Desperate Measures

Chapter 3

Once it was starting to get dark, I left the shop and started walking home. My back shifted under the weight of my gun cases and I loved it. As I walked along the street that I have become way too familiar with, I thought about my plans for tonight. I was finally eighteen so I was no longer dependent on my father for anything. If something were to happen to him then there would only be positive consequences. I debated deciding his fate with a coin-toss but that seemed a little too random. I wanted his actions to have my actions as a result so I chose to watch and see what he does. If at any point tonight, he tries to hurt me then I'll get a bit violent but if not then I'll just move out tomorrow and never look back.
I walked into my house and check the clock which reads ten-thirty. I immediately hear my father's shrill voice yell out my name from the other room. I don't answer because I truly don't have the energy for it and I hear his boots beating loudly against the floor. He got in my face and I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he said, "You've got some balls huh? ignoring me like that even though you know what'll happen." He didn't back up even as he circled my five-foot frame, his own six-foot body towering over me. I couldn't help but shiver as I felt his breath on the back of my neck. I hate that. I hate that he can make me feel weak. Tears prick at the back of my eyes as he grips my arm so hard that I can feel the bruises forming. His other hand goes to grab my hair, and he pulls my head back so that I'm looking straight into his eyes. I can't help but feel helpless but that quickly turns into disgust and anger. Now.
I stomp on his foot and yank my arm free. I retrieve my pistol from my bag and quickly shoot him in the thigh. He screams, loud and deep and I have never heard a more beautiful sound in my life. I grab his throat, staring into his eyes with rage-filled emerald eyes, and dig my nails into his neck as I say, "I'm gonna make this hurt, motherfucker." I let go of his neck and push him down as he writhes in pain, I pick up the closest sharp thing I can see and dig it deep into his calf. He roars as he goes to grip his leg and pull out the scissors. I stand up and grab the baseball bat, walk back over to him, and hit it straight into his ballsack. I see tears streaming down his cheek and feel a plentiful amount of pride in my chest. I pick it back up, slam it straight into his head and he's knocked clean out. As I stare at his unconscious bloodied body, I can't help but feel guilty. I feel like my father. He absolutely deserves this after abusing me my whole life, but I still can't believe I sank to his level.
I heard my father curse when he came to, He look at me and tried to hit me but he couldn't reach me. I stepped on both of his arms, crouched down, and pulled out my pistol. I pointed it straight at his temple and stared into his pale green eyes, I wanted my defiant face to be the last thing that he sees in his miserable life. I felt his warm blood splatter on my face as I pulled the trigger and a slow smile made its way onto my face. I had finally done it. And it felt fucking good.