The sunlight filtered through the curtains as Terrence woke up with a pounding headache. The aftermath of the night before hit him hard—a throbbing migraine, a dry mouth, and a lingering sense of regret he wasn't ready to deal with. For a moment, he lay there in the mess of a room, staring at the ceiling, as the chaos of the party echoed in his mind.
Memories of the night came in fragments: music blaring, people shouting, someone vomiting in the corner. He winced. Then—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
A sharp knocking — no, pounding — echoed from outside. Then a voice, metallic and cold, rang out through a bullhorn:
"This is the police. Everyone inside is to exit the property immediately. This gathering is in violation of city code. Step outside with your hands visible."
And with that, all hell broke loose.
Doors slammed. Shouts rose. People scrambled from couches and bedrooms like animals sensing a storm.
Terrence bolted upright, his heart pounding. He tried to move, but two girls lay slumped across him, still asleep.
"Get off me," he muttered, groaning as he pushed them gently aside. One stirred and murmured, "Ready for another round?"
He blinked, barely holding it together. "Not the time, genius."
And then— the door slammed open.
"Everybody out! Yard. Now!" his father bellowed, his voice like thunder.
He stormed in, red-faced and wild-eyed, throwing open windows and knocking over a lamp in the process.
"Get out! I swear to God—" he grabbed a chair and waved it around until people started scrambling. "If you're not outside in ten seconds, I'm dragging you out myself!"
He stormed into the room like a force of nature, overturning chairs and yanking open windows.
Everyone bolted past him in panic. Still, a few lingered in a daze — until he grabbed a broom and slammed it against the wall.
"Do you think this is a joke? This is my house! I said MOVE"
Even the most hungover among them got the message.
People stumbled over each other as they rushed for the exits. In the chaos, his father grabbed a broom and banged it against the floor, shouting at the few who were still too dazed to move. Even the girls shot up, gathered their clothes, and ran out without a word.
His father turned on him, his voice seething with anger.
"You."
Without a word, he tossed a small plastic bag at Terrence's feet. White powder. Terrence's heart sank.
"I didn't bring that," he muttered.
"Doesn't matter. It was in my house."
"The party was drug-free, Dad," Terrence said, checking the bills on his phone. "I sent them to get alcohol. How was I supposed to know they'd buy drugs?"
His father grabbed him by the collar, his voice low and dangerous. "You broke in, Terrence. You weren't even supposed to be here."
Before he could respond, a voice rang out from outside.
"Lennox!" It was his mother. "The safe—it's empty. The jewelry's gone!"
She stumbled into the hallway, pale and shaking. Behind her, shattered glass glinted like ice on the floor. A priceless set of heirloom china — ruined.
She looked like she might collapse. His father caught her just in time.
Then, without a word, he turned back to Terrence.
"I hope you realize what you've done."
Terrence pulled on his jeans, trying to play it cool.
"It's not that big of a deal. You can replace most of it—"
His father's voice dropped into something quieter. Deadlier.
"Replace it?"
He grabbed Terrence by the arm and dragged him to the living room. The couch was gone. The TV. Even the rug.
Outside, blue and red lights washed over the walls. Officers were already questioning the guilty.
"You were supposed to be away at college. Instead, you broke into our home, threw a party, let strangers in—and now our lives are in pieces."
"How'd you even find out?"
"It's everywhere on the news you stupid boy! What kind of idiot do you take me for?"
'A pretty big one' He muttered under his breath.
The front door opened. Two officers entered.
One nodded grimly. "Sir, your son's presence here was unauthorized. There's evidence of underage drinking, theft, and property destruction. We're going to need to take him in for questioning. Possibly more."
His father didn't blink. "Do it."
Terrence stepped back. "You're actually calling the cops on your own son?"
His mother stepped forward, desperate. "Lennox—please. This is still our son. He's just…lost his way."
But she stopped when her husband turned to her, voice low but firm.
"Morris, we already discussed the repercussions if he were to do this again. He will only step all over us and continue to take advantage of our generosity. He needs to learn the consequences of his actions. It was approved last night."
"What was?" Morris asked, her voice sharp with a mix of confusion and frustration, her eyes narrowing as she processed what he'd said.
"I'll tell you later when this is sorted out. It'll be the best thing for us to do for him—he's out of control. Next thing you know, we might be the ones going to jail next for his wrongdoings. We can't keep bailing him out."
She looked at her husband, then at Terrence—who stood there giving her wide, exaggerated puppy dog eyes.
She took a breath.
"You're right, dear."
He turned to his son.
"You've crossed too many lines."
Terrence laughed bitterly, desperate to break the silence. "Come on. You're not serious."
His father didn't answer. He simply walked into Terrence's room, rifled through the drawers. He pulled out a bag — stuffing in clothes without care. He tossed it at his son.
"You're done here. Pack what you can find. You're not coming back."
"What? You're kicking me out?"
His father's expression didn't change.
"I'm holding you accountable."
Then he continued to pull open the drawers, one after another, tossing out wadded socks and cheap branded T-shirts. Then finally–
Cash.
He held up a thick wad of bills, shaking them in front of Terrence.
"Hey!" Terrence snapped. "That's my savings."
"This is going toward the damages," his father replied, his voice steady, though tight with controlled anger. "It's not nearly enough to cover everything."
"You've got to be kidding me."
His father's grip tightened, his expression hardening. "You should've thought of that before you trashed this house."
From his jacket, he pulled out a paper and pressed it into Terrence's hands.
An official eviction notice. Signed. Filed.
"Wow," he said flatly. "You really went full Shakespeare villain on this one." He started walking toward the door, muttering, "Talk to me when you calm down—"
But his father grabbed his arm, stopping him cold.
Terrence looked at the officers, who were now eyeing him.
He turned to the officers. "Arrest my son."
"What?" Terrence pulled back. "You're serious?"
The officer stepped forward and pulled out handcuffs.
Terrence turned to his mother, eyes pleading.
"Really? You're just gonna let him do this?"
She was crying. But she didn't say no.
The cuffs snapped shut with a cold finality.
"We'll pick you up from jail," his father said, "once you've had time to realize the mess you've made."
Terrence glanced back at both of them as they stood silently in the destroyed doorway of the house he used to call home.
"…Awesome," he muttered. "Really feeling the love."