Tarrant

Shattered

Angel went back to her apartment after work today. I miss her already. I've been thinking about Dad a lot since he called. Like, why did he never tell me he loved me? It's impossible not to love your own child, right? And what suddenly made him care enough about me to call me? I wish I knew. As the night passes by, I'm remembering one of the lowest points in my life...

I was 17 years old. I was putting together some dinner. It was actually Dad's turn to cook, but unsurprisingly, he was out at some bar. I was pulling a plate from the top shelf of the cupboard, when he suddenly stormed through the front door. "That son of a bitch! Kicking me out the bar for no damn reason, who does he think he is?" He slammed the front door, causing me to jump. I accidentally whacked my head on the corner of the cupboard door, and dropped the plate on the floor, shattering it instantly. "Ow!" I shouted, grabbing my head where I had hit it.
Dad suddenly snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you idiot?" He screamed at me. "You're always messing something up, you stupid brat!"
He ran towards me. I just closed my eyes and froze. I knew what was going to happen. He grabbed a piece of the broken plate from the floor and pinned me against the wall. "You like cutting yourself, do you? You little attention-seeking faggot." He held the glass to my wrist. "Dad, please! Don't!" I cried. But my pleading was no use. He slit my boney wrist with the glass shard. I lucked out. Thank God he didn't cut too deep. It stung like heck, though. It hurt me more emotionally, however. How could he see his son unconscious, bleeding out on the bathroom floor just a few months prior, and want to see him hurt like that again? That moment was my final breaking point. It was like a switch flipped inside me. "You bastard! I hate you!" I wanted him to feel my pain. So I punched him as hard as my weak body possibly could, square in the face. I'd never fought him back before. He just stood there for a moment, in shock, before grabbing me by the shoulders and throwing me to the ground. I felt defeated. "I'm done!" I screamed, running upstairs to my room. After wrapping my wrist in bandages, I packed only a backpack with necessities, off to head off into the world.

That was the last time I saw my dad.