#putting this aside; portia on switch ran normally for me

[ryllen]

Your one & only job is to lay down for a whole day, after console update & many standing nights, Mint

[thespian-wallflower]

Tough Love (SR! Fanfic)

(14-year-old Portia confides in Will Shakespeare about her abusive father. This takes place in the“Something Rotten!” Frat Boy AU that @wegotbanished and I created together.  TW for child abuse/abuse in general. Requests are open ^_^)

    Strolling down the hallway on the third floor of the apartment building, Will Shakespeare remembered the directions Nick had given him over the phone: Look on the side table for the list of props, and try to locate as many as possible. It wouldn’t be hard, since Nick’s apartment was overflowing with what was, in his eyes, useless junk. Nick was a bit of a pack rat, and he saved everything just in case. Nick couldn’t do it himself because he was out of town with Nigel. The sooner Will could finish the mundane task, the better.

    He turned the corner, when he saw a familiar figure descend down the adjacent staircase. She was small, blonde, and dressed in a loose-fitting black t-shirt and white jeans. When Will noticed that she had huge bags under her usually bright eyes, he knew something was wrong.

    When she saw Will, she froze. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she looked as if she wanted to turn and run.

    “Portia?” he said gently. “Are you alright?”

    Her mouth hung open for a second as she tried to find a proper response. Nothing came. After a moment’s pause, she squeaked out, “No.”

    Even in the dimly-lit hallway, Will could tell that she was trying hard not to cry.

    “Want to talk about it?”

    She wouldn’t look at him, but she nodded.

    “Come with me.”

    He led her down the hall, to Nick and Nigel’s apartment. He pulled out his spare key, shoved it in the lock, and quickly unlocked the door. Portia didn’t say a word.

    Will flicked the switch, and the apartment was instantly illuminated. Blinking in the light, he sat on the familiar couch, and motioned for Portia to join him. She slowly lowered herself onto the cushions, unblinking, not making eye contact with Will.

    “What happened?” he asked gently. His expression was kind, but Portia still refused to look at him. After a moment, she cleared her throat and answered.

    “My father was a little angry with me last night.” Her voice was monotone, and she trembled slightly. She folded her hands in her lap and hung her head, as if in prayer. “Angrier than usual.”

    Trying his hardest to remain calm and supportive, Will could feel his anger rising. Jeremiah Brooks was one of the few people who he truly despised. He was judgemental, angry, and all-around unpleasant. Worse yet, he was this little girl’s father. He often used the teachings of the Bible against his daughter, and Portia was incredibly embarrassed and barely talked about it. Will had nothing against religion, but he understood what it could do to people, especially at a young age.

    He took a deep breath. “What set him off this time?”

    Portia swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat. She played with a strand of her long, blonde hair before replying. “Well, I’ve had a lot of free time since I had my Confirmation last Spring. I do field hockey, but that’s about it. As you know.”

    He chuckled lightly, remembering the day he and Portia had met. “Right.”

    “I’ve always been fascinated by theatre. And I saw an advertisement for the school’s spring musical. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but I wrote down the audition information and took it home to my father.” She nodded, head still bowed.

“Oh, no. I can see where this is going.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

    There was an uncomfortable pause. Will searched for any sign of emotion in the girl’s face, but there was nothing. He fought against the rising hatred for Jeremiah, the man who would make hateful comments when Will would walk around in less-than-typical clothes. The man who screamed at him when Will dropped by with a fundraiser to benefit those with AIDS. The man who despised anything that sparked creativity.

    Eventually, Portia broke the silence. “I showed it to him, and he went nuts. Screaming, saying that theatre is an abomination. I’ve never seen him that angry before.”

    Will’s eyebrows furrowed. “Didn’t the neighbors hear the commotion?”

    She shook her head. “No. Most of the neighbors are just as religious as my father, so they didn’t see anything wrong with what he was doing. And the Bottoms have been out of town all weekend.”

    She nodded, as if to signify the end of the story, but Will could tell that she was still hiding something.

    “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

    For the first time since they had entered the apartment, her gaze met his. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

    He didn’t like the sound of this, but he nodded anyway. “I won’t.”

    Fighting back tears, Portia tugged on the collar of her black t-shirt, exposing her pale shoulder and a large, purple bruise. Will was speechless for a moment.

    “Oh my God,” he mumbled.

    Portia nodded, and Will was amazed that she didn’t cry. She stared straight ahead, as if she was tired and hadn’t slept well in days. She didn’t look down at the bruise. She breathed slowly and waited for a reaction from Will, which she knew was coming.

    Will suddenly rose, his normally gentle, blue eyes blazing with anger. He fought to stay calm. He wasn’t about to lose it in front of this girl, this poor girl who had received that bruise from her father. “I’m going to talk to him.”

    “Please don’t!”

    He marched toward the door, furious.

    Portia ran forward and grabbed his wrist. She was smaller than him, but she was still fairly strong. She tugged him away from the door, the pain in her shoulder causing her to wince. Will glanced over his shoulder.

    “He’s physically abusing you. I can’t stand by and let this happen.” His voice was calm, but it was full of rage.

    “Will, please listen to me. I’ll explain everything.” She pulled on his arm again.

    “You’ve said enough.”

    Not controlling herself anymore, Portia released all of the tears she had been holding in.

    Will was shocked. He had never seen Portia cry before. Not even when she had one of her teeth knocked out during an ice hockey game last winter. He didn’t know what to do.

    “Um, Portia?”

    She didn’t stop crying. Instead, she sat back on the couch and buried her face in her hands. Her original plan was to stay strong in front of him. But she needed someone to talk to (she never cried in front of Jeremiah anymore), and she’d been holding her emotions back for too long. She was just as lost as Will.

    The frat boy struggled to remember how his boyfriend, Nick, would usually soothe him. Whenever he was drunk (which happened often), Nick knew exactly how to make him feel better during his emotional breakdowns. Now, his role had changed. He shifted uncomfortably, listening to Portia’s sobs. After she had calmed down slightly, he slid a bit closer to her and awkwardly placed an arm around her shuddering shoulders. He was careful not to touch the painful-looking bruise, but still attempted to supply a decent amount of comfort. “Shhh. It’s ok. You’re ok.”

    She leaned against him and hugged him tightly, whimpering. It was one of the saddest sounds Will had ever heard. He immediately wrapped his arms around the young girl, pulling her into a hug.

    Aside from the whimpering, the apartment was silent.

    Portia wiped away her tears and looked up at Will, her eyes pleading. “My f-father is the only family I h-have. If you t-tell anyone about this, he… he could…” She trailed off and silently cried, leaning against him.

    “I understand.” Will hugged her again. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

    “He never hits me this hard, usually.”

    “Usually. So it does happen.”

    “Sometimes. But he’s never given me a bruise before.”

    As Will hugged the frightened girl, it occurred to him that this was probably the first time Portia had been open about her father’s physical abuse. She hadn’t even told the Bottoms. Well, Nick was afraid of Jeremiah. Knowing Portia, she didn’t want to drag him into this. And what could Nigel do? He was young and just as fragile as she was. How long had she been keeping this horrible secret?

    He let go of her and looked her in the eyes. She looked away. “You haven’t talked to anyone else about this?”

    Portia shook her head. She dreaded the thought of being separated from her father. It was bad enough that she didn’t have a mother.

    Another awkward silence filled the apartment. Portia noticed that Will was avoiding her gaze, his hands in his lap. When she gave him a puzzled look, he spoke.

    “I wasn’t going to hurt your father, Portia. Really. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

    “I know that.” She managed to smile. “Do you even know how to fight?”

    He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms playfully. “And what is that supposed to mean? You don’t think I’m tough?”

    She giggled. “No. You’re too sweet.”

    Will chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Thanks, kid.”

    Portia giggled again, but her smile faded when she saw Will staring at the bruise again. She lightly traced its outline with her finger. Its deep purple color contrasted her lily-white skin. Will was still furious with Jeremiah, but he did his best to hide it.

    “Portia, I understand that you want to keep this a secret. But I want to help you as much as I can. If you ever need someone to talk to, come to me. Alright?”

    She nodded confidently. “I will.”

    “I’m serious. If he lays a finger on you again, tell me.”

    “Ok.”

    “Promise me.” They locked eyes for a moment, before Will smiled and extended his little finger.

    Portia smiled back, and locked her little finger with his. “I pinky promise, Mr. Shakespeare.”

    “Good.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead in a fatherly way. She turned bright red.

    “So, um, why are you here, anyway? Nick and Nigel are out of town.”

    “I have to find some props for our next production. Want to help?”

    Her eyes lit up. “Yes!”

    “Good.” He rose from the couch. “Talk to me while I rummage through the closet.”

    She sighed. “That’s not really helping.”

    Will opened the closet door. “You’re not here to work. That’s my job.”

    “I guess so.”

    Portia watched him dig around in the closet and put a bunch of miscellaneous items in a pile. An old radio, a comb, plastic cups, fuzzy dice. It all seemed so foreign to her. She tried to picture the random items having significance in whatever show they were putting on.

    “What show are you doing?”

    “Grease.” He didn’t turn around. “Next semester is the big show. It’s our last one with the company.”

    “What’s it gonna be?”

    He pulled out a pair of sunglasses and added it to the pile. “Not sure, but there are a few rumors flying around. There hasn’t been an official decision yet, but Nick and I are hoping it’ll be a good one.”

    “I hope so, too.”

    Portia stayed silent as Will collected all of the necessary props. He threw them into a cardboard box and carried them back to the couch, where Portia was now sitting. She had her shoulder exposed again, and she kept staring at the bruise. Her eyes were starting to glaze over as her fingers kept tracing its irregular outline.

    “It’ll go away.” Will joined her on the couch. “Bruises don’t last forever.”     “Still...” She sighed. “It’s just that… it reminds me of how unpredictable my father can be. It tells a story.”

    Will nodded sadly. He was never abused, but he had his fair share of bumps and bruises (especially after he started drinking), and she was right. They told a story, and were sometimes embarrassing or upsetting. Remembering what happened a week ago in the apartment, he decided to share a quick story with her.

    “You’re absolutely right. And you’re not alone. I’ve had my fair share of those.” He pointed to the healing cut on his lip.

    Portia had noticed this from the start, but she acted surprised just to be polite. “How did that happen?”

    “Oh, y’know.” He shrugged and said nonchalantly, “I busted it open after I passed out in Nick and Nigel’s bathroom.”

    “Are you serious??” Portia’s eyes bulged and her jaw dropped.

    Will nodded in mock sadness. “Shortly after vomiting everywhere. And crying.”

    “What happened?”

    Not about to go into any detail, he simply stated, “I was really, really drunk. And I’ve had the cut for about a week.” He shrugged, and gave an embarrassed smirk.

    “I didn’t realize you had a drinking problem. I’m sorry.” She paused, and WIll could tell that she wanted to ask him about it.

    “What’s on your mind?”

    She hesitated, and then asked cautiously, “How long have you been drinking?” She didn’t want to invade his privacy, but Will had never told her this before. Her curiosity was difficult to contain. Will seemed so perfect. Sure, he was overly dramatic and kind of a rascal, but he was sensitive and lovable. He was also good-looking, talented… the list went on. It was hard to believe that behind those bright eyes, he was in enough pain that he felt the need to resort to alcohol. It terrified and fascinated the girl, and Will was reluctant to explain his reason for it.

    He leaned his head back against the top of the couch, and stared at the ceiling as he spoke to her. “I come from a large family. I’m the oldest of all of my siblings. My parents are good people, but they often put me in charge of my siblings, even when I was younger than you. It was stressful.”

    “Why did they do that?”

    “Hell if I know. They would guilt me into taking care of them. I couldn’t catch a break.” He briefly stretched his arms over his head, and sank deeper into the couch. Portia could tell he was trying to act casual about this.

    She cleared her throat. “So, then what happened?”

    “Well, I purposely picked a college that I couldn’t commute to. And I think I’m enjoying the freedom a bit too much. Once I joined that fraternity, I started drinking. It helped at first, but it’s been getting worse.” He lightly touched the blemish on his lip. “And this is a lovely reminder of my lack of self-control.”

    “Well, it’s not that noticeable. If it helps.”

    He chuckled. “Thanks. But that’s not the point.”

    Portia tilted her head slightly, waiting to hear the connection.

    “Bad stuff is unavoidable sometimes. And it can hurt. And scars can be left behind. Remember that they don’t define you, your attitude toward them does. It’s how you carry yourself.”

    The apartment went silent as Portia reflected on this. Will was right, the bruise hurt. And it would be there for a while. But she promised herself that her attitude would not dampen because of it. She would stay strong, be wary of her father, and trust Will with her secrets. Everything would be fine, for now.