Kain's Story Part 1

He moved his hands in front of his face, trying to warm his now red nose. It must have snowed during class because everything around him was encased in a harsh whiteness that hurt his eyes. He gave up on his nose, which was doomed to remain cold, and his hands retreated into the pockets of his black jacket. He needed a new one desperately. It had holes in the hood and practically everywhere else, the edges of it were frayed and the cloth had worn thin over time. He kept his fingers away from the small hole in his pocket that was letting in cold air.  
He was used to the cold. In fact, he enjoyed it most days. Today, however, was not one of those days. One of the idiots in class "accidentally" sprayed him with the gardening hose when he walked out of the school gates. He was drenched, which made the cold less bearable than usual. He sneezed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
      "I better not catch a damn cold…" he muttered under his breath, thinking about how inconvenient a cold would be. At least his books were fine. He shielded them from the water, so, if he got a cold, it was worth it.
His ears flattened against his head as a gust of wind enveloped him and he tucked his white tail in between his legs. His hood whipped away from his face, revealing his white, curly hair. Being an arctic wolf had its plus sides. One was that the cold didn't bother him as much as it bothered others.
        When the gust of wind past he put his hood back up and stared down the busy street parallel to the sidewalk. He sighed and continued walking forward, his face downward, avoiding the dry, cold wind. He always looked. Always hoped that maybe his father would come down that street to pick him up with a silly grin on his face, apologizing for how late he was. He was always disappointed. His father used to always pick him up from school and ask him how his day was and what he learned. He didn't anymore. He just didn't care. After Mother died a year ago he stopped caring.  
He ran his hand over a cold metal fence as he was walking. The cold rescued him from all the heavy thoughts rushing in his mind. He stopped when he saw his front door. He hated his house. Its appearance wasn't the reason. It wasn't small or untended to. It actually looked pretty new. It wasn't exactly the house he hated. He hated what was lurking inside the house. For a second, he thought about just walking away, not going home. He sighed, giving up on the idea like always, and adjusted his back pack before walking to the door and opening it.
"Father…I'm home," he called out, not really wanting a response. He got one.  
"Kain!?" Yelled his father. "Where the hella ya been?" He was laying on the couch watching the blank screen of the television. He had a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand and different bottles of alcohol were carelessly placed on the floor and coffee table. All of them almost or completely empty, of course.
"There was school today," he said, looking at the stairs, wanting to go to his room. "You would remember if you weren't such a drunk." Kain bit his lip as the last word left his mouth. He said it without thinking. '…shit.'
"You shitty little brat!" Kain barely dodged the vodka bottle that flew by his face, shattering against the wall behind him. He stared at his father in disbelief, his ears flat against his head. "What the fuck do you know?! Damn eight years of life make you so fucking smart!?"  His eyes were crazy from all of the alcohol.
" What the hell?! You know what? You're a shitty excuse for a father! I hope you drown in all that alcohol!" Kain yelled back shakily. He was half astonished that his father would actually throw that at him.
If he was angry before, he was furious now.  Kain backed away, wide eyed, when he stumbled to his feet. Kain's tail was tucked between his legs.  
"You little bast-" He tripped over his own feet and landed with a thud. Kain took this opportunity to run up the stairs, shouting "And your aim sucks!" before shutting and locking his door.
He dropped his back pack and sank to the floor, breathing hard. His father wouldn't, and probably couldn't, come up the stairs in his drunken state so he was safe for now. He would just wait in his room for a couple of hours. His father would forget the whole thing any way.
Hands shaking, he reached into his back for his homework, got up, and placed it on his desk. He opened his drawer and took out a sweat shirt and sweat pants. The clothes he was still wearing were cold and wet and he didn't want to stay in them any longer. He peeled off his jacket and school clothes and slid into the clothes he took out. He stared at his door and checked the lock, just in case. Then he sighed and sat down to do his homework.
"Question number one…"