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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

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Group Whumpees 7: Home

CW: transphobia, shitty family relationships, alcohol and binge eating as a coping mechanism, death ment., slavery, aftermath of abuse, multiple whumpees

Tag list: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

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Galo wasn’t entirely sure of what he expected to happen when his father showed up. He knew he was in deep shit--nobody just hung up on his dad, much less multiple times in a row. Screaming, probably. Ranting and raving, no doubt. So he guessed he was grateful, more or less, to whatever powers that were, that his dad showed up already drunk.

“Hey dad,” he said, forcing a tight lipped smile.

“Hey you piece of shit!” Galo’s father answered, loud and boisterous, but happy. He clapped Galo on the back and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’ve been callin’ you!”

“Yes, dad, I know.”

“Aaaaahaha, oh shit are those devilled eggs?”

“Yup, go enjoy,” Galo said, gently pushing his father in the direction of the horderves table and mentally thanking Sasha for making so, so many. Yeah, Galo had requested a lot, on account of him knowing his audience, but thank you Sasha.

“Heeey, lil sibling,” Esther greeted, slinging her arm around Galo’s shoulders. Since his transition, she’d pretty much refused to refer to him in any kind of gendered terms and he’d yet to hear her use, like, pronouns for him. On one hand, yes, it was nice that she didn’t insist on calling Galo a girl. On the other, it had been over a decade.

“Afternoon, Esther,” Galo greeted, “You show up with dad?”

“Yeah, Jeremiah’s parking the car. We pregamed.”

“I noticed.”

“Hey guys!” Jeremiah called.

“Hey lil bro!”

Galo felt his eye twitch, very aware that Esther had no issue calling Jeremiah ‘lil bro’ when Galo was--

It was fine. It was fine. They had a 40 minute service, some time for people to leave flowers and mingle, and then Galo could leave.

“Thanks for doing all this, Galo,” Jeremiah said, and Galo smiled a little more genuinely when he clasped his hand, pulling him into a sorta-chest-bump-ish. The motion, if not the contact itself, was there.

“Yeah. Been a real pain in the ass,” Galo admitted. He did not… get along, necessarily, with Jeremiah. But while he disapproved of Jeremiah’s spoiled nature and entitled actions, Jeremiah’s personality was probably the friendliest of Galo’s family. Definitely used to getting his way, and getting it handed to him on a silver platter (their father treated his “only son” differently than the other two), but not like, a bad dude.

“Luckily, Aunt Jude agreed to do cleanup for me, since she couldn’t help with setup.” Aunt Jude was a fundamentally unlikable person, but she made a mean potato salad and was the most responsible member of their family, with the exception of Galo himself. The phrase “control freak” was not a particularly off-base descriptor for her, and Galo knew she’d be plucking at everything “wrong” with what Galo had done in setup in passive aggressive jabs if he let her rope him into a conversation.

Which he did not intend to do.

At all.

Fuck there she was.

“So how you been, Jeremiah?” Galo asked, leaving Esther to deal with Aunt Jude’s approach. He’d listen to Jeremiah describe every single attachable part, feature, and accessory of whatever new gun he’d bought between now and the last family reunion if it meant sticking Esther with Aunt Jude. He’d politely prompt Jeremiah to talk about golf and “owning the libs” on reddit and let him complain about his loudly eco-feminist lesbian coworker, if it meant not having to deal with Aunt Jude’s holier than thou party planning and getting deadnamed repeatedly.

Fortunately, Jeremiah was married to the sound of his own voice, so between Galo subtly herding him towards the alcohol and giving intermittent “Mhm”s, Galo kept him going until the funeral itself began.

Or would have, if Uncle Mike hadn’t started making a scene before the damn thing even started. Galo sighed and pressed his face gently to the wall, listening to the increase in volume as everyone got in on Mike’s riot act. It was a show, him playing the devil’s advocate or saying something provocative or “accidentally” roughhousing too hard. It was just him making sure he was the center of every fucking body’s attention. Galo needed to be sober enough to drive, two hours from now. Sober enough to have a halfway coherent conversation with his shitty fucking family, in about an hour and a half.

But for now, he could grab the bottle of vodka, cut it with some lemonade, and down the entire glass before refilling it with straight vodka. His tastebuds would hate him for it but ideally they’d not be online here in a few minutes. He knew he couldn’t keep drinking like he had been, the last week. If not for his liver, then at the very least for the continued efficiency of his T shots.

FUCK Aunt Jude was right there.

“Sorry, can’t talk right now,” Galo said in a rush, downing the vodka (ow) and making a beeline for whatever bullshit Uncle Mike was up to. “Gotta put out this fire, talk after the funeral,” he insisted as she opened her mouth again. Uncle Mike was a rude motherfucker, but just for the attention of it all. Aunt Jude was insufferable.

Galo got between Uncle Mike and his own father, easily solving the dispute now that Auntie Bethany wasn’t there to egg her brothers on. And, since Galo, official fun-sucker of the family, was now on the scene, the rest of the agitated crowd simmered down. A member of Auntie Bethany’s church approached him, and he forced a smile.

“Thank you, young man,” he said, and Galo’s smile went a little more genuine.

“Sure thing, dude,” Galo said, pushing his hair back from his face. “Galo. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. My condolences for your loss. Bethany was a generous and upright woman; our congregation will miss her sorely.”

Don’t talk shit about the dead, Galo reminded himself firmly, before he could remark on what an evil shrieking harpy she was. He thought on the five people he’d left in that massive house, frightened and hurting, and couldn’t reconcile them with the story this man was now telling him, on how Galo’s aunt had always been the first to visit a church member in the hospital or bake something for an expecting couple.

Auntie Bethany had always worried about appearances more than anyone else in the family, Galo figured. And he was the only person in the room who understood just how far her coverups went. He rubbed at the bandage on his arm, not wanting to stand there listening to a stranger list off how good and kind and giving Auntie Bethany had been, giving Galo sympathy he hadn’t asked for.

The funeral officially starting was a fucking mercy. He sat between his siblings, trying very hard to daydream himself away for the next 40 minutes. The pews were uncomfortably full. The entire church turned up, it seemed like, and the majority of her facebook friends.

He forced himself to space out for most of it, thinking very deliberately about which character he intended to romance on his next playthrough, and if playing a female character would be worth it to romance the lesbian who could, in all honesty, do anything she wanted and he would thank her for it. Pros: hot video game girlfriend. Cons: Galo did not care for playing a female character, when male was an option.

Unfortunately, after eulogies were given (more like soliloquized, everyone in this goddamn (ha) building was only interested in showing off how righteously they were reacting to Auntie Bethany’s passing) and the body was buried, there was a little luncheon and Aunt Jude finally started negging Galo about the funeral. Galo sat, body laced with tension, and forced himself to drink fluids that were not alcohol. Aunt Jude was family, he couldn’t just tell her to fuck off, especially since it’d just start a scene and there was more than one person in the building who would love to join in if Galo caused a scene.

He could really do without the continuous deadnaming though. It was like Aunt Jude was hosting an internal contest on how many times she could say the wrong name in a single paragraph. Even Auntie Bethany hadn’t gone out of her way like this.

He counted down until he felt like enough time had passed, and then called a meeting of all family members in an adjacent room.

“Ma’am, this is family only,” Galo said, halting a woman in a blue dress and pearls at the door.

“Oh, but Bethany and I were like sisters! She always said that, you know? How I was like a sister to her. We were so close.”

“That’s nice, ma’am, but I don’t know who you are, and this meeting is for the immediate family of the deceased.”

Her wrinkly, painted lips pursed, and Galo could feel the exhaustion of the pending conversation hit him before it even happened.

“Ma’am, we know you miss her, but why don’t you go speak with the others,” Aunt Jude butt in. “In this time of grieving, such a close friend to Bethany would be like a lantern in the night, guiding the others, since I’m sure you know how she would have wanted us to mourn her passing.”

Galo turned into the room, letting Aunt Jude handle it, trying as best he could to block out their holier-than-thou sympathetic tones as they discussed whatever the fucking shit they were spewing. Aunt Jude clipped up next to him in her loudly tapping high heels and said, “And that is how it is done.” And then she deadnamed him again! Great. Fan fucking tastic.

“So,” Galo said, getting everyone’s attention as quickly as he could because he was at his wits’ fucking end, “Auntie Bethany changed up her will right before her death, listing only the people who visited her in the hospital, which turned out to be only me.” He’d summarized as much in a family facebook chat, but it was good to get everyone on the same page, especially since most of them were drunk (and he wasn’t drunk enough).

“Before anyone protests or starts making remarks,” Galo said, a little louder, “let me finish. I figure that, since I am the only one who visited her, I’ll keep her physical properties, and we the family will split her bank account evenly across all of us. Sound good?” Galo hoped his tone discouraged anyone from saying that that did not, after all, sound good.

“And how much is that? Rich bitch never did say how much she had,” Galo’s father crowed drunkenly.

Galo made a show of counting heads. Ultimately, it wouldn’t matter. “Between the 17 of us, I’ll write everyone here a check for 2 million dollars.”

Everyone was very happy about that. Galo did not mention that, even after giving that much to his relatives (not that any one of them really and actually deserved that kind of money), he’d still have somewhere around 30 million to donate and spend how he liked. Auntie Bethany had been very wealthy. And these 2 million dollar red herrings would ensure none of them questioned after the slaves, who would absolutely not be going to any member of Galo’s family. He got out the checkbook and made his way around the room, reminding the drunk ones to make sure to cash these and not let them flutter off in the wind because Galo wouldn’t be able to write them another one (a lie, but one he’d stick by). And then, and then, it was finally socially acceptable for him to leave, citing being tired from getting up that early that morning and making a beeline for his car.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he sank into the sweet cloth seat. His body felt ridiculously heavy, but he wasn’t quite out of the frying pan just yet. He turned his car on and drove, drove as fast as the speed limit let him, tricking his stupid monkey hindbrain into feeling like he was running away and it was working. He drove directly and immediately home.

His apartment was no different than how he’d left it. He almost expected dust and roaches, he felt like he’d been gone a year, but really, it had only been a week. One whole week, straight out of hell.

His mattress was kinda lumpy, and had an indent in Galo’s shape from where he so frequently faceplanted into it. He faceplanted then, too. The bed wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was familiar and it smelled like him. He groaned. He took a nap.

He felt better, after. He removed his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and splashed some water on his face. Then he decided to just ditch the shirt altogether. He’d taken all his sweatpants with him when he did the preliminary move into Auntie Bethany’s place, but he still had a pair of leggings he used to wear to the gym before they got a rip in the inner thigh and so he put those on. He downloaded grubhub specifically so he could order a shitload of burritos from taco bell, plus a mountain dew slushie abomination and more of those cinnabon ball things than he could actually, personally eat. It was time to put some garbage in his body.

Y’know, maybe he wouldn’t sell his bed. Almost all of his craigslist ads had been answered, and he intended to hand over the furniture tomorrow, while the movers were here, having set up appointments with the buyers. His bed was the only piece of furniture that he hadn’t gotten a response for. And he was, after all, ridiculously wealthy.

He pulled up his calculator app. If he wanted to keep rending this apartment indefinitely, let’s say, 20 years, it’d only cost, what, $200,000? That wouldn’t even make a dent in his inherited wealth. He didn’t have to break out of his lease early. He could keep this place, a secret little getaway only for himself, when his new life at the mansion overwhelmed him, or he needed to give those five the night off from his presence, or if he was hiding from his family, or god even knew what. He didn’t have to worry about the money. Literally, nothing monetary could ever touch him again.

And he could redecorate this place, too. Get a little retail therapy in, make it his personal project to work on here and there. That would be… nice. He couldn’t have any plants or living shit in here--it’d die--but maybe some fairy lights and a wall hanging.

He tipped his delivery driver with a $50 bill and didn’t even blink at its loss. He shoveled taco bell into his mouth and called the mansion’s house phone halfway through the meal, washing his mouth out with the toxic waste lookin’ slushie.

“Good evening?”

“Hey, Nyla, it’s Galo. Just letting you know I won’t be home tonight, so you all have permission to go to bed whenever you’re ready to, okay?”

“Yes Master, thank you sir.”

“Have a good night,” he said, and hung up. After dinner, he dicked around on his phone, wishing he’d left his game console here (it wasn’t like he was playing it at the mansion), before he turned in early for the night.

The next day was better. The moving crew was friendly and thorough, he was happy to hand over his old junk to the buyers, and once they’d trucked his belongings over to the mansion he enlisted their help in moving Auntie Bethany’s old craft furniture and the totes of supplies Nyla had packed up into his car, which he hauled off to be donated. His family didn’t call him, likely too busy spending as much of their new money as they possibly could within a day. He went to the gym in the evening, and bumped into an old friend he’d made before he switched to mornings.

Yes, the next day was better.

“He said he’s not coming home tonight,” Nyla informed them, gathered together in the kitchen for dinner. It had been a quiet day. With Master Galo leaving early in the morning, the most that had happened was Evan finishing out his recitations and trying to limp feeling back into his numbed legs. “We can go to sleep whenever we want to.”

“I’d like to sleep early, then,” Greyson remarked, and they all took a look at him. Normally he just listened and went along with whatever the group, or Nyla, decided.

“Tired?” Lilah asked.

“It’s been a week,” Greyson said heavily, and they all agreed. It had certainly been a week.

“Do you think we could take a bath?” Lilah asked, and they looked between themselves. Taking a bath in the basement bathroom, which had a tub like a small pool, was reserved for when Mistress was out of town for multiple days in a row, and only for the middling days, when there was no chance she might return from a cancelled flight or arrive early.

“Master is o-only away for the n-night.”

“But he hasn’t lied to us yet,” Nyla said. She glanced at Evan.

They all knew she was being indulgent for Evan’s sake, since he’d had a pretty shit time yesterday and that day. Acquiescing to a bit of mischief. He smiled.

“And we’d hear him open the front door, anyway.” Evan’s voice was still a little rough from that morning. “Dude’s heavy.”

“Let’s take a bath,” Greyson agreed.

They all showered like they normally did, Greyson first, getting off the grime and sweat of the day, and then sank into the large, gently steaming tub, soaking and talking quietly, ears perked for the sound of the front door, but enjoying the warmth, and the chance to relax. They spoke on Master Galo, collectively attempting to parse his mindgames and coming up short. They spoke on the work they had done and what needed doing, Nyla creating neat categories in her brain. Evan and Greyson spoke infrequently, one feeling too guilty to speak, the other too tired. And then they all said nothing at all, still and warm, simply sitting in the water.

Sasha started to nod off first, her head resting on Nyla’s shoulder, then jerking up, then laying on Greyson’s. He pet her wet hair and broke the silence by urging her to bed, with him. The other three, content and about as calm as they could get, in this place, were not far behind them.

They dried and dressed and climbed into bed, Greyson out in a moment, Evan asleep last, warm and with each other in their Master’s absence.

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