Alexis

Morso

Photo source- *edited* Pinterest

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The rest of my day was simple. I'd sleep and eat although sleeping was the hardest part. Red was filling my mind. It was all I saw. The only thing. I couldn't get it out.

I had to get myself somewhat decent though. Today I had to meet with my father's attorney, Marc, not Andy. I didn't know why. Everything was fine. I didn't need a lawyer. I didn't need to meet with an attorney but it meant my brother was coming over. I needed him.

I felt like I still looked trashy. I didn't know. It didn't matter.

I walked downstairs just as the front door opened. Freddie walked in. Relief flooded my body. I was so happy to see him.

"Freddie!" I called, racing down the last steps. He continued to walk. I sped up, grabbing his arm. "Freddie, are you ok–"

"Don't fucking touch me," he snapped, turning around.

"Jeez, what's your problem?" I asked. "Are you okay? I haven't see–"

"My problem? You got my fuckin' father killed! That's what's fuckin' wrong with me!"

It felt like I got slapped in the face. He was older and knew better. He said dad was dead. It wasn't a dream. . . . He saw this as my fault. . . .

"Fred–"

"No, I don't want you fuckin' talkin' to me! You got my father killed because of your ass!" he yelled, shoving my shoulder. "If it was up to me, you wouldn't fuckin' be in this house! You'd be in the fuckin' streets, and I'd be happy!"

My eyes stung. "I didn't kill him–"

"Oh, yes, you fuckin' did, you whore! Marie should've gotten an abortion when she tested positive! The world would've been a better place without you and papa would've been happy! You think he actually wanted a daughter? Especially one like you?" Freddie spat. "You're a fuckin' disappointment!"

He pushed my shoulder again. I stumbled a bit. It actually hurt, and I didn't have a low pain tolerance. It was giving me a headache.

"I wish you were never born," he seethed. I heard the door. "You fucked us every chance you got! You pulled a gun out on your own father over dick! And guess what? He's still not with you! He's having a baby with someone else! He's with a real woman!"

With each sentence that Freddie yelled, he slammed his hand against my left shoulder. I was against the wall to the stairs. He just kept doing it, my shoulder blade running into the hard wall. It hurt. At one point, I think I hit my head, too. I wasn't sure. I did have a headache though.

"Hey!" I heard Vincent yell.

"Alexis, come here!" another voice called. It sounded like Dante but I wasn't sure. It's been a while since I've seen him.

I wanted to run away but Freddie was too close to me, and I was against a wall. Vincent managed to wedge himself between us, Dante following. Dante attempted to grab Freddie.

"You don't even deserve to be called a wop– you're not even a guinea! You're fuckin' American Scum!"

Growing up, my brother and I got into a lot of fights and we called each other a lot of names: fat, ugly, stupid, homo and faggot (yes. . .), obese, mammoth, retard (it was more acceptable to say), reject, bitch, dickface, any name that could be linked to an STD– and name, if it existed, we called each other it. It never got to me. In fact, I would say that due to that, I developed thick skin. Comments didn't bother me.

But "fuckin' America Scum". . . .

American Scum.

I pressed my trembling lips together. I was going to cry. No joke. Right now. My eyes were blurry. I couldn't see.