Spencer was, at the moment, pretty much pissed. He was sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed, eyes staring across his room, glazed and unfocused, though lowered into a glare. His laptop was stowed under his bed, closed and dormant. Various items were littered about the room. He had a bad habit of throwing things when he was pissed, and today was no exception. Overall, the senior was pretty much the peacekeeper. He didn't get mad easily, wasn't a really violent person, though he had some bad self-esteem, but he was overall a gentle kind of person. He was nice, sweet, cared for his friends. Anger wasn't something that was often seen on his face. But he did have those moments where he was filled with this crazed rage, and he didn't know why. It just happened. Of course, there was always a trigger. He didn't get mad for no reason, there had to be something to cause it. And this time, it was the combined efforts of his brothers and mother.

After coming to Creek Point, Spencer had cut off ties with his family for the most part. His mother and father, mostly. His brothers, well, he at least answered the phone when they called him. And apparently his mother had gotten them to try and get Spencer to talk to her. Blake he could understand more, him being the youngest. But Jon? Apparently Jon actually wanted his younger brother to talk to their mother once in a while. He wouldn't be fazed by Marietta Andrews's beggings and pleadings so easily, and wouldn't try and trick the senior if it wasn't his own views as well. And you would think that, after having been tricked several times before (brothers calling him, but the one on the phone actually being his mother), he would learn, but no. Of course he had answered the phone, thinking it Blake, for that is what his cell phone had proclaimed upon looking at it, and low and behold, his mother babbling at him, telling him she was worried about him and ask that he call her at least once a week, tell her about school and the like.

And that had been it. Spencer had problems with his family. It kind of sucked being the middle child, he had learned. Yeah, there was the whole "Middle Child Syndrome" but what he experienced was basically the opposite of that, his father coming home from "work" drunk and ignoring the oldest and youngest children, focusing on his middle son, calling the boy worthless and talentless, not to mention physically abusing the boy. In a way, it was MCS, at least until his father came in. He couldn't live up to the standards that Jon had set, and Blake was just angelic. Spencer was nothing. Worthless, a waste of money. Mostly ignored until his father came home, and got in trouble for doing anything, even if it wasn't his fault. Lovely family life, the senior had, huh? And none of it helped today.

Spencer didn't want to talk to his mother. She had let her husband abuse her middle son, she let all of the shit happen to Spencer. The stupid whore (yeah, he had the gall to call his mother that sometimes) hadn't tried to stop anything. She was practically embracing the fact that her husband was telling the kid to go kill himself. The light pads of his fingers traced over the lacerations that crossed his arms as he thought of this. Remnants of his past. His mother had never done anything for him. She hadn't wondered about school back when he attended regular schools. She hadn't worried about him, despite the fact that many cuts seemed to suddenly appear on his wrists and arms, or that he wore long sleeves and hoodies a lot more than normal, or even those fingerless gloves. All in hiding the cuts that lined his arms. She hadn't noticed any of it, and now she was saying that she was worried about him. Not even the hospital was that worried about him, when he was there after his failed suicide attempt. They didn't wonder what had caused it (besides the obvious depression and cutting). They didn't even think that the cause might be within the family. That his own goddamned father had made all of this happen.

Knuckles were white from his clenching them as he blinked, eyes coming back in focus as he glared at the wall next to the door. Spencer was shaking slightly in his rage, eyes tearing from the white-washed wall to look at the various items thrown. His cell phone had been the first. He only hoped that it was still working. Or he'd have to beg his parents (his mom) for a new one. And that was something that he didn't want to do. Especially if his father happened to hear about it. That wouldn't be a good thing. After his phone, various things that had been around him were thrown (which was why his laptop was hidden under his bed; throwing that would be a bad iea). Clothes, pencils, pens, whatever he could find.

"Fucking asshole bitch," he muttered angrily. Oh, did I not mention? Instead of screaming in rage, as some people seem apt to do, he muttered angrily. And not necessarily loudly. Well, mutters weren't generally loud, but you get the deal. His was a more silent anger. Not including the sounds of things hitting their mark when he threw them. He wasn't loud and obnoxious in his anger. Looking around, Spencer spotted a sandal. Whether it was his or his roommates' (he hadn't seen that guy in a while...) he didn't know. And it didn't matter, not right now, when all it did was serve as ammunition. Of course, if previously stated roommate was in the room, it would probably matter, but otherwise, it didn't. And he wasn't in, so there we go. Leaning over to grab the sandal, his fingers wrapped around the object. Sitting back up, he suddenly launched it at the wall he had been glaring at, the shoe hitting it next to the door, just as said door opened. Oops.