Rough / L.H.

41.Parent Lottery

LUKE

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Thirteen missed calls.

Fifty-Seven messages.

Eight voicemails.

My phone was going off the charts, but I did not care. My body was still and inseparable from my bed. I have not moved since I went to bed after the phone call with Liz. It is now four in the afternoon...of the next day. Honestly, I do not plan on moving anytime soon.

Is this what depression is? No. I would have gotten depressed a long time ago when it was really bad. I may be messed up, but I believe that I am handling this well.

He has a whole new family and I still do not even have one parent to love me. Why is life so unfair to me? What did I do to deserve this?

My mother was so weak. She was helpless. I would attempt to console her after my dad put in a few punches like usual, but she would just push me away. I tried, that is what bothers me. A little kid is not the one that is supposed to be trying to help the parent.

It was not like I asked a lot from her. As a child, like any normal child would, all I wanted was affection, a hug, a kiss, or any form of attention. Instead I got a whole bunch of nothingness and emptiness.

So excuse me for not being in the best of feelings towards them.

There was this one time I can never forget, the pain I felt. It was unbearable.

~Flashback~

"You piece of shit. You can never do anything right."

"Please, Andrew. Not again."

"Stop being a coward and take it. You deserve it. Hell, you deserve more than a few bruises."

"I did not mean to spill your coffee."

"You piece of useless garbage, all you had to do was get it in the cup. Are you too stupid to even get that simple task done?"

"I'm sorry, I'm still weak from yesterday."

"Oh right, after you couldn't even cook a proper meal. You expected me to let you slide for burning my dinner?"

Everyday of my life mostly consists of hearing these vile words. Wishing my mom would not mess up whatever my dad told her to do again. How does he expect her to be one-hundred percent if she is so weak from not being able to eat herself. She does not have time to do normal human necessities because she has to make sure everything is ready for him.

My poor mother.

"Luke!" Oh no.

"Come here you son of a-"

Maybe if I stay here he will stop asking for me. Ha, when has that ever worked? It will only get worse for me if I prolong this.

"I'm not going to ask for you again."

"I'm coming," I say weaker than I expected. I quickly get out of my usual hiding spot and walk over to the kitchen where he was just hitting my own mother.

"Serve me coffee since your piece of shit mother can't seem to do anything right."

"Okay."

"A 'yes sir' wouldn't hurt you, ungrateful bastard."

"But you would," I say under my breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that," he says while pushing his chair out quickly. He stood up and walked up to me so fast I got whip lash.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did, you piece of shit."

He takes off his belt and I know it's over for me.

One, two, three, four licks on my body. To make sure I learn me lesson, or at least that is what he says, he makes me take off my shirt so there is skin contact.

"One for every word you mumbled under your breath, and one to implant the lesson in you. Learn not to talk back, piece of dog crap." I bite my lip so I do not cry. I learned the hard way that it only gets worse if I cry in front of him. "You two pieces of shit are going to make me late for work; of course, always fucking things up for me."

He grabs his belonging and storms out as quickly as he whipped me.

I release a quivering breath and glance at my mom that looks like hell.

"You okay, mom?"

"Yeah, just peachy," she answers back extremely sarcastically.

"I'm just trying to help, sorry." I feel small again.

"Well stop asking stupid questions, Luke."

"I wanted to know if you're okay."

"Clearly I'm not. I just got beaten the living shit out of me."

"And I didn't get hit? He hurts me too, mom," I say while tears stream down my seven year old cheeks that are supposed to be plump and full of life.

"Just leave me alone."

"I want to help you."

"I don't need your help!"

"I need yours," I say, feeling weak and smaller than an ant.

I am not sure if she did not hear me or if she just choose to ignore me. She starts walking away from me and towards her room.

"Mom?" My mother continues to trudge along and she does not even glance at me over her shoulder. All that is heard is her soft light groans that involuntary escape her pained mouth and my shallow breaths. She makes it all the way to the hallway and she grabs the doorframe, but she still does not pay attention to me.

My short legs slowly draw me to her room where she is lying face first in her mattress.

"Mom?" I ask again for the millionth time in attempt to get her attention.

"God Luke, will you just leave me alone?"

"Mom, please."

"I am tired, beat up, and I just want to be alone."

"But I am scared."

"I don't care right now. There is no reason for you to be scared, now go away and leave me the hell alone. I do not have the energy to deal with you right now, or ever actually."

Great. My own mom hates me. I am only seven, I cannot take care of myself.

Before I realize it, there are tears running down my soft pale cheeks. I run out of her room and into mine. I cannot believe no one loves me. I just want my mommy and my daddy to love me. What did I do wrong? More and more hot tears burn down my face and I cannot stop them.

Do I deserve this?

~End of Flashback~

God, I was only a seven year old little boy.

How could anyone in their right mind do that to a little kid?

An adult could barely handle that sort of trauma, let alone a seven year old. Since my mother did do that to me, I cannot forgive her. They both put me through hell and back, and now they expect me to be completely okay and dandy with them? They must be crazy, oh wait, they are.

I have lovely parents; won the parent lottery.