Chupacabra | 18+ | ✔️

▪︎■ 22 ■▪︎

▪︎■ Adrin Bianchi ■▪︎

I woke up next to her, lazily watching her sleep. While she snored slightly, I remembered our conversation. When I told her about my father last night, I really had to keep myself together. I had tried to ignore the inner voice- my own voice- screaming at me.

You're exactly like him. The same piece of shit. Doing the same pathetic, disgusting things you always swore to never do when you were a kid. Abusing alcohol, fucking around, being a made man... Like father, like son, no?

The words repeated over and over and no end was in sight, so I just told her about the meeting instead. Trying to get my shit together.

I caught another glimpse of her and wondered, if I should get up and leave to start working. I decided against it - instead I went to sleep again, work could wait. A sudden wave of tiredness came washing over me, only encouraging me more to stay.

I closed my eyes and drifted into sleep surprinsingly fast, the last thing I saw was her face.

▪︎▪︎▪︎ 15 years ago ▪︎▪︎▪︎

"Adrin, you fucking idiot! Get your ass here right now or I swear you'll regret it!" I heard my father screaming at the top of his lungs. I was inside my room, looking at the door while breathing heavily. What was it this time? What did I do wrong? I didn't know what it was. I already did so little inside this house, staying as quiet as possible. If he forgot about my existence for even only a few hours, I could escape his anger. I usually read or worked for school in my room, quietly. I only went out when I had no other choice. But even then, his rage would find me. He would find me if his day was bad enough, if he was bored enough, if he was drunk enough.
At least it's me, not my mom, I always said to myself.

I got up from my bed. Rather go now then later, when he's even angrier.
The way downstairs was hard and I had to force my body to take one step after the other. I could see him. Standing in the kitchen with one of his beloved bottles in his hand.

He turned to me, his brows furrowed, eyes dead. His face was bloated, the alcohol leaving visible traces after all the years of drinking.

"You fucking piece of shit! Your teacher called me. You were sleeping in class again!"

I wanted to flinch although I already knew his aggressive screaming. I didn't let my body win.
To be fair, I did sleep in class. Most of the time I had trouble sleeping at home. So I often do so at school. The environment felt safe enough. The teachers always bitch about it, but them yelling at me instead of my father doing far worse was something I could live with.

My father took an empty glass and with a loud noise, it crashed to the floor. He stalked towards me and his hands grabbed my throat. I grabbed his hands, trying to free myself while my lungs were aching.

"They asked me why you're always sleeping, ragazzo!" He screamed. Spit hit my face.

"So tell me, you bitch! Why is that?"

I not only felt the lack of oxygen but also the missing blood that couldn't get pumped into my head. I was dizzy. I couldn't answer.

That's it. I'll die now.