More or Less {A.C.M}

13) Can't Always Win

“Come on! Fists up! Let’s go!” He booms, towering over me with his fists up.

 

This is incredibly stupid! I don’t stand a chance fighting against him, he’ll kill me. But, then again, that is the point. He’s trying to kill me in the most satisfactory way possible. Beating me while beating me. Brilliance.

 

“I’m not fucking fighting you, dad!” I sigh, turning on my heel, and starting to walk away, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of my attention. He roughly latches onto my shoulder, aggressively pulling me back, and turning me back around to face him.

 

“Don’t walk away from me!” He bellows, drawing his arm pack before throwing it forward, slapping me straight across the face, leaving a burning sensation to dance over the entire left side of my face. I throw my hand up over my face, automatically feeling the heat on my skin. I raise my gaze from the ground to glare incredulously at my father. “How dare you turn your back on me, you little bitch!” He shouts at me, striking me again, this time, his fist colliding with the other side of my face, most of the blow effecting my eye as it automatically shuts tight. I can already tell it’s gonna bruise over.

 

And, I can’t seem to do anything about it. I can’t find it in me to raise my fists, and fight my father. I don’t stand a chance. My father towers a whole foot taller than me- my family, we’re a tall bunch- And his build is borderline hulk status. He’s built as fuck, and I’m just a toothpick to him. I can’t do shit. As much as I wish it wasn’t true. he is my father. Despite all the shit he’s done, and put me through.

 

I can be the cockiest, most boastful bitch you'll ever meet. But, there is always a time when you must come to terms with the fact that you aren't fucking Iron Man. You don't have nine lives. There is always a time when you have to admit that you aren't invincible. You can't always win. This is one of those times. I can't win.

 

But, I can't just lay down, and take this shit either. If I'm gonna go out. I'm gonna go out swinging. I'll die fighting.

 

"You think you're some hot shot gang leader! Real gang leaders don't cower down like little bitches! They fight back! So, come on! Square up!" My father taunts, throwing his fists up, and doing a cocky wrestler's dance, jumping from side to side intimidatingly.

 

Curling my lip up in a snarl, glaring, and mustering every ounce of strength I have, I raise my fists up to block my face, preparing anything my father might throw at me.

 

He shoots me a satisfied smirk, and goes to swing at me again, but this time I'm prepared, and quickly duck out of the way, dodging his hit.

 

That didn't make him too happy. Not only is he a bit stunned, he's also very very angry. Seeing the spark in his hazel orbs, I anticipate his next move, and jump to the side as he goes to knee me in the gut.

 

"Real gang leaders have better hits than this." I snarl before throwing a punch to his side, causing him to coil back to the side. I didn't hit him too hard, but it gives me enough time to get in a few more hits.