Hopeless

All Was Good

After throwing a powerful right hook to his attackers nose he left himself open and got hit by a strong counterpunch. I gasped as the blood from his mouth sprayed all around the ring when his head was launched backwards. I threw my arms in the air and screamed.

"Get up dad! Finish him off!"

Averting his attention from the snarky bastard before him he stared at me dead in the eye and winked before returning back to his opponent and sent a painful blow to his stomach. I chuckled at the pathetic man who was currently sprawled across the blood covered floor, he held his glove covered hands over his stomach, face twisted in agony.

"1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10"

The ring announcer grabbed my dads glove covered hand and threw it up in the air in celebration. The crowd roared with cheer and adrenaline pumped around my body as I speeded towards the ring. Sliding under the ropes I jumped onto his back and shook him in excitement.

He chuckled and lifted me up onto his shoulders, flashing lights blinded me but I continued to wave at the hyped fans. My dads trainer fist bumped me with a proud smile and patted my dad on the shoulder in congratulation.

"Trey! Trey! Trey!"

My dads name was chanted from the crowd as he pressed his cut up lips against his palm and held it to his heart in honour of my mum. The building lit up like an arena and everyone paraded around in their rows.

Dad placed me back onto the ground and held my hand in his bruised and bloodied one as we strolled towards the changing room with our heads held high. Sneaking a quick peak at my dad who had a goofy smile plastered across his face I couldn't help by feel a sense of pride within me. I was proud of how strong he was, not only with fighting but how he kept it together after everything, from losing mum to nearly losing me.

We'd passed our rough stage and had our lives back on track.

As long as I was happy, he was happy.

Later on that night, as if I'd jinxed it by thinking our rough stage was sorted and we'd be able to live the rest of our lives full of nothing but love, happiness and relief, my dad was shot in the heart. I'd seen a hell lot of blood in my life time and wouldn't usually second glance it but knowing that was my dad laying there lifeless and on the verge of slipping away from my tiny fingers shook me up until the point where I couldn't move a muscle.

I called out to him, once, twice, repeatedly but got no answer in return. I screamed until my words died out in my throat and I couldn't yell anymore.

I let him die. Not purposely, but for eight years trapped in another house was the only thoughts I could fully process, and the haunting images of my dads mouth moving slowly up until the point where it stopped and no more words came out.

I didn't know which was the worst part of it all, losing him or losing me, but what I did know was I had to make things right. Even if I had to sell my soul to the devil, jokes on him because I had no soul left to give.

At Least that's what I told myself.