A day had passed since more beatings came, but the pain lingered like a stubborn ghost, haunting every thought and every breath.
As my father's belt slammed against my trembling leg for the hundredth time, the tears and anger that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free.
Each impact left a searing, throbbing mark on my flesh.
"You're a disgrace," he spat, his face contorted with rage. "You're a fucking sissy, wasting your time on that pointless, useless music. Basketball is your future, and you're throwing it all away. I already know how stupid and dumb you are, that's why bastekball is the only thing that can make you pass and have opportunities, music cannot! So whether you like it or not, you're playing basketball and throw away those guitar picks!"
I clenched my fists, my knuckles white from the force of my grip.
My whole body shook with a fury I struggled to suppress.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, the sting of my father's blows matched only by the burning humiliation I felt at his cruel words.
The pain, both physical and emotional, was too much to bear as my father's fists rained down on me.
His hands tightened around my throat, cutting off my air and suffocating the words
I desperately needed to breathe.
As he slammed my face onto the table, I felt the wood splintering.
My nose began to bleed, the sticky, warm fluid dripping down my chin. I couldn't help but wonder if this was the cost I had to pay for choosing a different path in life.
"You have no idea what you're throwing away," he roared, his voice a cacophony of fury and despair. "You're wasting all the time, effort, and opportunities I've given you. You're humiliating me, and you're going to ruin everything we've built. Basketball can give you a future, but you choose to throw it all away for some pathetic, useless music. You know sports can give you scholarships and connections so we could try again, but you still choose to skip multiple practices just to practice your gig and you're telling me you're flying to another country for this? Pathetic!"
As I struggled to catch my breath, the weight of his anger, and the crushing disappointment he felt in me.
Tears streamed down my face as my voice rose to a desperate, angry howl. "I hate sports, and I don't want to do it!" I yelled, my chest heaving with the raw emotion of my fury. "I don't care what you think, I'm going to New York, and I'll make it on my own."
My father's fist flew towards my stomach, the blow taking the wind out of me. "You're a disgrace," he snarled, his voice laced with contempt. "You've always been a disgrace. Skipping classes, skipping practices. We're poor, and we needed those competitions in case there's cash prizes. You threw it all away."
With that, he delivered a barrage of slaps, the stinging pain spreading across my face.
My world swam in a haze of agony and humiliation as he pushed me down the hallway, the cold, hard floor offering little comfort against the storm of emotions I fought to control.
With a feral rage, I scrambled to my feet and glared at my father. "I hate you!" I bellowed, a cathartic release of the anger and hurt that had been bubbling inside me.
