Little Angel

Ethan Triche

I sat in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was all out there now. My mother knew I was a psycho. The whore in the suit and her boy toy knew I was a psycho. Soon everyone would know. My advantage was that my true self was hidden. But now I’m exposed. I’m weak.
I dozed off, and the glorious nightmares returned. It was like watching my favorite movie. No, it was like being in it.
I awoke to pounding at the door. I heard my father yelling. I glanced at my clock, 3AM. What the fuck? Did they let him out? Can we not have one peaceful night?
I ran to the living room and just then the door burst open and my mother flew across the floor. My father picked her up by her hair and punched her in the face. It was usually one or two hits, then he’d go and settle down, but this time was different. He wasn’t stopping. He punched her again and again. Blood was everywhere. Blood dripped from his hand. This wasn’t glorious.
I rushed him. It was all out there. Didn’t he know I was a psycho? I hit him with my shoulder and he fell to the floor. I grabbed a fireplace poker and hit him with it. He’s hurt us enough. Now I hurt him.
He grabbed the poker in his palm and yanked it from my hands. He stood up and threw it into the wall, then he rushed me. Fuck. I’m not a man yet. He towered over me and grabbed my neck with his hand. He pushed me up against the wall. He was choking me. I couldn’t breathe.
“You got some balls, boy,” he said. “About fucking time.”
Then he punched me in the face. He kept punching me. I blacked out.
When I woke up, I was laying on the floor in a puddle of my own blood. I felt around, blood was everywhere. I felt my face, it felt like I could pop it and it would explode. The skin was tender and swollen. I pushed at my eyes. I wiped at them. I could hear something, but I couldn’t see. I needed to see what was going on. I tore the swollen skin under my eye. It hurt so fucking bad. But I was able to see. It was blurry, but I could see again.
My father was slumped over the couch. My mother was stabbing him in the back. His hands were cut off and laying on the floor.
Sheriff fucking Dowling barged in. “Freeze Mrs. Triche!” You better not shoot my mom. “He held his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Where’s the agents?” Mom didn’t freeze. She kept stabbing my bastard of a dad. Good for her.
“They’re coming, they’ll be there soon,” came over the talkie.
Not a minute later, the bitch, not in her suit, instead a white t-shirt that was much too big for her and short pajama bottoms, came through the door, gun drawn. Someone was in a hurry. A hurry to kill my mom. You better fucking not!
“Mrs. Triche. Put down the knife. It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe,” bitch said.
My mom did put down the knife. She ran to me and held me in her lap. She started to cry. “I’m sorry.” She got out between crying fits.
“Mom…”
“I did it all for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger sooner.” She held her head to mine, cheek to cheek, still crying. “Your father was a demon. I’m sorry I couldn’t stand up to him sooner. I’m so sorry, angel.”