Page 8 of Krash & Bern

“You’re a liar.” The tone of his voice was one no father should ever address their child in. It was laced with hate and intoxication, a combination that never garnered positive outcomes.

“Okay,” I replied. I didn’t have the energy to argue with him today. I wanted to relax and enjoy the rest of my Saturday before school came back around Monday morning.

As I made a motion to move down the hall, he stood up and staggered over to me. My gaze was bored, monotonous eyes locked onto a pitiful excuse of a father.

“You think you’re better than me, boy?” He slurred as he wagged his finger in my face.

“Yes.” I baited him.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a bastard child too fucked up for even his mother to stay around and raise,” he insulted.

“Okay.” I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my arm.

My body tensed and jerked away from him as I spun on my heels to glare at him. “Don’t ever put your hands on me again.”

His drunken smirk stretched across his face. The stench of alcohol intensified as he puffed out his chest. “You think you’re a man now?”

“I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be.” I sneered. My teeth gritted together as I balled my hands into tight fists.

“Prove it,” he demanded. His hands pushed against my chest, causing me to stumble.

The gym bag was discarded as I steadied my footing and glared at him. No seventeen-year-old child should ever be put in a situation like this. No child should ever have to lift their hands to defend themselves from a parent’s wrath. However, my current reality was I had to do what I had to do to make sure he never got the idea to fight me again.

My shoulders square and feet planted, I lifted my hands and jabbed him in the mouth. He stumbled back and held his jaw as blood pooled between his teeth and bottom lip.

“Your ass is grass,” he warned as he lunged at me.

His drunk ass looked a fool charging at me. I sidestepped him and punched him in the ribs twice. My heartbeat was an erratic thump in my ears as I fought my father for the first time. I was no longer a dormant body. I had finally gathered the courage to defend myself against years of abuse, both physical and mental.

Sweat coated my skin as I held my own against the drunkard. The end of the fight came when I punched him in his nose and knocked him on his ass. As I gazed down at his slumped figure, I could feel my eyes burn with tears. I blinked rapidly. No! He doesn’t get to make me cry. I’m stronger than him. I’m stronger than this.

I disappeared into my room and collapsed onto the bed. My body quaked as the adrenaline quickly evaporated from my body.

Pain.

Sorrow.

Exhaustion.

All these emotions coursed through my body until I had no strength to do anything but welcome sleep. As my eyes began to drift close, my bedroom door was pushed open. The force caused the door handle to put a hole in the wall. I sat up immediately. My eyes locked in on the deranged look in my father’s orbs.

“You lost your mind, boy.” He snarled.

“No! I finally showed you I’m not the scared little boy you’ve been abusing for years! I can hold my own now. You better find something else to do because you won’t ever get the chance to hurt me physically again!” My voice was weak. The scared and desperate tone revealed how broken the situation had made me.

“Is that so?”

The sinister appearance of my father sent a chill down my spine. He disappeared down the hall. I waited on pins and needles for what felt like hours before I finally relaxed in bed. I assumed he’d passed out in his room.

I was wrong.

Very… very… very wrong.

When he returned, he had a revolver in his hand. His eyes were deranged, but my body was frozen into place. My eyes remained on the silver weapon as I replayed my life.

There was hardly anything positive to hold on to. The only person I worried about was Bernice. If I died today, would she be okay?

Bang!

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