UNEDITED
Calla Henrik's family runs the best ATV business in town, and she's ready to take over the family business for the summer while her parents go on a much-needed vacation. She's ready to earn some money before she attends the University of A...
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Maddox
His fist connects with my jawbone, sending me spiralling into the adjacent wall. I curse, stumbling and using the wall as support to regain my footing. The stench of whisky is potent from my father. It's almost as if he decided to soak his clothes in it before coming home from his drug buddy's house. It was their monthly celebration for how much money they've made by victimizing people with mental health illnesses; by taking advantage of their vulnerability and selling them drugs to curb the pain and suffering they deal with.
Tonight, my father is pissed off at me for refusing to pick him up from his buddy's house. He blames me for being a wimp, a loser, and several other derogatory names that are a million times worse. He believes I refused so he would have to take a cab and risk being exposed to the local police. And you know what's funny? That was exactly my plan. It worked once before, when he picked me up from school five years ago and was arrested on site. I had been hoping it would work again.
Scrambling to the left, I narrowly avoid being hit again by his vengeful fist. The loud thump of his fist crashing against the drywall is enough to cause shivers to cascade down my spine. Despite being five inches taller than my father, I'm terrified of him. He's ruthless when it comes to punishing me for not wanting to uphold the family name and finally make my contribution to the drug cartel he's deeply rooted in. But if I'm going to be entirely honest, this is when my father is easiest to deal with. While the alcohol numbs his ability to think straight, he's not nearly as cunning when he's drunk. I can take a few punches and handle the bruises and bumps the next morning. What I can't handle are the psychological games he plays when he's sober.
Even so, no matter what condition he's in, he absolutely fucking terrifies me.
Words do no justice in describing how I feel right now. I don't know what's sadder: the fact that I wish he would just give in to his hatred and deliver one final, end-all blow, or the fact that I'm too weak to move out and start the life I deserve. I've failed at everything. I can't keep a job to save my life; as soon as people find out who I'm affiliated with, whose blood runs in my veins, they let me go, preventing me from bringing in a steady income. My father's life is so solely focused on chasing the dragon and making big bucks that he has no use for me. Then again, why would he want me around when I testified against him in court during one of the biggest drug-busts? I'm part of the reason as to why he spent four months in jail last year, serving time for having a hand in the drug trade. Those four months were the best time of my life. I was free of all this shit – of his shit.
And now I'm right back where I started.
As per usual, my life is an endless collage of fuck-ups and unluckiness.
"Why can't you fucking cooperate?" my dad spits, shoving me against the wall. "I pay the bills, I put food on the table, and this is how you thank me? I taught you better, Maddox."
I cringe when he says my name, cringe as he tightens his grip on my biceps, digging his nails in so hard and deep I'm positive I can feel blood seeping through the fabric of my sweater. No matter how much I want to fight back, to defend myself, I refuse to do it. Throwing fists and injuring another person, whether or not they deserve it, will make me exactly like him, which is something I want to avoid. No matter what type of hell he puts me through, I will never follow in my father's footsteps.
