Little Randle

Chapter Two

Samantha's POV

        It's been a week since my mother passed. I woke up and checked the clock on my wall, 8:27 a.m. I stood up out of my warm bed and heard a screamcome from downstairs. It sounded like Steve. I ran down the stairs only to see my own Father punching Steve repeatidly.

        "Dad? Stop!" I yelled.

        "Sammie go upstairs." Steve said as he winced in pain.

        I ran upstairs and began to cry over the fact that my Father who wouldn't hurt a fly is downstairs beating up my brother. At this point I don't know what to do, and why he is doing this to Steve.

        After about 10 minutes of hearing Steve screaming and yelling mixed with my crying, I heard the front door slam. I walked down the stairs and saw Steve curled up in a ball in the corner of our living room.

        "Steve, are you okay?" I asked while a tear slipped down my cheek.

        He just laid here. Clearly, in pain. I walked into the kitchen and got him an ice pack. I handed it to him and he placed it on his cheek, where a bruise was already starting to form.

        "Why?" I whispered.

        "He's drunk." he told me.

        I couldn't beleive what I just heard. My father barley ever drank, let alone become full out drunk and beat his own son. I let a few more tears escape from my eyes and hugged Steve.

        "Everything will be okay, I promise." Steve told me.