Suffocate

Chapter 19

. . . Eighteen years old, and I still manage to get duped by my asshole of a father.

I can't believe how stupid I am.

How could I let myself go like that? After all this time, after everything I've been through, the second my guard is down, he slips by undetected. Not in the way you think, ugh. It took me four years to forget about my father. To forget how he is, what he's like. I hoped to God that I would never see his face and hear his voice again, but, nothing ever goes my way. How could I forget?

For once, in my life, I gathered my nerves and found myself the guts to accept him, to give him another chance. But he fucked it up.

Along with that, he fucked me up, again.

A lying, self-centered prick. That's what he is.

Two-faced—the same as my mother. Both of my parents have one-eighty degree personalities. One moment, they are as human as they can possibly be: Sincere and reasonable. In just a matter of time, no matter how long or how short, they change. Something in them snaps, releasing a relentlessly ruthless, animalistic nature. They become beastly, anxious to prowl on whoever they see fit as their prey.

Apparently, I'm an easy target. I've been targeted as bullseye since I was a kid. Their mark on me never wore off, I suppose.

I should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

I shake my head at myself, feeling embarrassed. Hell, I'm ashamed. I'm the definition of a completely redundant human being; so pitiful, authorities wouldn't know how to handle me if I was in their care. I mean, really. Kenley practically threw me back into the clutch of my parents.

Besides that, what the hell is wrong with me? Why did I let Dad do it? Why did I just—go with the flow? Why did I listen to him and believe the shitty, sappy bullshit he spoke to me?

I ball my hands into fists as a dreadful sensation runs through my body. The feeling of his hands touching me, his breath against my skin, his eyes staring into me—at me—it boils my blood.

How ironic. Everything that made me hate him in the first place, made me melt into the mercy of his embrace. I allowed him to do those things. I can't kid myself anymore.

He should've bashed my head harder against that damn wall. Maybe if there was enough damage, I could forget everything that happened. Forget what I did with him. Forget the way he made me feel. Forget the way he actually seemed sorry.

Now, he's anything but that. He is a beguiling liar. Yet, I knew that already.

So why the hell did I still let him do that . . . to me?

My response to an ardent sting interrupts me from my interrogative thoughts. I flinch away in pain, instantly smacking away the hand applying antiseptics to my forehead.

Kade hardens his gaze at me. "Bryson, please. I'm just trying to help," he says sternly. Avoiding his eyes, I focus on adjusting the white towel covering my lap. I nod stiffly.

"Sorry," I mumble. Kade waves his head at me and exhales a soft sigh. I watch as he takes away the soaked pad from my forehead; it's covered in blood. "How bad is it?" I ask. Kade frowns at the sight.

"The gash is not too deep. You're still bleeding, though. You'll need stitches." He gets another pad out and sprays the antiseptics onto it, instead of directly spraying on the wound, like he did moments ago. Kade goes back to dabbing the gash on my forehead until the perimeter of the wound is mostly clean. "Hold this in place," Kade instructs me. He waits for me to press the pad against my forehead before removing his hands. He digs into the first-aid kit next to his thigh (it's the same one Dad used that one time), pulling out medical bandages. Kade looks as if he's about to start using it, until he pauses. "Wait," mutters the blond; his kempt, slightly brown brows furrow in deep concern. Kade turns his head away from me, turning towards the doorway. "Kailum!" he yells loudly.