My Fucked Up Life

2. Beer

So, welcome back. I kind of argued with my therapist about writing this, but he said it will really help and all of that crap.

I hope he's right, because I don't know what it's been doing recently other than making me feel like crap..

xxMFULxx

I was now seven years old.

Watching television with my dad, whom was drinking beer or vodka at the time, I stiffened uncomfortably.

It'd been a few years since our incident, and I didn't trust him since. Ever since mom stopped talking to him, he'd drank more and more, leaving me to myself all the time.

In all honesty, by then I was a pretty independent kid.

Mom was working for money at a nearby coffee shop, and she checked on me once an hour, calling. I guess she didn't trust me with dad, or something.. but it was obvious why.

Dad and I hadn't talked much since the incident. He apologized the one time, and whenever we did talk, it was short and blunt one-word conversations.

He got up, putting on his jacket.

"Where'r you going, dad?" I poked my head over the couch.

"Bar," He grunted, shutting me out completely as he turned his back towards me.

"But you can't..!" I exclaimed, suddenly. "I can't stay home alone..!"

He paused.

"Besides," I wailed. "Your already drinking..!"

He slowly turned to me, as I caught a familiar glint of hatred in his eyes.

I began to violently quiver, scared shitless.

"D-dad.."

"Your right," He spat. "You can. Stay home alone."

He reached out messily, unbalanced, grasping onto the hood of my hoodie from the back of my head and pulling me forwards, leaving me to defencelessly fall face-first to the ground.

I yelped in pain, my face stinging like hell.

"Grow up," He growled. "A son of mine needs to take care of himself, you little piece of shit."

"I'm not a bad son..!" I defiantly looked up to challenge his cold eyes, now on my knees.

"Shut the fuck up..!" He hollered, kicking my tiny body back down again. "Get your actions in check, you don't speak to your father that way..!"

I hung my head, coughing on my words. "Y-yes.. sir.."

He yelled something else at me that I didn't quite catch, though I made out the words 'Weak', 'Excuse', and 'Son'.

"I'm sorry.." I murmured softly, trying to get up, plotting out my plan.

I'd get up, run past him, and out the door, eventually reaching somebody who can help.

I looked past him, sunlight peering from the door crack.

He turned around for a half-second, as if grabbing something.

This was my chance.

I fought the pain in my stomach, jumping to my feet, brushing past him in a quick attempt of escape.

"Why do you think your-"

He was cut off the the sound of me accidentally tripping on the door mat, as I quickly got up, turning the door handle.

My expression fell.

Hot tears formed in the crest of my eyes, as it crashed down on me.

The door was locked.

"You little bitch!"

I turned, seeing dad, pure rage plastered upon his drunken face.

"Dad.." I trembled, acting out my forearms as a shield to my head. "P-please.. Stop.."

He grabbed my hoodie's neck area, lifting me off the ground, as a gagging sound erupted from my throat. The noise continued to play out across the silent room as my dad looked at me with hatred and disgust.

"S-s..stop.." I choked on the words, as I broke a sweat. "P-plea-... Please..!"

All of a sudden, I felt airborne, realizing my dad had thrown me across the room. My back slammed against the wall, piercing with pain, as I gridded my teeth at the feeling.

He approached me again, and roughly stood me up on my legs, his warm, alcohol-scented breath brushing roughly against my face.

"You listen to your father!" He grunted/yelled.

"Y-yes sir..!" My eyes watered; I was scared.

And I've been scared of the little things, like the dark, or even spiders; but this was real fear. The heart splitting fear that paralyzed you, making you unable to move in your own subconical state.

Suddenly, pain shrieked through the edges of my stomach, as my nerves throbbed. My jaw hung open, and I coughed out a little blood, falling to the ground in an attempt to save my stomach. My father had punched me in the guts, harder than it to just be a playful joke.

As if my coughing blood hadn't been enough, he picked me up again, ready to probably kill me with whatever next blow was in store.

But suddenly, her voice rang out amongst the room.

"Stop..!"

Almost as soon as she said it, dad let me go, as I crumpled to the ground with a little moaning sound. Black dotted my vision, as I slipped away, pain edging every inch of my body.

She had saved me again.

But this time, it might've been too late.