Taking It Slow (possibly discontinued)

Chapter 2- Ian's pov

I woke up to light shining in my room and checked my phone, it was 11 am. It's the first day of spring break so I have two weeks off from school. I got out of bed and looked out the window, I squinted a little bit because of the sunlight but looked at the driveway to see my dad's car isn't here. Yay I thought to myself.
   I take off the t-shirt I wore to bed and look in the full body mirror that's in my room. I have bruises on my stomach and back, they don't hurt as bad as they did a couple days ago.

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Shit I'm late. One of my teachers made me stay after school to work on test corrections. I don't have a car so I had to run home, ugh my dads gonna kill me. I finally got to my house and walked in as quietly as I could. Right as I went to walk up the stairs, which are in front of the door, I felt the back of my shirt get yanked back. I was shoved onto the ground and felt my back get kicked, I yelped in pain and heard the rough voice of my father saying shut up. I put my hand over my mouth to cover my whimpers. I heard him take off his belt and felt a bolt of pain on my stomach as he hit me.

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   I decided to go downstairs because I didn't feel like sitting in my room. Once I got to the kitchen, which is left from the staircase, I saw a note on the fridge

Will be home around 2, faggot. Can't wait to have some fun with you!

   I gulped. At least I have three hours to do whatever. I opened the fridge knowing there was nothing in there. My father goes out for food and doesn't bring me anything and I don't have a job to buy food so I'm awfully skinny.
    I go back upstairs to my room and connect my earbuds to my phone, I click on Pandora and hear Blink-182 start playing. I walk over to the desk I have in my room and grab my sketchbook and pencil, then I go sit on my bed and draw. Drawing makes me feel relaxed. Whenever I feel like cutting, I try to draw instead. I think about two hours past when my sketchbook was ripped out of my hands.
   "Watcha drawin faggot." My dad slurred looking at my drawing.
   Great, he's drunk. "Nothing much." I said trying not to say anything that'll set him off.
   He chuckled and started ripping out pages and ripping up my drawing.
   "No! Stop!" I screamed at him.
   He stopped what he was doing and looked at me with fire in his eyes. "Are you arguing with me? You said you weren't doing anything so obviously that means these are nothing important." He then threw the remains of my sketchbook in his hands at me.
My dad put his hand around my leg and pulled me off my bed and I fell onto the floor. I grunted when my head hit the ground. He then grabbed my hair, since I wasn't wearing a shirt, and yanked me up. When I was up on my knees, he put his hands around my neck, lifting me up more, then slammed me against the wall. He tightened his grip making my choke for air. He let go then started punching me in the chest. I started getting light headed from all the pain and passed out.

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Sorry I don't know who actually did the drawing but it's supposed to be the one Ian was working on