That's not good. He doesn't want his friends too see this. He doesn't want them to know. Not yet at least.
He would be worried that his Dad would be mad he isn't gracing him with eye contact, but he hasn't respected his Dad enough to look him in the eye in years.
He would be an idiot to not expect this from him by now.
The iron grip on his arm squeezes a bit tighter, and Greg instinctively wraps a hand around the free part of his wrist, a grimace twisting on his face.
"The school called today." His Dad says, confirming exactly what Greg assumed. He looks down at him with slitted eyes, his gaze cold and angry. "They say that you've been slacking in class, son."
Greg doesn't say anything. Just stares at the ground besides his arm. What is he supposed to say, really? 'Sorry, Dad. I've been slacking because I can't stop being haunted by the evil robot dog that killed Kimberly and ate Dare's finger, so I can never pay attention.'
He thinks his Dad would lose even more respect for him, but realistically, Greg knows that isnt possible.
Dad grips his arm even tighter, his nails digging into Greg's skin, and Greg cant bite down the grimace that stretches across his face.
"Nothing to say to that, huh?" His Dad taunts.
Suddenly, Greg's arm is tugged harshly, and he has to try really hard to not stumble and fall to the ground as his Dad yanks him forward.
"I will not have a deadbeat delinquent for a son." Dad whispers harshly into Greg's ear. Greg furrows his brows and tugs on his arm instinctively as his back twinges, but all he gets from it is another tug from a titanium hold.
"You will fix your grades, and your mistakes." His Dad tells him, hes not asking. He's ordering him. Telling Greg what to do so confidently, because he knows Greg will always do what he says, no matter how much it makes Greg bristle for acting like an obedient dog.
(Not a dog. Never a dog.)
His Dads hot breath is harsh on his face, and Greg makes a face when he starts speaking again.
"Maybe then you'll be good for something."
Gregs Dad gives his arm one last agonizing squeeze that almost makes Greg cry out from the pain. He can feel something give, or twist, or something from his Dad's white knuckled grip, but then, he finally releases him, sending Greg stumbling for footing.
It's only after hes gathered purchase that he becomes painfully aware of his arm. Its pulsing, each wave sending an electrifying ache of pain down his forearm, and he can feel some stinging from where his Dads fingernails no doubt broke some skin.
Greg peeks at his Dad through his curtain of blond wavy bangs, and doesn't even bother trying to hide the way he grits his teeth when his Dad is staring at him with the same look Greg is so used to.
Disappointment, indifference, and a third thing Greg could never put his finger on, but he's pretty sure is hatred.
Greg should be used to this by now. He is used to it. The way his Dad has never celebrated anything Greg has ever done, and the way his Dad has always told him he'll never be good enough.
Just like the other times, he scolds himself for the way his chest tightens and hurt stabs at his heart.
He's used to it. Has been for years now.
So why does he still let it get to him?
Hadi and Cyril apparently decided now was the right time to walk in. They step next to Greg, Cyril hovering, not too confident in the same presence as Greg's father, but Hadi puts a steadying hand on Greg's shoulder. Comforting, and in solidarity. Its almost like it tells him I'm on your side.
Nothing like the white knuckled grips of his Dad after he had a bad report card, or he got in trouble with the neighbors, or Greg would watch documentaries a little too loud up in his room and disturb his Dads work.
"Hello, Mr. Smith." Hadi says, his tone cold and accusing. "We just came to help Greg study."
Greg almost bristles at Hadi's confidence, at his bravery, but Greg gets one look at his Dad, who's staring at Hadi and Cyril with something Greg has only seen on his Dads face a few times.
Fear.
His Dads never been caught by anyone but his Mom before.
Hadi and Cyril don't hang around for his Dad to come up with an excuse. For him to try his hardest to erase what Hadi and Cyril weren't supposed to see from their minds. They push Greg up the stairs, and even when they're almost all the way up, where the light doesn't hit, he doesnt need to see. He can feel his friends concerned eyes on his back.
He ignores the familiar twinge in his gut and the ache of his heart as Hadi and Cyril follow him into his room, where he collapses onto his bed as soon as it's in sight.
Theres a stretch of silence after Cyril shuts and locks the door. Nobody says anything, and Greg is thankful. He's not ready for his friends inevitable concerned questions.
He never even wanted them to know up until recently, after... you know. When he stopped wanting to hide things from his friends. It isn't a big deal, really. His Dad is nothing he can't handle, if the fact that he knows how to use makeup to cover bruises and knows how to make them stop hurting is any indication.
But his father already looks at him with pity enough, like he's a small, pathetic bug that will never be enough to achieve greatness. Even though it wouldn't be the same, he doesn't want his friends to look at him the same way.
Theres another beat of silence as Greg just lies on his bed, his good arm slung over his eyes as he wills himself to stop feeling like crap.
The silence is broken by Cyril.
"...You never told us your Dad was..." He trails off.
"Like that." Hadi finishes. Greg finally let's his arm slide off of his face to sit up to face his friends. It's a little difficult with his still throbbing, sore arm, but he manages.
"How long has this been going on? How long have we not known?" Hadi asks, and he moves from his spot in the middle of Greg's room to step up to the bed, looking Greg straight in the eyes. "We could have helped."
Greg doesn't say anything, just heaves out a sigh as his body deflates a bit, but he tenses right back up at Cyrils next words.
"W-We need to tell somebody." He says, brows furrowed and eyes darting to the door like Greg's Dad will suddenly decide to mow it down to murder them all. "I mean... right?"
"No!" Greg springs up, eyes wide as he holds a hand out to Cyril. He doesn't mean to sound so desperate, but he does. "Just... no."
"Why?" Hadi asks, and Greg turns to look at him again. "He hurt you, Greg. And this isn't like last time, where nobody would believe us if we told somebody."
Greg knows exactly what 'last time' Hadi is talking about. Last time, Greg had to lie to the polices face about Kimberly's death, because if he had told the truth, he would surely be somewhere else entirely right now.
He shakes the thoughts away. "No, Hadi. It'll just make things worse."
Hadi doesn't look convinced, just staring at him with almost smothering concern, and Cyril still looks on edge, more scared than Greg himself, even though Greg was the target of his Dads aggression.
"Its nothing I can't handle." Greg insists, offering his friends a smile. "My arm isn't that bad." He holds out the arm in question to show them it's fine, but he can't stop the way his brows pinch when another wave of soreness washes over his arm when the skin stretches.
Hadis eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Your arm!" He exclaims, and dives for Greg's arm so fast hes afraid he'll grab ahold of it like his Dad did, but he slows down at the last second, instead taking it and holding it gingerly in his hands.
Greg's brain takes an embarrassing amount of time to catch up while Hadi rolls up his jacket sleeve, sucking in a harsh breath when the place his Dad grabbed becomes visible.
Greg himself finally takes a look, and he too gasps at the sight.
It's worse than he thought. Theres a nasty, swelled up imprint on his arm in the shape of a hand, fingerprints curled around his forearm like a snake coiled around and squeezed. The area is a nauseating reddish-purple with flecks of blue and green, with the area underneath having red, inflamed, crescent shaped punctures with a small bit of dried blood around the edges.
Greg's mouth twists into a grimace, and although he himself isnt too worried about it, Hadi looks like somebody just died right in front of him.
Cyril squeaks when a door slams below them, muffled and faraway, and Greg can see him slightly relax when they all come to the conclusion that Greg's Dad just left the house.
Hadi startles when he remembers what's really important.
"Come on." He says quietly, because he's mildly horrified or because he wants to be comforting, Greg doesnt know. But he appreciates it all the same. "Let's go fix your arm up."
Greg just nods. He's gonna have to fix it up at some point, anyway. And probably cover it up with some of his Mom's makeup before school tomorrow, but if helping Greg bandage his arm is what makes his friends feel better, Greg isnt going to complain.
Hadi doesn't let go of his loose grip on Greg's wrist, just below his bruise, instead, he just leads him to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.
"We have to ice it, first." Greg says, and he tries to ignore the heat on his face when Hadi doesn't let go even when they're out the door. "There's some zip-locks in the drawer we can put some ice in."
Hadi and Cyril both look a little sad at the fact that Greg knows the steps, but they nod nonetheless.
"Okay." Hadi pauses. "I'll go get that, and you go sit in your room while Cyril finds some bandages."
Cyril nods at the task given to him (Not a task. Never a task.), while Greg sputters.
"My legs arent the thing that's bruised, you know." Greg says. "And I still have a good arm."
"You're hurt." Is all Hadi says, pausing at the mouth of the stairs while Cyril heads down to find bandages. "Just let us help you, dude."
Greg bites the inside of his cheek, but relents. "Okay."
Hadi smiles at him before heading downstairs, and Greg averts his eyes before he can stare for too long.
He heads back to his room and waits on his bed, resting his arm on a throw pillow, and he's only been waiting for a few minutes when Hadi and Cyril come back through the door.
Hadi shuts the door behind him when they both enter the room, Cyril setting down a roll of bandages next to the throw pillow. Hadi walks over to where Greg is sitting on the bed and holds the ice pack over Greg's arm, hovering.
"You ready?" Hadi asks him.
Greg's shoulders loosen a bit at Hadis soft words, even though he didnt realize he was tense at all. "Ready."
Hadi doesn't beat around the bush any longer. He sets the ice pack on the nasty, purple area on Greg's arm and holds it there.
Greg would be lying if he said he didnt wince at the pain that was sent through his arm like an electric current at the ice packs pressure, but he bites down any other sign of being uncomfortable, and when Hadi and Cyril look at him with concern, he just smiles for them.
He doesn't want them to worry. He really is alright, after all.
"So... how long do we keep it on for?" Cyril asks.
"Twenty minutes on and off." Greg says. "That's what Google says."
Hadi and Cyril just make that sad face again, and Greg resists the urge to comment on it.
They're just worried. He has no reason to get angry at them for that. He can ignore his self pity, he just want to appreciate that his friends care this much.
The forty minutes go by fast, the only buffer being taking the ice pack off after twenty. Its been silent most of the time. They're all just... thinking, he supposes. Nobodys really in the mood to joke around after what had happened.
"I'm going to get rid of this." Cyril says, holding up the homemade ice pack that's just a bag of lukewarm water at this point. "I'll be right back."
Greg and Hadi both nod, both knowing that Cyril is just using the ice pack as an excuse so he doesnt need to be there for when the bruise is uncovered for the world to see.
He's always been a bit squeamish.
Cyril heads downstairs, and this time, Hadi doesn't ask. He just waits for Greg to offer his arm out and begins bandaging.
Theres a stretch of silence as Greg just watches Hadi hold Greg's arm delicately, like its porcelain glass, and wrap it with the fresh white bandages. But eventually, the silence is broken.
"Why do you not want to tell anybody?" Hadi asks out of the blue. Greg startles, glancing up at Hadi when he pauses bandaging for a moment. "Your Dad. He hurt you."
"I know." Greg says, staring at his lap. "It wouldn't solve anything."
"How?" Hadi asks incredulously. He continues bandaging, and when he wraps a little too harshly, at Greg's wince, his eyes soften and he takes a deep breath, slowing down. "I mean... people could help you."
"You're helping me. And Cyril." Greg smiles, but it's gone as quick as it came. "It would be more trouble than it's worth. I can handle a few bruises," He gestures to his arm with his good hand. "And..."
He trails off. Hadi slows down with wrapping, just looking at him questioningly. "What kind of trouble?"
"...Money." Greg says simply. "And my Mom. If my Dad were to be separated from us, well... he's our main source of income, and me and my Mom would probably have to move, and that means leaving you guys."
Hadi is silent, just tucking the end of the bandage underneath the surface layer to hold the bandage in place.
"Its too many things that would go wrong." Greg says, flexing his newly bandaged forearm, then letting it drop.
"...I dont know if I could stand being away from you guys." Greg confesses, staring at his lap with furrowed brows and playing with the hem of his jacket. "I mean... after what happened with Kimberly, and-- and--"
"I get it." Hadi interrupts, and Greg is silently thankful. He doesn't look up to meet Hadi's eyes, not until Hadi takes the hand of his injured arm and laces their fingers together.
Greg whips his head up so fast it could be equal to the speed of light, and Hadi laughs at him.
"I won't tell." Hadi promises, finally meeting Greg's eyes. They're a deep, almost royal blue, not too different from Greg's own, and he has to fight to not look away. "I promise. I'll tell Cyril too."
Greg can feel a weight be taken off of his shoulders when a burden he didn't even realise he was carrying is lifted away. "Thank you."
Hadi doesn't speak for a moment, just staring at Greg's comforter, but then, he shifts, and Greg is immediately made hyper aware again of his own hand interlocked with Hadis.
"But you have to promise you'll let us help. Dont hide from us," Hadi says, squeezing Greg's hand to make him look him in the eye. "okay?"
"Okay." Greg promises. And he really means it, too. It's nice to finally not have to hide things from his friends anymore. Especially after... him, Greg doesn't want him and his friends to be strangers towards eachother.
They went through that together. They were his only allies. Even if Greg was really the only one truly involved, that just makes his friends sticking by him that much more meaningful.
He doesn't want to hide things from them anymore. Maybe this wasn't exactly the way Greg wanted them to find out about his Dad, but it's done now, and Hadi and Cyril had done everything they could to make him feel safe and comfortable.
Hadi is still staring at him, and when Greg catches a glimpse of his face, partially obscured by his mop of wavy blond hair in his mirror, he can see pink dusting his cheeks.
Cyril suddenly peeks into the room from the doorway.
"...Are you done yet?" Cyril asks. He seems to have come to the conclusion that neither Greg nor Hadi were fooled by his excuses and gives up with the charade.
Hadi slips his hand out of Greg's, but it's okay. They both just look at eachother and laugh.
Cyril steps into the room and says something, but Greg doesn't hear it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
What makes yanderemorphs such a threat is how strong they become after they’ve turned. Even the frailest of darlings are able to throw tables with one hand. Legend has it that not even getting shot in the head deterred a yanderemorph in 1946.
Some countries, mostly D-centric ones, are researching a cure for yanderemorphism, but so far that hasn’t been any luck.
This particular one, Pyotr, just got rescued from his yandere, hence the fresh bruising.
