I look at my mom, wondering what happened and where she went wrong. My parents have always been disappointments, over the years it’s only gotten worse and I really feel like I’ve walked into a completely different family.
My eyes widen as my dad grabs my mom on the back of her neck roughly and pulls her away from the mess. “Go sit down, Mary. You’re a fucking wreck.” He pushes her forward, and she stumbles, nearly falling to her knees before righting herself and sniffling her way to the couch.
“Fucking whore.” He sneers at her retreating back, and if possible, my mom’s form hunches forward even further.
When he looks back at me, his eyes look fierce. And pissed. Very fucking pissed. “Clean this shit up, boy.” He barks, pointing at the remaining pieces of plate scattered on the floor. I squat down to pick up the rest of the plate, only to pick up my pace when I feel the irritation looming over me from my dad.
Once I’m finished, I brush my hands off and go to stand up, when I feel a pressure in between my shoulders. I swallow audibly and close my eyes. I know what time it is.
Same shit. Different day. My dad always finds a way to ruin my day and put his hands on me. Doesn’t matter if I didn’t commit the crime, I’ll always do the time. I’m the brunt of his assaults nowadays. I know my mom still gets beat by him. I can hear her cries behind closed doors. But when he’s the angriest, he turns his fists towards me.
It’s always me.
When the pressure turns painful, I bite my lip to stop the cry that wants to break free.
“You’re not done,boy. You need to sweep the fucking floor afterwards. You stupid?” He brings his knee up into my gut—hard—and the wind gets knocked out of me. “I said, are you fucking stupid?”
“Sorry, no. I heard you.” I get up and rush to get the broom. This is why I should have escaped out of my bedroom window. I always get sucked into this shit and then I can never make it to school on time.
Grabbing the broom from the front closet, I hurry back and sweep up nothing, since I already got it all beforehand. When I’m walking to put it back, I glance at the stove and swear under my breath when I see the time. The bus is going to be here in three minutes.
I have to move it. If I miss the bus, my dad willreallykill me.
I move to brush past my dad, but he halts me with a quick hand to the neck. Squeezing tight, he pulls me towards him and breathes in my face. “You talk with respect when you’re speaking to me. You better drop that attitude and drop it fast.” He pushes me back, and the back of my head slams into the cabinet behind me. My eyes slam shut as stars start dancing in front of me, and I gasp out a breath when his tight grasp releases my neck. When I open my eyes, he’s gone, and I’m standing there, in the kitchen, gasping and sweating.
I look around, see my mom half asleep on the couch and their bedroom door shut with my dad behind it. Glancing at the time again, I see the bus should be here—or already left—so I forget my backpack, forget my sweatshirt, forget everything that I need and hurry to the front door, grab my shoes in my hands and run in my socks out the door and to my bus.
I sprint, feeling winded already from the altercation with my dad, but I can hear the loud grumbling of the bus around the corner and I can’t miss it.
I fucking can’t.
Turning the corner, I see the bus and raise my hands up and wave them around wildly. I watch as Easton and Logan turn and look out the window. Logan stands up and shouts something to the bus driver. I keep running,almost there. When I get close enough to where I can slow down, I notice Cara standing there at the door with a curious look on her face.
It only makes me angry, watching people question my life without know what the fuck happens behind those doors. If anyone knew…
If anyone knew, they’d go running the other day.
“Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” She asks in her stupid girly voice.
I lower my eyebrows and give her a look of pure hatred.
I don’t say a word, because I don’t speak to anyone. Instead, I move past her and walk to the seat in the back of the bus next to my friends.
“Asshole.” I hear her mumble under her breath.
Bitch.
* * *
“Yo, dude. You good?”Easton asks from behind me, startling me.
I’m standing in the lunch line with my hot lunch, waiting to get up to the front to punch my pin in. Completely zoning out, I’m thinking about this morning and how much hate I have for my dad. He throws me off, makes me fumble through my days and second guess everything I do.
I fucking hate him.
I nod my head. Coming up next to the check out, I turn around and wait in line.
When it gets to be my turn, I punch in my code. The red light blinks back at me, and I frown, confused. But I shouldn’t be, because I rarely have money on the account. It just sucks, because I didn’t eat breakfast and didn’t have time to grab any cash for lunch.