Hostile Home ( Script )

Lucy dropped her bag by the door, the dull thud echoing in the quiet living room. The blinds were half-closed, letting in slats of pale afternoon light that streaked the walls and floor. The TV flickered in the corner, tuned to some 24-hour news channel, the volume low enough to be background noise.

Her dad was on the couch, as always, reclined like a king in a worn-out throne. A half-empty can of beer rested on the armrest, next to a small pyramid of crushed empties on the side table. He didn’t look up as she walked in, his eyes fixed on the screen, his face lined with a mixture of boredom and disdain.

“Home already?” he muttered, not bothering to turn his head.

“Yeah, school’s out,” Lucy said, keeping her tone light. She started toward the stairs, but his voice stopped her halfway.

“You got another note from the school last week,” he said, his words slow and deliberate.

Lucy froze, her hand gripping the banister. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached for his beer, taking a long sip before continuing. “Said you’re skipping again. Third time this month.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she said, shrugging. “I had a free period.”

He snorted, finally glancing over his shoulder. His eyes were sharp, calculating. “Sure, not a big deal. Just like how it wasn’t a big deal last time. Or the time before that. You gonna blow off the whole semester, or just enough to squeak by?”

“I’m passing,” Lucy said, forcing her voice to stay even.

“Barely,” he shot back. “You think that’s good enough? Life doesn’t hand out participation trophies, kid. You either show up, or you don’t. Guess which one you’re doing.”

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the banister. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“Yeah, you’re always ‘fine,’” he said, his tone mocking. He turned back to the TV, waving her off with one hand. “Fine, but aimless. Just coasting through life, huh? No plan, no discipline. You think charm’s gonna get you everywhere? Hate to break it to you, but that doesn’t last.”

Her chest tightened, but she forced a laugh, deflecting the jab. “Good thing I’ve got your example to follow, then.”

His head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. “Watch it,” he said, his voice low.

“Just saying,” Lucy said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “You’re the expert, right?”

He glared at her for a moment longer before shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. “Smart mouth,” he said, leaning back against the couch. “You think you’re so clever. You ever think about where that’s gonna get you? You’re not as untouchable as you think, kid. People get tired of your act real quick.”

Lucy’s stomach churned, but she plastered on a smirk. “Guess I’ll just have to risk it.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart. You make your choices, you live with ‘em.”

She didn’t respond, her jaw clenched as she turned and climbed the stairs two at a time.

In her room, she shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, each one a tiny barb that stuck and stung. No plan. No discipline. Not enough.

She shook her head, brushing off the thoughts like cobwebs. She wouldn’t let him get to her. She couldn’t.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she opened her messages and scrolled to Davie’s name.

Hey, what are you up to?

Her finger hovered over the send button before she deleted the text, her heart racing for reasons she didn’t fully understand. Instead, she tossed her phone onto her bed and crossed the room to her bed, plugging in her headphones and cranking up her music.

If she drowned out the noise long enough, maybe she’d start to believe it didn’t matter… but before she could get lost in the music, her phone chimed. Davie sent a text. “D8? Brgr Bnkr? On me :)” Lucy’s heart swelled, she held the phone to her chest, sniffling, and sent back a simple “yah.”