Suicidal

Chapter 8: - The departure.

"In the darkness I will meet my creator."

Smother ~ Daughter

WARNING - Mature and harmful themes ahead, read with caution.

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CHAPTER EIGHT;

THE DEPARTURE -

I'd had an amazing lunchtime with Lara, she looked stunning, and her presence had sent gusts of wind down my spine. She had looked so.....pure. I admired her strength as well, for a person to lose a beloved one so suddenly, to then pluck up the courage and spend her break with a complete stranger.......

That was pretty damn strong.

I could've been a rapist, murderer or a terrorist (which is highly unlikely), but still, Lara trusted me enough to spend her lunch time with me.

When we parted ways, I noticed that (a) she was incredibly dainty and beautiful, (b) the sun looked flawless upon her, and (c) her face had A multifarious amount of emotions, that all I could do in this particular situation was to stop and smile.

Once I'd sent my smile at her direction, the last few lessons began. They were long and tiring, and especially draining. My head was constantly hitting the desk with my eyes closed, and Mr Gibbins came pretty darn close to shouting at me. Fortunately though, the ending was near and the last five minutes were dragging like a dead body across the floor - while I was staring at the clock.

Then the school came to a close, and rivers and crowds of students were pouring over the exits, ready to escape. I joined amongst them, eagerly waiting to crash on the sofa once I'd gotten home.  However, I was hoping (dreading even) that my drunk stepfather wouldn't be slouching across the living room floor.

How wrong I was......

When I arrived at my house, like I said before, my plans were to crash out and chill. But did that happen? No. This time, as soon as I cautiously opened the front door, the instant reek of whiskey and champagne (does champagne even smell bad though?) hit me across the face. It attacked my senses.

Closing the door, I was bewildered whether it was best to check if he was in fact lying across the floor, or just to run upstairs and flee from him. That was if he was there....

And he sure was.....

Gary's head was crosswise across the rugged carpet, which was absolutely plagued with alcohol stains and burned - out cigarettes. The scene was so horrifying to even look at, that I felt sick coming up through my throat. And believe me, I didn't feel a slight hint or hope of sorrow or cheerlessness, yet I was actually glad he was sprawled across the floor, drunk.

The bastard deserved it.

"Oi.....pass me that b-beer can over there!"  Gary barely managed to get out, sounding as drunk as per usual. 

This was the sort of treatment I had to bare with when I got home. Gary was either drunk, passed out from a hangover, or sleeping and snoring like a fucking baboon.  Most kids my age arrived home with a loving and caring family, awaiting them.

Reluctantly though, I flunked to the oak table, and picked up the beer can. There wasn't much left of it, but Gary wouldn't exactly take that as an excuse to not drink any alcohol he could find. I paused, and thought of two options: give the can to him, or throw it in his face - after all, he deserved it.

I wondered, why I even had the temerity to chuck the can straight at him.

It hit him hard though. Like a kick to the face even. "Get it yourself." I muttered, turning my back to him and taking my leave.

"W-what did you just s-say......to me!?"

"I said, get it yourself."

"I c-can't seee....my beeer thoughhhh"

"Of course you can't." I replied. "You're drunk like hell, you probably can't even see me."

"I'm not as think as you drunk I am."

"Yup" I laughed, "you're drunk. That's for sure."

That's when it got worse.

At first, it looked like Gary was stumbling over himself, in a faulty attempt to get up. But then it appeared to me that he was actually getting up, successfully. It was probably the rage that managed to heave him off the floor, the rage that took control over him, and drove him towards me......

My instant reaction kicked in, and I took off to the kitchen. I should've really sprinted through the door though. Damnit. Gary started to run after me, with fury burning in his eyes, from the deep pits of his anger.

I reached the kitchen side, hoping that the door key was somewhere close. To my disappointment, the key was nowhere to be found, while I was scrambling for it.....whilst Gary was proceeding closer every second.

Our hallway wasn't very long at all, so he managed to catch up with me in a matter of ten (or eleven)  seconds.  Once he'd arrived in the kitchen, I calmly said to him "Calm down....calm down Gary. You're not well and lashing out on me would make you feel worse." With my hand blocking his pathway.

Of course, that was a lie.

"Don't call me GARY! I am your farther! AND YOU WILL TREAT ME WITH RESPECT, AND NOT THROW BEER CANS AT ME!"

Now he was exceptionally hostile.

I whimpered, and before I could manage to attempt to calm him down even more, a slap came right across my cheek. Then, Gary shoved me across the room, and unfortunately I ended up hitting the hard side of the cabinet. My hip was screeching and burning, and the pain only got worse and worse. Gary's face started to seethe....

Attacks became more frequent. Attack after attack. Punch after punch. Kick after kick. Until, I was left gagging across the floor, with blood and cuts on my forehead. I was begging for some sort of respite, only a glimpse or brief moment was all I was begging for...was it too much to ask for?

I was left on the floor, drops of blood emerging from my cuts and bruises on my head and arms.

He left after the beating, with his stepson in excruciating pain on the floor....Clutching the cabinet's frame for any support he could receive.....

It was then that I realised, that social services were right all along....My stepdad was an abusive guardian,  and what they said ("This guardian is too abusive and focused on his own problems") was right, he was slowly draining me, throwing icy knives at me every time I'd enter the door. I couldn't do anything to prevent his beatings, he was a head taller than me, and had muscles the size of American Footballs.

I needed to do something about his beatings, but that sad thing was that in reality, I couldn't......

It felt like I was left to die.

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Umm I did say that this isn't a book for the light hearted.......