One-sided

Oh Father.

A/N:

Big trigger warning for homophobia, self-harm, and child abuse...... enjoy!

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I knew all good things come to an end, but I just wanted one good day. I knew it was probably way too much to ask, but I just wanted one break in this hellhole. Just one. But, apparently, that is impossible. I waited about an hour, mentally preparing myself, before walking downstairs, I was going to wait longer but, I knew I had to eventually. When I got to the bottom of the staircase, I could smell the alcohol off him, it basically reeked of the stench. God, I hated it. I always knew it never led to anything good for me or anyone. I noticed he was cooking dinner and I sat on the couch. I took my sweater off; the house was hot. Father loves to do that when he's mad. He knows I hate taking my sweater off, he says I'm too attached to it. It was the last thing I got from mother before she passed away. I thought it made sense to be attached to it, but apparently not. Apparently, it's 'pathetic.' And 'childlike.' So, he'd intentionally turn up the temperature in the house to get me away from my sweater hoping I'd get less attached to it. Sometimes I just keep it on. I'd sweat bullets, but I'd keep it on just to make sure nothing happens to it. I'd be shattered if I lost it. It's my last connection to my mother, my father always hated how close we were. She hasn't been dead for more than a month, yet he expects me to be over it already. He is. But it makes sense for him of all people to be over it. It was a traumatic experience, that I'll never forget. So yeah, I'm still attached to her. And this sweater. It makes me feel like she's still here. I know she's gone, and I know I must accept that. But it's hard. I miss her. A lot. It's hard to think she's dead, she's been my only source of comfort for as long as I can remember. My father sat next to me on the couch, still reeking of the stench. After just thinking of my mother and her death for so long it's the only thing on my mind.

"I miss my mom." I have no idea why I said that. I have no idea why I said anything, it just came out. But it was true.

"Are you kidding me, Travis? More about your mother? It's pathetic. You're way too attached to that woman." Told you so. "She's dead Travis. You need to get over it, it's been long enough." I was not prepared for what he did next. He grabbed my sweater from me and pulled out a lighter. He set it to fire. Immediately I felt tears running down my cheeks. That was my last connection to her. And it's burning in front of me. I wanted to do something, anything, but I froze. It burned completely to the point where there was nothing left. "You're dismissed. Dinners on the table." He said, then he walked to his room as if nothing happened. The tears began to fall as I ran to my room. God, how much I hate that man. He's the worst thing that ever happened to me. Life would be much better if he just disappeared. I searched my room, as well as I could with my vision almost completely blurred by tears. I searched for the sharpest object I could find. I know this is stupid and pathetic. But it was the only way I knew to do. I don't know why I do it. But in a way it helps. As you might've assumed, I began to cut. Again, I know it's stupid but it's the only way I could feel to express any emotion in a way. I either take it out on myself or others through anger. And I much prefer not to harm others as much as possible. If you can believe that. After I was done with that, I lay in bed for a while. Then, I just began to play music. I didn't know what to do next. I just saw the last connection to my mother up in flames. I felt the blood dripping down my arms, and it gave me a sense of comfort. I feel like I'm gonna pass out. Maybe I overdid it. The thought that I could die in this house at any moment may be the reason I do this to myself. To have some sense of control over something. If I go, I don't want him to kill me. He already murdered my mother. Or maybe I don't have a reason for doing this. Maybe I just enjoy hurting myself. 'Buddy, you just need to find home. And I think maybe, you just miss your mum,' played in my earphones. The only song for the occasion. I loop the song and continue to cry. I know he's terrible. But why would he go this far? Does he hate me that much? Why does he hate me? What did I ever do to him? Why do I deserve this? I slowly fell asleep. I knew what conversation would happen in the morning, and I didn't want to wake up, I never want to wake up. I wasn't prepared for that conversation. I woke up when I heard my alarm go off. I got ready for school and walked out of my room hoping my dad was still asleep. And of course, he wasn't. I walked to the table where breakfast was sitting. I sat down, quickly prayed, and then started to eat. My father, who was sitting in front of me, did the same. We sat there in uncomfortable silence until my father finally spoke up.