It's been eight years. Eight damn years. That memory has haunted me for so long. I haven't seen my father since; and my mother went missing about nine years ago. When those officers revealed the truth to that toddler, they don't know how much it REALLY affected him.
My brother and I now live with my uncle. We've been living here for a few years now. We've been through Hell and back with him. I guess that's just what God plans with us; nothing but pain and Hell has been inflicted on me and my brother, and it all start eight years ago.
"BRYAN! Where the fuck are you!?" I heard my uncle shout, his voice slurred due to the many bottles of alcohol smashed and scattered among the house. I flinched at his words, bracing for impact. That's how much he scares me. It's like he can reach me wherever I go, following me and stalking me, watching my every movement and waiting for an excuse to jump out and add another bruise to my collection.
I debated on wether going downstairs to face him or not. My brother is out, doing only Lord knows what. Probably stealing shit or fucking some hooker he picked up behind the local street mart. He's the only thing that stood between me and my wretched uncle, and he's probably having a blast with his friends. Not even giving a shit about me.
Nobody does.
"BRYAN!!! If I have to look for you, boy, you're not gonna like it!" He threatened, the sound of glass breaking following only a moment after. That pushed my emotions from simply scared to purely terrified. "I-I'm coming!" I shouted in reply, marking the book I had been reading and throwing it on the bedside dresser in my poor excuse of a bedroom. I jogged to the door, throwing it open and making my way downstairs to the kitchen. "What is it, Uncle Max..?" I asked cautiously, silently opening the cabinet door that blocks the way between the living room and the kitchen.
"Where in all of Heaven and Hell is your shitty excuse of a brother?" He demanded, jabbing his index finger into my shoulder roughly. I flinched, stepping away from my uncle, moving my hand to caress my shoulder, as if nurturing it. Which is exactly what my goal was. "I-I don't k-know... Wh-Why..?"
"I need his help haulin' this old TV set in the back of my truck. I'd ask you to do it, but I'm not sure your skinny ass can even lift it." He explained, groaning out of annoyance. I held back the will to punch the old man right then and there. I mean, it's true I'm small for my age, but that's no reason to bully me about it.
Even if some other people have.
"Well, um, I could help you..." I tried, directing my gaze upwards and towards my uncle.
"You? HAH!" He laughed out loud, literally laughing out loud. "If you really wanna help, go find your brother Rodney. If you come back without him, boy..." He started to threaten me again. I nodded my head, wanting to escape the area and the situation as soon as possible. "I know... I'll find him, I swear..!" I cheered, more or less to just encourage myself. Where the fuck am I even supposed to start!?
"You better, or else..." He replied, pulling out another bottle of one brand of beer or another.
Sprinting out of the house, I began the long and tiring search of my brother.
YOU ARE READING
Can't Lose You; A Tale of Two Sons
Historical Fiction(Inspired by "The Outsiders", a novel by S.E. Hinton.) "Daddy, where are you going?" A five-year-old version of me squeaked at my father. Why can't I get this damn memory out of my head!? "Son, Daddy has to go away for a while." He replied, bending...
