My Safe Haven (BxB)

Chapter VIII - A Father's Wrath

Andrew's POV

No words can describe the way I'm feeling right now. The pain of seeing my rock laying in his death bed was unbearable on its own, but to hear him say that he could feel that his journey in this world was coming to an end was worse.

I arrived back home a few minutes ago, and I cannot stop bawling my eyes out. It hurt. It hurt so much. At this point, there is nothing I wouldn't give to stop the pain I was feeling. I prayed endlessly on my way back, praying for Grandpa Pat's recovery, but I knew that prayer would be futile now. God, what do I do?

I just want it to stop...then, it dawns on me. The cellar, in the basement. My parents added a cellar sometime last year when they were renovating the house. I guess I could help myself to a bottle of their fancy collection, drown myself in the sorrow that I was feeling.

I make my way to the basement, taking heavy steps down the stairs and soon I find myself outside the cellar. I enter, heading towards the spirits. One bottle won't hurt, right, I think to myself as I take the first bottle of whiskey that I come across.

From the look of things, there are over 200 bottles of alcohol in this cellar, so I'm pretty certain my parents won't be able to tell that I took some. It's one bottle after all, I think trying to convince myself that my tracks are covered.

Tears still fall from my eyes as I walk out of the house, heading straight for my tree house. Now that I think about it, it's been a while since I came here. My dad tried multiple times to talk me into getting rid of the tree house because I wasn't a kid anymore, and it was childish that I still wanted to keep it now that I'm a man. My dad can go to hell for all I care about. This place holds so many memories of my life, and now that the man who built it was fighting for his life in hospital, made this place so much more comforting for me. It truly is my safe haven.

I gulp the contents of the bottle, only taking a break when I feel the burning sensation in my throat, warming up my chest in the process. I know drowning your troubles in alcohol is no solution, but at this point, I feel like I didn't have any other choice. I down some more of the alcohol, before placing the bottle on the floor and placing my body next to it.

Shortly after, the room started to move a bit, damn I feel like the room is spinning. This is why I didn't drink much, even when I had my mega parties, I'd always drink to a certain degree, but now I think the pain I felt allowed me to throw caution to the wind. I know that I'm a lightweight, so downing so much alcohol in one go was a recipe for disaster.

The other reason why I never drank this much, is because alcohol had a tendency of making me incredibly bold. Now that I think about it, I haven't reached out to Christian like I had promised him, and if there is anything, I am a man of my word. I had promised to reach out to him, so that is exactly what I'm going to do.

I shove my hand in my pocket, attempting to retrieve my cell, "Where is this phone?" I ask to no one in particular, patting myself up and down, to no avail. I must have left it inside the house.

I sigh in defeat, as I try standing up ready to head into the house. "Woah..." I say as soon as I stand up, my world is spinning and my legs feel like jelly. I try to regain my balance only to plop down as soon as I stand up.

"Gosh this is bad" I express, feeling completely helpless. With the way my legs feel right now, if I force to leave this tree house, the only place I'll be heading to when my feet touch the ground is the hospital, because there is no way in hell I am going to go down safely without breaking a few bones.

I rest my head on the floor, downing the remaining contents of the bottle of alcohol. I guess I should settle in here because it seems as if I'm not going to go anywhere any time soon. And before I knew it, sleep overtook my body.

//////

"Andrew!"

I am jolted awake by the sound of my father's voice, what the hell is happening here? I rub my eyes in an attempt to rid myself of the exhaustion I am engulfed in. It's still dark outside so it must be nighttime. But did I just hear my father's voice or was it a dream? I mean why would he be yelling across the yard this late? What time is it by the way? I have so many questions that I unfortunately don't have answers to, but I concluded one thing. Judging from the silence, I am certain that this was a dream because there is no way my father would be silent for this long when he is in a mood to yell. He is one...

"ANDREW!" oh well, I guess it wasn't a dream after all.

"Yes Father" I respond, standing up, only to stop when I feel the splitting headache that I have. Damn you alcohol, but I'll express my disdain for you later because I need to get down right now. I turn around only to stop in my tracks, my father is in the tree house.

"Is that my whiskey?" he questions calmly, gesturing to the bottle of gin on the floor. To be honest, I prefer seeing him angry. When my father appears to be calm in instances like this, he has the ability to kill with his bare hands.

I open my mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. At this point, there is no lie I can come up with that could possibly get me out of this sticky situation unscathed.

"I asked you a question" he says, getting closer to me. "Is that my Dalmore?"

"No..."

"So are you telling me you bought this $58,000 bottle of alcohol Andrew?" he interrupts.

Did he just say $58,000? Why the hell is he spending so much money on alcohol?

"Even if that's the case, you're 17 Young Man. So it's either you went out of your way to get alcohol, which would mean you have an alcohol problem, or you're lying to me" he states, cracking his knuckles.

Oh my, I'm screwed.

"Dad, I'll find a way to replace it..." I don't get a chance to finish my sentence as his fist collides with my cheek, sending me straight to the floor.

The bruise he gave me on Sunday seemed like it won't be going anywhere anytime soon as the punch landed on the very same spot.

"How messed up is that? Replace my bottle with the money you'll get from me, right?" he spits, his voice venomous.

"I apologize Fath..."

"DON'T" punch "APOLOGIZE!" punch. "I'm sick of warning you!" he says as he gets on me, grabbing a handful of my hair as he starts landing punches on my face, over and over again. After a few more punches, I start to feel warm liquid trickle down my forehead, spilling into my eyes, shit I'm bleeding. I want to yell for help, beg him to stop, cry in pain, but I know not to do that. He hated it when I screamed, it would just fuel his anger, so I know I had to hold everything inside. God make it sto...

"Peter? Is he up there?" my mother questions from below the tree house, praise the Lord. I don't think I've been this glad to hear her voice.

"Yes he is, drunk as a skunk" my father responds, fury evident in his eyes.

"What? How could he do that?" she asks exasperated. "Please come down Honey, if he's drunk having a conversation with him now would be useless, we'll talk to him tomorrow" she adds.

"Thank the Lord that she just saved your ass" he whispers menacingly as he gets up and turns to walk out, before turning to give me a goodbye stomp, right on the ribcage.

This was the last straw. I couldn't hold it in anymore, that final blow pushed me over the edge and I scream in sheer pain. My father is really going to be the death of me.