A Little Dinged Up (gxg)

Chapter 1

***

A/N - I hate having to do this, but since NovelHD has already started to pirate some of my books, here we go. These works are mine. My poor little brain came up with the plots and characters, and I'd really prefer you to not steal them. If you're reading this on a site that is NOT Wattpad then it is most certainly stolen.

Thanks!

Loiosh

***

I woke up with a start, a burning in the back of my throat, and bolted for the bathroom. Throwing the lid upwards I stuck my head over the bowl and started to spew what little was in my belly, which was mostly bile at this point. My whole body was covered in sweat, and I was still trembling after the nightmare that had woken me up, and I could feel the tears leaking from my eyes.

Hands pulled back the hair from my face, and then started to gently stroke my back as I started sobbing into the toilet. "I got you Ly, you're good. Just let it out," I heard Trish whisper to me. Thank god for her, I don't know how much more I could take without her helping me out every time I had a nightmare about my father.

Have you ever heard about those people that blame their parent's deaths on themselves? Like, they were going to a show with them, or their parents were picking them up somewhere when something happened to kill them. Usually, it really isn't their fault, but just an accident. It still sucks, because the guilt will eat them up, but mine was a little different. I put three bullets into my father's chest. I killed that fucker dead. I don't regret doing it either, but I regret the aftermath, and I still have the nightmares.

When I grew up in New Jersey in Atlantic City, my mom was a secretary doing the best she could to hold down the house. My dad was a piece of shit, disappearing for months at a time on benders or in jail for drug possession. I was shocked he was never busted for dealing, because that was what he was actually doing. Personally, I wished he'd stay gone, because when he was home, he would smack my mom around if things weren't perfect. One day when I was 14, he came home high as a kite, and had some little piece of shit revolver that he hit my mom in the head with, giving her a big cut over her eye.

For the first time ever, my mom fought back. She took a kitchen knife and slashed his hand, making him drop the gun, but then he started punching her until she dropped the knife as she fell to the floor. When he picked up the knife, I picked up his gun. He didn't even realize I had it, he was only caring that his wife had slashed him and he was ready to kill her. When he raised the knife, I put a bullet into my own father's chest. He stopped, just staring at me, then took half a step towards me, so I pulled the trigger twice more, throwing him back onto the kitchen table.

And who knows what would have happened if we'd just called the cops right then. But my mother knew my dad had friends. She took the gun from me and fired one more bullet into him so if the cops did a gunpowder residue test, she would have some on her. Then she sent me to the beach on my bike to go swimming and told me to forget everything. She knew that she'd have an easy self-defense plea with her defensive wounds and wouldn't be arrested. But she never told me anything about those friends that might be angry. Instead, she called the cops about half an hour after I left the house. When I came back a few hours later, a couple of officers were still there, and my father's body was gone. They hadn't even taken her downtown, it all looked cut and dried to them, and all was fine. It was a pretty tame death for New Jersey.

Three days later I was on a plane to New Orleans to visit my mom's sister. She never told me that she'd gotten death threats, and that the visit was more of a permanent move for my safety. Less than two weeks later she was killed in a drive by shooting as she got out of her car in her office parking lot. I won't say I killed my mom, but she certainly died saving me from the men that would have come after me had they known who had really killed my dad. It almost broke me. My aunt did her best to console me, but she wasn't the most empathetic woman, so I was mostly on my own. The men who killed my mom weren't smart, they did it on three different security cameras, so it was an easy conviction. But she was still gone.