The art of getting better.

Chapter 8.

CLINT.
September 5th, 1998

Swinging a backpack full of cheap beer and whisky over my shoulder, I scratch a patch of skin on my forearm. A fairly large mosquito bite that will for sure turn into a scab soon if I keep scratching it. When I was younger I used to get a ton of scabs, from scraping my knee on the pavement. Or because my dad would empty my anger on me. My dad's a weird mixture of an alcoholic and a cop. Working a 9 to 5 and then he'd come home to beat his wife and kids. His voice booms from downstairs. He's laughing loudly at a sitcom, I hardly ever hear laughter leave his mouth. Every day at around 6 o'clock my dad starts to drink, he usually sticks to beer, 4 bottles in and he'll start to yell and sometimes he'd get angry at my mom. This usually happens at around 7 it doesn't matter what it is about, but by 9  he's passed out on the couch. It's currently 6:30 so I know better than to stick around. I slowly open my bedroom door, putting on a jean jacket with band pins filling the collar, bands like guns and roses, ACDC, and Aerosmith. Quietly walking towards my brother's room I turn the nob. I'd usually knock because he's a 14-year-old and I don't trust him alone in his free time. I fully expect to see his naked body when I open the door, shielding my eyes just in case. But instead, he's sat in his bed reading a comic book, while headphones blast heavy metal.
"Hey Oli," I say, closing the door behind me.
"Hey Clint, what's up?" he says, sliding the headphones off. He closes the comic book, a captain America comic with the star-spangled man with a plan fighting alongside the falcon and black panther.
"If dad asks I'm out doing homework with a couple of buddies of mine,"
"Ok, but where are you headed?" he says his voice cracks separating the sentence in two.
"Huge party at my friend's house. If dad found out he'd beat my ass."
"He definitely would,"
"Don't worry little man I won't let him hurt you,"
"Ok, promise?"
"Dude once I'm finished highschool me you and mom are getting the fuck out of here." he smiles and I get up, "I gotta go, I'm gonna be late."
"Be safe dumbass."
Walking out of his room the laughter has turned into shouting. Cautiously walking down the stairs my dad is sat on the couch, beer in hand yelling over a football game.
"You look like a faggot." he says sloppy over his beer.
"I'm going to a friend's house," I say ignoring the comment. He gets up nearly falling back onto the couch cushions. He walks criss-cross making his way to the base of the stairs where I'm stood still.
"Are you back talking to me boy." the smell of yeast reeks on his breath making me want to gag on the inside.
"No sir." my voice is quiet and sharp. Once the words leave my lips I feel him apply pressure onto my throat pinning me against the wall.
"Don't ever talk back to me, you son of a bitch," he releases me and I cough gasping for air. I then feel a sharp discomfort in my cheek red hot pain making my eyes water.
"Dan, let him go!" I hear my mom call rushing in to pull him off me. He scoffs before heading into the kitchen.
"I'll see you later mom," I say softly walking out the door.
"Clint wait!" she says but I'm already out the door.  

My cheek stings and my chest is sore from yesterday's football practice, I start my car and put it in reverse. Driving to town I turn up the radio to find good vibrations by the beach boys playing loudly, I roll my windows down to feel the sweet September air, that mix of mild and chilly wind blowing between my fingers. In the backseat, a duffel bag stuffed with dirty gym clothes and football armour is squished in between the driver's seat and the backseat. I turn the dial and cruse onto a street with cracked pavement. Pulling up to a bungalow my girlfriend Beth Henderson closes the door behind her. She's wearing something that rocks her body right and she's really fucking pretty.
"Hey, big shot." She says getting in before taking a swig from an opened can of pop from the cup holder closest to mine.
"Hey, babe," I say and we lean in for a kiss, we've been official since April after a party at my place. Sure we've fucked around before that, but it just feels right to date someone.
"Your cheek, did your dad do something again?" She says noticing the red blotch on the right side of my face.
"What? No, it's from football I don't know why it's still red," I flip the sunshade and stare into the mirror at myself. Blue eyes, blond hair, red right cheek. Everything I could have ever hoped for. I pull out of her driveway sliding my hand on her thigh. Ethan Booth's house is in the middle of buck tuck nowhere. He's this lanky kid that still thinks mullets are cool, but besides that, he's pretty chill.
"You'd tell me if your dad hit you though right?"
"Of course babe, he didn't touch me," I say moving my eyes from the street to my girlfriend.