Chapter Text
A crack in the wall is only the start.
It hadn’t always been like this. It wasn’t like this before his mum left. Tommy remembered family dinners and movie nights that only consisted of smiles and happy memories. It was a long time since he had seen his dad smile now. It was a long time since he had seen his mum.
Tommy’s parents had been high school sweethearts, together since his dad was 15 and his mum was 16. They had gotten Tommy when she was 17, and his dad had just turned 16. It wasn’t planned but they were happy. They seemed happy.
They got married a week after his mum’s 19th birthday, Tommy, at the time 2, appearing with a cute little button-up and brown overalls.
Neither of them pursued higher education, instead focusing on their little family. They moved into a small flat in the outskirts of Nottingham, and they were happy.
His dad worked as a cashier in a Tesco, while she worked part-time in a coffee shop. She would spend her time at home with Tommy, looking after the household or writing. It had always been her passion to be an author.
When Tommy was 5 his dad had been promoted to store manager and his mum worked full time as a receptionist in a local hotel. His parents weren’t home at the same time anymore. His dad worked during the day, and his mom during the night. She was tired most of the time, dismissing Tommy when he would run to her with questions or books and toys.
When Tommy was 6 they moved to a small house. Their furniture was secondhand and they didn’t have the money to renovate. But their smiles were genuine when they were handed the keys. His dad pressing a soft kiss on his mum's cheek while Tommy left to explore the new house. Their new home.
When Tommy was 7, his mum was 24. She was just fired, tired and frustrated. His dad was still only a store manager and it was getting tougher and tougher to live off of his salary alone. They didn’t seem happy anymore.
When Tommy was 7, there was no more family time. His parents didn’t talk anymore, but he would often hear shouting matches through the walls. He had made a habit of curling up in the corner of his bed and hugging his Teddy when this happened. Silent tears would stream down his cheeks, leaving wet spots on his pillow.
When Tommy was 8 his mum left them in a fit of rage. Tommy was upstairs, shaking violently as he heard something break downstairs. It sounded like glass. He could hear the yelling. His mum was screaming about her lost opportunities, what she had to drop for them, that she never wanted this. They couldn’t pretend to be happy anymore.
Tommy was 8 when he ventured downstairs to find his dad broken. Curled up in an armchair with cans of beer by his side. He was no longer awake, but he still reeked of alcohol. The TV was still on, currently running a program he didn’t recognize.
Tommy was 8 the first time his dad hit him. It hadn’t been on purpose, not really. His dad smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, the cigarettes being a new hobby he had picked up. His dad had some of his new friends over. He had met them at a local bar. They were playing poker while laughing loudly and calling each other profanities. Tommy had come downstairs, quietly mumbling a question. His dad hadn’t liked the disruption, turning his head to look at Tommy with bloodshot eyes, clearly filled with rage. His stubble had grown quite a bit and he looked nothing less than scruffy.
With controlled anger, his dad had asked him what he wanted. A pause between every word with stress on every syllable. Tommy had just been hungry, he came to ask for food. In a fit of rage his dad had hit him, slapped him across the face. It stung like hell and Tommy could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he hugged his Teddy harder.
His dad had frozen in place, not quite registering what had just happened. A flash of regret shortly painted his face until he heard his friends laugh. Then his dad's face had twisted into a sickly looking grin as he laughed in Tommy's face and violently ruffled his hair. Tommy was told to go get something from the fridge himself as his dad sat down again and continued the game.
Tommy was 8 when he got scared of walking in his own house.
Tommy was 9 when he grew up. He couldn’t afford to be a child any longer, after all he had no guardian, at least not one who acted like one.
When he was 9, he had learned to make food for himself. It wasn’t really making anything, just taking a little of what they had. He was careful not to take too much, not to make the missing food too noticeable. They were short on money, noticeable so, and his dad would get mad anytime he saw anything missing. His dad’s pattern of not being home at night made it easier on Tommy.
When Tommy was 9, it was a daily occurrence to check for bruises and hide them as best as he could.
When Tommy was 9 he no longer doubted why his mum left them. It was his fault. They had been happy without him. They had been good until he came along. He restricted them, pulled them down, made them unhappy. It was his fault.
When Tommy was 11, he was officially deemed a problem child. He knew long before then, his dad made sure to tell him, but his school started to have the same train of thought around then. And truth be told it was Tommy’s fault. He couldn’t pay attention in class, he would talk back to his teachers or not answer at all, he would get into fights with the other older kids. There wasn’t really much of a fight, an 11-year old couldn’t do much when they were up against 4 13-14-year-olds. He still got told off and he still got blamed. It seemed incredibly unfair, but deep down a little voice would question him if that weren’t really his fault too. If he hadn’t been so annoying, hadn’t sought out the violence, then it wouldn’t have happened.
On Tommy’s 12th birthday he got locked outside in the shed for the first time. It wasn’t the first time his movement had been restricted, he had been locked in his room for days before then and would therefore always keep water and food stashed away beneath his bed, in his closet and in his pillows. Tommy didn’t have any of this in the shed and a crashing wave of panic had sent him to the ground. He didn’t know how long he was forced to stay out there and as the time crept closer and closer to midnight he got colder and colder.
He found an old used dirty blanket in the corner and shivered up underneath it. It had been covered with brown leaves and spider webs but it was much better than freezing to death. It was impossible to sleep with his breathing irrationally fast in the cold spring night, instead, he tried to calm himself down, ground himself. Remind himself that he deserved this, it was his fault.
His fault.
It was all his fault.
He made his mum leave.
He caused this.
As Tommy turned 13 he got an old setup from an old family friend. One that had been around before everything went to shit, before he made his mum leave.
It wasn’t anything fancy, it really wasn’t. If it had been worth anything his father would have sold it. It was only an old laptop with a beat up camera and a fucked up mouse. But it was Tommys, for now, and he appreciated the hell out of it.
He soon began streaming, slowly growing a small following online.
Tommy was already used to hiding his bruises, it wasn’t that different having to hide them on camera. It was actually easier, with the camera quality being so bad.
For a bit, he could feel alright. He could play his games, without thinking of his father. He wouldn’t walk in when Tommy was streaming. But it still wasn’t risk-free. Although his father wouldn’t walk in on the stream, he would beat Tommy up after if he had done something wrong. Sometimes Tommy would have to stop the stream earlier, after all a light beating now was better than a heavy one later.
And it was a long time since he had learned his father wouldn’t forget. The beating would just get worse and worse as time passed and the aggression pent up.
When Tommy was 14 he had been locked out of the house and out of the shed with a threat to never return. He had stayed outside in the yard for two days before being let in again, and experiencing a heavy beating, leaving him with a black eye and rendering him unable to go to school or stream for the near future.
He should realise how lucky he was to be locked in the shed. He was sheltered from rain, wind and other weather while simultaneously having a little stash of food hidden away. His dad couldn’t get to him. It was almost too kind. He deserved way worse. Afterall, it was all his fault.
When Tommy was 15 he picked up the razor for the first time. Watched the blood drip for the first time. Found relief in something again.
When Tommy was 16 something good finally happened. He was added to a Minecraft server with his closest friends.