Vincente Rikke 'Rik' Soeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riff_razor) wrote2021-03-23 03:24 pm
riff_razor) wrote2021-03-23 03:24 pm
A Bird with a Broken Wing
(Trigger warning for discussion of child abuse.)
Rik stood in his room and sighed before slumping on his bed. At least they had stopped beating on his door. The insults had stopped too. He'd been hearing them all day; failure, waste of money, throwing everything away, worthless, that they should have had a better son. A better person, someone he wasn't. The degradation hurt. As a child it seemed to be encouraging. Like they were pushing him to be the best at everything but he was growing to realize they were a cage. He had to be their boy, doing what they wanted and living the future that would make them look good.
He'd had enough. Only a couple days ago it had become too much when his father had found out he used the money he won in a piano competition to buy a guitar. They treated it like a disease that had ruined who he was. They had given him ultimatums, then revoked them, insulted him until he broke and then cut in when he was vulnerable. It was left to his parents or his heart.
Getting up he grabbed his guitar and case, zipping it in roughly then rummaging in his closet for a bag. He found an old shoulder bag and threw a few things in it. Clothes mostly, a few pictures, a couple other things and then closed it. Then he sat down between them and buried his face in his hands. There was no choice really. The pressure became too much. Nothing was ever good enough. He never did enough for them to brag about despite being the top of his class in University on several instruments. He could go now to an orchestra and probably get a job as a teenager but that wasn't enough. He wasn't known enough.
Maybe that is why he went to a rock band. If you made it big then everyone knew you. Rik had thought maybe, just maybe that would be enough. Enough prestige, enough bragging rights, enough for them to show off to their rich friends. It wasn't. Everything had gone the other way. His parents hated him more for becoming a member of a delinquent group and abandoning respectable music work.
Another sigh escaped. At least it was between semesters. He had a month to work things out before studies had to be paid for and would consume his time again. He shouldered his bag and stopped. Opening it back up he pushed his flute case in among his clothing. slung the bag and his guitar on his shoulder, then picked up his violin. The weight just drove home how ridiculous everything had become. Most of the weight he was carrying was for music and yet he was told to leave for not taking it seriously. Stepping out of his small room he walked toward the front of the house but hopes were not to be.
"Where are you going?" The voice was raw and angry.
Rik stopped and turned to look at his father but then turned to keep going. He needed out of this. "I'm going to stay with a friend."
He wasn't. He didn't know where he was going to stay. When he got down to Frederiksberg surely one of his classmates, some were friend he guessed, would put him up for a few weeks while he found some work. He was too young and they would pay him less but what choice was there?
"So, you're going to die on the streets with those drug punks and abandon mum and I after spending all the money on you?"
Rik didn't stop. There was more after that but he tuned it out as he stepped out the door and started walking. He didn't look back, Didn't want to see or hear anything any more. He walked right down to the payphone several blocks away and made a call.
"Ollie? Can I crash on your couch for a few days?"
The voice on the other end was full of worry and the shuffling sound of someone trying to hold a phone and put on shoes. Then he hung up and waited. It wasn't long before a car pulled up, beaten up but running well. The older man in the driver's seat staring between the boy on the side of the road and the one in his passenger side.
"Thank you Mister Thomsen." Rik couldn't look up at his friend's father while he climbed in with his few things.
"No need." Mr Thomsen was looking at him through the review mirror but Rik kept his head down. He was ashamed of the bruises on his face. There had been bruises before but not on his face. Not like this one. "You ok kid?"
Rik just nodded behind his hair and tried not to cry. He hadn't cried through the whole ordeal. Why was it starting now when others were around.
"We're just going to have dinner. You can come eat with us. Nothing fancy like your family but the miss is good." The older man told him as they started to drive. It was quiet for awhile and Rik caught his breath felt a little better.
"Is that why you left?" It was Ollie's father speaking. "Your father do that to you?"
His hand reflexively came up to touch the puffy right eye that his hair had been covering and the purple trailing down onto his cheek where it became a red violet color. The mark stark against his pale skin and hair. All the could do is nod and look away. He didn't want to talk about it. He heard the heavy sigh up front and ignored it. He just wanted everything to go away and leave him be for once.
Rik stood in his room and sighed before slumping on his bed. At least they had stopped beating on his door. The insults had stopped too. He'd been hearing them all day; failure, waste of money, throwing everything away, worthless, that they should have had a better son. A better person, someone he wasn't. The degradation hurt. As a child it seemed to be encouraging. Like they were pushing him to be the best at everything but he was growing to realize they were a cage. He had to be their boy, doing what they wanted and living the future that would make them look good.
He'd had enough. Only a couple days ago it had become too much when his father had found out he used the money he won in a piano competition to buy a guitar. They treated it like a disease that had ruined who he was. They had given him ultimatums, then revoked them, insulted him until he broke and then cut in when he was vulnerable. It was left to his parents or his heart.
Getting up he grabbed his guitar and case, zipping it in roughly then rummaging in his closet for a bag. He found an old shoulder bag and threw a few things in it. Clothes mostly, a few pictures, a couple other things and then closed it. Then he sat down between them and buried his face in his hands. There was no choice really. The pressure became too much. Nothing was ever good enough. He never did enough for them to brag about despite being the top of his class in University on several instruments. He could go now to an orchestra and probably get a job as a teenager but that wasn't enough. He wasn't known enough.
Maybe that is why he went to a rock band. If you made it big then everyone knew you. Rik had thought maybe, just maybe that would be enough. Enough prestige, enough bragging rights, enough for them to show off to their rich friends. It wasn't. Everything had gone the other way. His parents hated him more for becoming a member of a delinquent group and abandoning respectable music work.
Another sigh escaped. At least it was between semesters. He had a month to work things out before studies had to be paid for and would consume his time again. He shouldered his bag and stopped. Opening it back up he pushed his flute case in among his clothing. slung the bag and his guitar on his shoulder, then picked up his violin. The weight just drove home how ridiculous everything had become. Most of the weight he was carrying was for music and yet he was told to leave for not taking it seriously. Stepping out of his small room he walked toward the front of the house but hopes were not to be.
"Where are you going?" The voice was raw and angry.
Rik stopped and turned to look at his father but then turned to keep going. He needed out of this. "I'm going to stay with a friend."
He wasn't. He didn't know where he was going to stay. When he got down to Frederiksberg surely one of his classmates, some were friend he guessed, would put him up for a few weeks while he found some work. He was too young and they would pay him less but what choice was there?
"So, you're going to die on the streets with those drug punks and abandon mum and I after spending all the money on you?"
Rik didn't stop. There was more after that but he tuned it out as he stepped out the door and started walking. He didn't look back, Didn't want to see or hear anything any more. He walked right down to the payphone several blocks away and made a call.
"Ollie? Can I crash on your couch for a few days?"
The voice on the other end was full of worry and the shuffling sound of someone trying to hold a phone and put on shoes. Then he hung up and waited. It wasn't long before a car pulled up, beaten up but running well. The older man in the driver's seat staring between the boy on the side of the road and the one in his passenger side.
"Thank you Mister Thomsen." Rik couldn't look up at his friend's father while he climbed in with his few things.
"No need." Mr Thomsen was looking at him through the review mirror but Rik kept his head down. He was ashamed of the bruises on his face. There had been bruises before but not on his face. Not like this one. "You ok kid?"
Rik just nodded behind his hair and tried not to cry. He hadn't cried through the whole ordeal. Why was it starting now when others were around.
"We're just going to have dinner. You can come eat with us. Nothing fancy like your family but the miss is good." The older man told him as they started to drive. It was quiet for awhile and Rik caught his breath felt a little better.
"Is that why you left?" It was Ollie's father speaking. "Your father do that to you?"
His hand reflexively came up to touch the puffy right eye that his hair had been covering and the purple trailing down onto his cheek where it became a red violet color. The mark stark against his pale skin and hair. All the could do is nod and look away. He didn't want to talk about it. He heard the heavy sigh up front and ignored it. He just wanted everything to go away and leave him be for once.