Love, Drugs and Kit.

Chapter 2: The Boy with the Bruises

The ride home was silent. The car radio was broken.

"How was school?" Daniel asks. I shrug.

"It was okay." I answer. "How was your first day at college?"

"Fine." he says watching the road.

We pull up to our apartment and Daniel slams on the breaks. "Ready?" he asks, softness in his eyes.

I nod. We both get out of the car and go up to the apartment. The elevator ride up was excruciating.

Apartment #1211 is printed on the door. Daniel takes out his key and unlocks the door. The door opens slowly. No sign of Dad anywhere.

"Tom?" Daniel calls out. Suddenly, we hear muffled cries coming from the closet.

I run over and open the closet door to find a little boy curled up into a ball, his mouth taped shut and dark bruises on his legs. My little brother, Tom.

"Damn it!" Daniel cries.

"Got 'em good, huh?"

I turn around to see my father sluggishly walking towards us. He's drunk.

"You're fucking disgusting!" I yell at him, cradling Tom in my arms.

My father cackles, and takes another swig from his whisky bottle. He throws the remaining at the wall, leaving shards of glass everywhere. Fear erupts from me in the form of tears filling my eyes and clouding my vision.

I shriek as he starts to hobble towards Tom and I.

Daniel blocks his way. "You are not touching them." he bellows, pushing Dad back. Dad returns the push with a punch to the eye.

"Go to your room." Daniel says frantically.

"No, no Daniel, I'm not letting him-"

"Go to your room!" He commands.

I run to the our room, tears flying from my eyes.

"It's going to be okay." I tell Tom, who's panicking. I take the duct tape off of his mouth and take him into my arms. His heart rate is frantic.

I hear multiple punches and grunts coming from the other room.

"Stay away from them!"

"I'm their father, I'm your father!"

"Ever since mom died-"

Mom.

Mom.

Dad used to be a good father. Not perfect, he had his slip ups, but he was good.

Mom died in a violent plane crash trying to visit visiting her parents in Iowa. Ever since then, Dad has been drowning his problems each night drinking and smoking. He got violent. Now I just don't know what to do.

In panic, I grab my phone from my back pocket.

I can't call the police. Dad will kill me. Plus...he's my Dad.

I click on my contacts list and press and random number. With the phone pressed against my ear I hear the phone ring twice.

"Hello?" says a raspy, deep voice.

Damn it. It's Kit.

I hold back my sobs and grip onto Tom tightly. "Hello."

"Katie, babe, what's up?"

I can feel the cockiness oozing out of the phone right now.

"I just needed someone to talk to. Look, shits not exactly perfect for me right now-"