A Foreign Touch

im coming over. {12}

             Oh, how it's been so long! I'm so sorry I've been gone! I've been busy writing stories for you!

                                Ryan's POV

     "And where the fuck do you think you were, Mister?" a drunken voice boomed from the dining table. Oh no. My heart started to race, my palms were starting to sweat. I could feel a panic attack coming on.

     "Um, I- I was at play practice, Dad," I stuttered.

     "Who was that boy walking with you? Don't tell me you have a boyfriend. Oh, god. If you have a fucking boyfriend you'll get your ass beat," he murmured.

     "Dad, I'm not gay."

     "You go to drama class instead of playing *belch* football. Why are you so disappointing, Christ. You have one friend. Damian, is it? Why can't you be more normal like him?"

     "I'm sorry I'm not your ideal son, but you have to deal with me for one more year."

      "Or I could just kick you out to the curb."

     "Dad, you're drunk," I finish, starting to jog up the stairs.

     "I'm not fucking drunk!" he grunted.

     I heard his chair screech on the hard wood floor. I heard some glass clambering. That's when I started to get worried. Before I could think anything else of this situation, there was a loud thump and a pain that could be only explained as a hammer to the head. I fell backwards and tumbled down the stairs. All I remember from that night is me waking up at the landing of the stairs with my father slumped over the sofa. When I woke up it was dark. I cautiously got up, a sharp pain in my head causing me to drop to my knees.

     "Ah, fuck!" I yelp, grasping my head, a mixture of dry and fresh blood painted my hand.

     I have to get out of here. He'll kill me at some point! I thought to myself. The only problem being, I can barely move. I mean, I can, I just feel like everything is broken. I try one more time to stand up, grasping my head in the process.

     Right foot. Up.

     Left foot. Stagger... up.

     Okay, I'm off of the ground. Good, good. I feel around in the crepuscular dark. Aha! My book bag! I fumble around with some zippers and finally I am able to get into my bag and blindly search for my phone.

      Alas, I found my phone. I press the button to try it on, the bright display nearly blinding me. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, my headache now blistering. A few texts from Matt are on the lock screen. The last text was sent at 9:14pm. What time is it now?! I check the time. 9:31. Oh my god. I've been out for at least four hours. I slide the text notification to reply to Matt.

Matty: hey ry im hella bored. i know its been only like 10 minutes since i left but im still walking home. alone haha                     sent at 5:43

Matty: hey dude, whats up? where did ya go? are you ok?                 sent at 6:27

Matty: ryan, are you okay? did your dad hurt you? oh god please tell me youre ok...                sent at 7:57

Matty: ryan?                    sent at 8:59

Matty: im coming over.                sent at 9:01