The ride home was silent. Nick realized he had stumbled on the worst kind of Walt. The silent one. He could almost hope for anger, emotions, screaming. But the cool, levelheaded dad sorting through the perfect punishment was worse.

Nick was on edge, even as he tried not to be. The ten-minute drive was a nightmare as he forced his mind to stay away from the flight or fight feeling. Nick fought the urge to go through every worst-case scenario. He tried not to imagine what it’d be like to no longer play CCNC. To roll from a distance until April. He was certain that was punishment number one. There’d be multiple punishments; that he knew. Being picked up at five in the morning from the police station would not go unpunished. Not by Walt.

Walt opened the garage door before easing his car into it. Nick grabbed his things, pretending this was nothing more than a simple trip. If Walt wanted to terrify him by saying nothing, Nick needed to pretend nothing was wrong. Walt was no doubt trying out some psychological warfare, but Nick wouldn’t bite.

Nick left the spray paint in the garage. He grabbed his hoodie and headed into the house, limping as he went. He kept Walt behind him, refusing to be afraid. The exhaustion hit once he entered the kitchen, and he headed toward his room. If Walt wouldn’t talk to him, then he’d go back to sleep.

“Nick.”

His legs froze. It was as terrifying as Officer Hendricks warning him he would shoot. All Walt had to say was his name, and Nick was rooted at the spot.

Nick was so exhausted he didn’t dare speak. At this level of exhaustion, he was bound to let a phrase slip he didn’t want to. Any spark of anger would ignite the air around them, and Nick would be the one left burnt to a crisp.

Nick turned his head ever so slightly, seeing Walt folding his arms and leaning against the kitchen island.

“You ready for your punishment?” Walt asked.

Nick forced air into his lungs, keeping his breathing at a steady rate. Refusing to panic.

Walt took Nick’s refusal as an affirmative. “For the next month, I have your phone.”

Mild, but to be expected. There was no way that was it.

“Today, I shall write up a list of jobs you must do before you go to bed. It won’t be long. No doubt you’re exhausted. But they must be done before you sleep.”

Nick’s fingers curled into fists. Not letting him sleep seemed cruel, but Nick would have to see the length of the chore list. He truly believed Walt would only put a few jobs in there.

“Whatever desire you have to rebel five months before your birthday, I will not let it continue. So, I shall give you three options. For now, you may choose one.” Nick glanced behind him again, not meeting Walt’s gaze, but noticing enough that Walt kept his arms folded, leaning against the island. “First option, you no longer play that role-playing game with that Tyler kid.”

Nick swallowed, already knowing he’d have to choose a different option. With the end of the world, he had little choice.

“Second option, you quit your job.”

Nick’s stomach dropped. “What?”

There was no smile on Walt’s face. “Do you really need me to repeat myself?”

Nick partially turned, opening his mouth. Ready to argue. The words stayed in his throat, choking him. Maybe he was ready to argue, but in his current state of exhaustion, it would turn into screaming.

“I gave you that job, Nick. I can take it away.” The danger in Walt’s voice was clear.

Nick closed his mouth. His own anger settled into him. His future. Walt wanted to take away his future. Nick would have to double check. There was no way the laws could support this. No way could a parent force a child to quit a job. But then again, parents had an insane amount of power over their kids. If Walt decided, Nick would have no choice.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Nick glared at his father. He’d already said too much with the emotions on his face, and Walt studied him with an air of triumph. Triumph that he was getting through.

“And finally,” Walt said, his arms still folded. “I take away the door to your room for as long as you’re living here.”

Nick flinched, and he hated that he did so in full view of his dad. It was the safest option. The option Walt no doubt assumed Nick would pick. It still hurt. God, it hurt. Nick lived in his room. It was his safe space. The only way he could survive under the same roof as Walt. A place he could shut the rest of the world out.

Without a door, Walt could come and go as he pleased. There was no shutting out the world. Walt wouldn’t even knock. He never did. This time there wouldn’t be a door to stop him, either. Walt had already refused to respect his boundaries. And now, with a simple power drill, the illusion of boundaries was gone.

“Make your choice, or I’ll make it for you,” Walt said.

It spurred the words out of his mouth. “The door.”

“What was that?”

Nick got the distinct impression that Walt heard. He just wanted Nick to say it louder. He stared his dad right in the eye. “Damn you, take the door.”

Walt did not smile. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. I gave you three options. If this ever happens again, you may make another choice from the remaining options. If you keep pushing the envelope even after the options are gone…” Walt trailed off before shrugging. “Then there’s a good chance you’ve landed yourself in juvie, and it’ll be out of my hands, anyway. It will be a failure on both our parts, but god knows I’ve tried.” Walt straightened, then patted the dishwasher. “Start unloading. I’ll get you the rest of the chores list after you’ve had breakfast.”

Walt went back into the garage. Nick placed his bandaged arm against the counter, breathing deeply. Trying to keep his cool. Walt reentered the kitchen, and Nick wasn’t strong enough to pretend to be okay. Walt had his bag of tools, heading for Nick’s room. Nick stared at the dishwasher. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to open the dishwasher and start unloading it. All the exhaustion, the adrenaline, it was gone from his body.

His knees trembled, and the only thing keeping him up was his arm braced against the counter. He had done the math. Grizzizzik needed 6,677 more experience points to get his warlock’s level three. Yes, they would fight more often, but the only way they could get that many experience points in a week was if they fought armies every day. Grizzizzik’s experience points would only count for two more days, then Nick would have to do something chaotic again for the rest of the battles to count.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his nausea as the power drill turned on. Even if they found armies to fight every day, Nick would still have to do something chaotic. At least one more time.

“Nick?”

He was too exhausted to jump, but he opened his eyes, blinking a few times to remind himself to stay awake. Evelyn stood there, her eyes wide and worried, the phone clutched in her hand.

“Hello,” Nick said.

“What… what happened?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Nick, what did you do?” Her eyes lingered on his bandaged arms before looking back at him. “Was this Grizzizzik?”

Nick was too exhausted to think of a lie. Too exhausted to do much of anything. Instead, he turned his back on his sister and opened the dishwasher. “Grizzizzik’s made a deal with Chaos. In exchange for me doing chaotic things, Grizzizzik gets to level up in his warlock class. He’s doing this to get a sword strong enough to kill his father.” Those same words, repeated time and time again, caused his throat to react like it had been cut. It closed up, and he felt so isolated and helpless.

Nick gathered up the plates, moving them to the cabinet. Evelyn gave a shaky breath.

“Grizzizzik can’t… do this to you,” Evelyn said. Nick said nothing, having no idea what Evelyn thought he said. “You can’t keep letting Grizzizzik do this to you.”

“Obviously, but no one can hear me.” Nick’s eyes grew warm. “And if I don’t do anything, Chaos will.”

“You have your friends here to support you. Lean on us. You can’t—” Evelyn stopped as the power drill stuttered, before starting up again. “This is dangerous.”

Nick gathered the cups, placing them all on the counter. Evelyn waited, looking distressed. “Nick, are you even listening to me?”

“Way better than you listening to me,” Nick said.

Evelyn frowned, her eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you can’t hear what I’m plainly telling you. I’m stuck, and I can’t get out of this situation unless I let Chaos do what he wants for a week.”

Evelyn folded her arms, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. “So you won’t even say anything?”

Nick felt another wave of exhaustion hit him. This was pointless. These conversations were circular. He was so tired. His eyes were already heavy as he stacked the cups and put them in the cupboard.

“Nick, please. You’re scaring me again,” Evelyn said.

It was so quiet, so vulnerable, that a part of his heart cracked. He knew this would happen. It wasn’t just his reputation with his father he was worried about, but his reputation with his friends. His little sister. No one would trust him after this.

Grizzizzik couldn’t trust anyone, and he made it so no one could trust Nick.

“Please, Evelyn. I’m really tired,” Nick whispered.

Evelyn hesitated. She almost went to touch his shoulder, but stopped. Instead, she turned around and ran to her room. Nick was sure he heard her muffled cry. He closed the cupboard and finished putting away the utensils. Once the dishwasher was unloaded, he grabbed himself a bowl of cereal and collapsed at the table as he listened to his father pull his door off its hinges.